abi

25 she/her | cl¹⁶ fc⁴³ op⁸¹ mv³

[foolishleclerc]

the hyperfixations deparment!

abi - she/her! - arg

my brain works in cycles: one obsession at a time, but all of them permanent.

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[foolishleclerc]

vice-captain compromised - lohen

pairing: lohen x fem! witch, dendro user reader, second part to this. summary: months into their relationship, lohen is still more than willing to help with her research. this time, however, the results are… unexpected. warnings: established relationship, no use of Y/N, third person narration, use of sweetheart as a petname. english is not my first language, i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. explicit sexual content: aphrodisiac/sex pollen, dubious consent (lohen agrees with everything, always, but i'll put it here just in case), multiple orgasms, bondage and restraint, misuse of dendro vision for sex, marking (biting and hickeys), oral sex (male receiving), power play, light dom/sub, dirty talk, begging, p in v sex, teasing, unprotected sex. let me know if I forgot anything. word count: 14.1k a/n: i don't know when it surpassed 10k words, it just happened. i held a poll and the results showed that you preferred nsfw content, so here we are. i apologize if the explicit sexual content isn't all that amazing, i still find it a bit difficult to write, which is why it took me so long. anyway, i hope you enjoy it!!!

It wasn't long after their first meeting that all of Mondstadt knew about their relationship. While it was obvious that it would become known quickly, it wasn't because rumors spread fast in Mondstadt, but because the Vice-Captain wanted everyone to know.

Lohen mentioned her whenever he could, constantly. During patrols, meetings, training sessions, even casual conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with her somehow still circled back to her.

He was hopelessly and embarrassingly devoted to the witch living outside the city.

And the laughter and comments of others did not embarrass him, did not stop him, but quite the opposite. They seemed to function as motivation, as if they only encouraged him to do more, to be more affectionate, more shameless, more eager to follow her around her cottage carrying crates, gathering herbs, chopping ingredients, or allowing himself to become what Lisa jokingly referred to as the witch’s favorite lab rat. Lohen personally preferred the term devoted assistant, and she preferred willing lover.

And in a way, they were all right.

Over the months they had been a couple, they’d tested harmless sleep tinctures, enchanted teas, truth serums that made Lohen spend forty uninterrupted minutes praising her beauty in an incredible detailed way, and even a pastry experiment that had temporarily caused glowing flowers to bloom in his hair every time she kissed him. And Lohen had love every second of it.

“Most men would fear being experimented on by a witch,” she had said during one of the first tests together.

Lohen, sprawled comfortably across her couch with his hair a dark color, different from usual, and his eyes a more bluish color, thanks to the appearance-changing potion, had only smiled lazily. “Well yes, most men are weak… And you know I'm not like them, I’m better.”

And she knew it. Lohen was the most obedient, the most willing, the most... devoted, ready to help her try anything.

And he was going to prove it to her once again.

It all started with Varka, again. Specifically, with the crate he dropped onto her kitchen table one rainy afternoon.

“Straight from Sumeru!” he’d announced proudly. “Exotic herbs, flowers, spores, roots. The researchers there said you’d probably know what to do with this,” then he had paused. “Actually, they also told me not to mix some of them together.”

That had been the least helpful warning imaginable. Especially to a curious witch like her, she had a fascination with trying things she shouldn't, investigating and experimenting with things she didn't know.

For three days she sorted through the ingredients carefully, identifying properties, reactions, magical traces, describing everything down to the smallest detail in her notebook. Most of them were harmless, some medicinal, others are a bit more fun, some have stranger and more curious effects and a few mildly dangerous.

And then, there was that one flower. With deep crimson petals, dusted with golden pollen and a scent just sweet enough to put her immediately on edge.

The moment she crushed a few petals beneath the mortar’s pestle, she knew the flower was anything but ordinary. Heat unfurled slowly through the air around her, subtle at first, then almost dizzying, carrying with it an intoxicating aroma that clung to her senses despite the small amount she had used.

Curiosity overpowered caution soon enough. She continued testing it, documenting every reaction with growing unease as hurried notes accumulated across the margins of her notebook. Heightened stimulation. Noticeable amplification of the senses. Emotional responses intensified beyond normal parameters. Each observation seemed to build upon the last, forming an increasingly alarming pattern until, at the bottom of the page, she underlined her final conclusion twice: Potentially catastrophic aphrodisiac.

And that was precisely why she should have gotten rid of it; it was perhaps too dangerous, especially seeing that it seemed to have such a large effect in such a small amount, much more than any aphrodisiac she had studied before.

But the curious, fascinated part of her, the alchemist in her, the side that swelled with pride at having managed to extract and create something so rare, ultimately proved stronger than her better judgment. Because in the end, she kept a sample. A tiny one, carefully sealed away under the excuse of ‘research purposes.’ She had no intention of using it, of course, it was merely a keepsake of her discovery, a small trophy commemorating her success.

Unfortunately, she had overlooked one very important detail.

Lohen spent more time in her cottage than at the headquarters of the Knights of Favonius, and he was every bit as inquisitive as she was. So, it took him far less time than it should have to find the sample she had hidden away.

“You made a mysterious potion and didn’t tell me?” he asked, sounding genuinely betrayed. "You hurt me, sweetheart."

She looked up from her notes flatly. “It’s potentially dangerous.”

“And?” he questioned, as if that weren't reason enough to justify not having said anything about it.

“And I’m not giving it to you, Lohen.”

He leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, clearly unconvinced by her words. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know exactly what it’ll do yet.”

“That’s what makes it interesting,” he smiled excitedly, causing her to frown.

“That is what makes it concerning.”

“Oh, there she is,” he murmured fondly, unable to stop looking at her, his eyes almost shining. “My beautiful and responsible witch.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t flirt your way around this, Sir.”

“I’m not flirting, sweetheart.”

“You called me beautiful and looked at me like that,” she answered, raising an eyebrow, while he smiled trying to look innocent.

“I call you beautiful constantly.”

"Yes, but you used that voice you use when you want something and that look you know the effect it has on me, I already know your tricks, Vice-Captain.”

Letting out a low laugh, Lohen pushed off the doorway and crossed toward her worktable, gaze dropping toward the small glass vial which he was holding in his hand as he placed it on the table. The liquid inside shimmered dark gold beneath the candlelight, looking irresistible, as if it were calling to be drunk.

“You tested it already?” he asked, standing next to her.

“On diluted elemental reactions only.”

“And?”

“And I’m fairly certain it acts as an extremely intense aphrodisiac.”

Lohen stared at her in silence, blinking several times without saying a word or making any gesture, until finally a sound of surprise escaped his lips. “Oh,” that single word carried entirely too much interest.

She pointed at him immediately, shaking her head and causing the witch's hat she was wearing to wobble a little, but it didn't fall off thanks to Lohen gently holding it. “No, don’t even think about it.”

“What?”

“You’re making that face.”

“What face?” he questioned, pretending not to understand what was happening.

“The one that means you’re about to volunteer yourself for something reckless.”

His smile widened slowly. “I love that you know me so well, sweetheart. But I promise I have a good argument,” he said smoothly, “if not me, then who?”

She groaned softly and set her quill down. “Lohen, no.”

“I’m serious.”

“More like delirious if you think I'm going to let you try it,” she muttered. “You are absolutely not drinking an unidentified aphrodisiac flower potion for my research.”

“Again,” he said reasonably, “who else would you trust? I am your most reliable test subject, your partner, your volunteer.”

“You’re impossible,” she sighed.

“And yet you love me madly”

“…Unfortunately.”

He grinned like that answer alone had already secured victory, and then his expression softened slightly as he crouched beside her chair. “I trust you,” he said quietly. The teasing remained in his eyes, but beneath it sat genuine sincerity. “You’d never let anything truly happen to me.”

Her chest tightened helplessly. Archons, that man was going to be the end of her.

“Lohen, I still don’t know how strong the effects could be,” she warned, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know how much it might affect you or how your body will react to it.”

“Then you’ll monitor me.”

“And if something goes wrong?”

“You’ll fix it.” His answer came without hesitation, spoken with such unwavering certainty that it stole the breath from her lungs. “I meant what I said before. I trust you completely,” his gaze softened as he drew her a little closer by the waist. “I have absolute faith in you and your abilities.” Then, quieter this time, even more gentle. “I’m not worried,” he murmured. “Because I have you, sweetheart.”

The way he said it, low and warm against her skin, was devastating enough on its own. But paired with the look in his eyes, with the gentle touch of his nose brushing against hers, with the slow circles his thumb traced over her waist as though he already knew she was losing the argument… it became impossible to resist him. And he knew it.

She let out a slow, defeated breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment as if trying to gather what remained of her resolve. It was useless. Every bit of caution she had clung to was crumbling beneath his touch, his voice, the impossible certainty with which he looked at her. When she finally opened her eyes again, there was reluctant surrender shining in them.

“…Okay,” she muttered softly, already knowing she was going to regret how easily he affected her. The corner of his mouth lifted immediately, smug and warm all at once, but she pressed a hand lightly against his chest before he could say anything. “No teasing,” she warned, though the lack of firmness in her voice ruined the effect entirely. “You won, alright? We’ll do it.”

His expression softened at once, satisfaction melting into something gentler, more affectionate, and the way his hands settled more securely at her waist made her heart stumble again.

“But,” she continued quickly, trying to salvage at least a little dignity. “We’re doing this carefully. I’m monitoring everything, and the second I think something is wrong, we stop immediately.”

Lohen’s gaze never left hers as he leaned in just enough for his forehead to rest against hers.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he murmured, far too pleased with himself. He was sure that the experiment was going to be very interesting and educational.

At first, nothing happened.

Lohen sat comfortably across from her at the kitchen table, one elbow resting lazily against the wood while she observed him carefully over the rim of her notebook.

“No dizziness?” she asked.

“No.”

“Heart rate normal?”

“Mhm, beating only for you.”

“Vision changes?”

“Only the usual overwhelming distraction caused by your beautiful face, sweetheart.”

She sighed deeply and continued writing. “Lohen focus, please.”

“I am focused.”

“You’re flirting.”

“I can multitask, one of my many talents.”

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty and still nothing.

She was beginning to suspect the potion had either failed entirely or required stronger concentration when suddenly Lohen went quiet. She immediately focused her gaze on him, noticing the tension in his shoulders.

“…Lohen? Are you okay?”

He inhaled slowly through his nose. “There it is.”

Her attention sharpened instantly. “What are you feeling?”

“Warm.”

“How warm?”

“Not painful,” his brows furrowed faintly. “Just… is like something spreading inside, everywhere.”

She took notes as she noticed how the changes in him were gradually becoming evident. The tips of his ears had begun turning pink and his pupils looked slightly larger too, his breathing quickening a little.

“Any other change?” she asked carefully, holding his wrist for a few seconds to measure his pulse.

Lohen swallowed once. “…More sensitive.”

“How so?”

He leaned back slightly in the chair, exhaling slowly. “It feels like everything’s sharper suddenly,” his voice had lowered slightly. “Your perfume, the candles, your voice, everything, specially you.”

Her writing slowed slightly, observing him, analyzing his reaction, his gestures, his face. “And physically?”

A faint shiver rolled visibly through him then, his gaze flickered toward her hand hat was now resting near the notebook. “When you touched my wrist earlier,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on hers. “It felt like an electric current running beneath my skin.” His fingers curled slightly at his side, as though remembering it even now. “I could still feel it minutes later, as if I still had your touch.”

Her breath caught slightly despite herself. “And now?”

Lohen laughed softly under his breath, though it sounded strained around the edges. “Now I’m trying very hard not to think about you touching me again.”

Heat curled unexpectedly through her stomach but she ignored it, mostly at least. She nodded, continuing with her notes while they waited a few more minutes to see how his condition would continue to evolve.

“Any discomfort?” she inquired, her eyes fixed attentively on him.

“No.”

“Pain?”

“No, sweetheart.”

“Can you still think clearly?”

He looked at her then, directly, and the sheer intensity in his expression nearly made her lose her train of thought entirely. “Barely,” he admitted, taking her by surprise.

The warmth beneath his skin seemed more obvious now, a faint flush spreading slowly across his throat while his pupils continued dilating wider and wider the longer he stared at her. And he was staring, constantly, like he physically couldn’t stop, as if taking his eyes off her would kill him.

“How strong are the urges currently?”

His jaw tightened slightly before he could answer. “…Manageable,” the way he had said it, with a half-strangled voice, the Adam's apple moving with difficulty in his neck and his eyes fixed on it, made it more than obvious that he was lying.

She stood immediately and moved toward one of the cabinets, taking out another small bottle, this time with a violet liquid. “After obtaining the sample, I looked for a way to make an antidote, just in case.”

Behind her came a soft laugh. “You really prepared for everything.”

“Unlike you, I think ahead.”

"Another one of the many things I adore about you,” he said, causing her to roll her eyes while waving the small vial.

But the moment she turned back toward him, her breathing became shallow and her lips parted slightly in surprise, because Lohen looked wrecked. He was still seated, still trying to behave, but barely. His hands flexed slowly against his knees like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her, his breathing had deepened and the look in his eyes… It looked almost hungry now.

“You should take this,” she said softly, holding out the antidote.

Lohen stared at the vial, then at her and then very deliberately at her mouth, while licking his lower lip. “…Question,” he murmured.

“What?”

“If not the antidote…” His voice had gone rough around the edges. “What other solutions are theorized?”

Heat rushed instantly into her face. “I mean, there are rumors,” she admitted carefully. “But nothing verified, nothing too certain.”

“What kind of rumors, sweetheart?”

The nickname should not have affected her as much as it did in that precise moment. Lohen had been calling her that since the day they met, shamelessly slipping the endearment into conversation with that infuriating confidence of his until it eventually became something familiar, something warm. Over time, it had grown softer around the edges, threaded with unmistakable affection and quiet tenderness.

But this time… this time it sounded different. This time, the word left his lips low and rough, steeped in something far more dangerous than fondness alone. There was restraint in it, strained thin at the edges, but beneath that restraint lurked hunger, deep, aching and barely contained. The sound of it wrapped around her like heat crawling beneath her skin, making her pulse stutter helplessly.

She hesitated, only for a second, but he noticed immediately. Of course he did. he was watching her with the sharp focus of a hunter tracking prey, attentive to every tiny reaction she gave him no matter how subtle. And somehow, her hesitation only seemed to intrigue him further. Something darkened in his expression then, not cruel, never cruel, but intent, interested, starving. His gaze dipped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes, enough to make her breath catch.

“...Physical intimacy may counteract the effects,” she said quietly. “Temporarily, at least.” Silence followed, a silence that felt heavy, even dangerous in a good way, thick enough to suffocate the air between them.

For one suspended moment, Lohen simply stared at her as though the words had not fully settled in his mind yet, as though he was forcing himself to process them carefully instead of reacting immediately. She could practically see the restraint straining inside him, stretched painfully thin. Then he stood, slowly. The movement itself looked deliberate, controlled with visible effort, but the second he straightened to his full height, a sharp shiver rolled through him from shoulders to spine, powerful enough that she noticed it instantly. His hand tightened briefly against the edge of the table beside him, knuckles whitening for half a second before relaxing again.

Her breath caught, the effects were worsening faster than she had anticipated.

Heat seemed to radiate from him now, subtle but unmistakable, filling the small space of the cottage until it became harder to think clearly herself. His breathing had deepened, slower than before but heavier somehow, and every muscle in his body appeared taut with restraint, as though he was holding himself back through sheer force of will alone. When he lifted his gaze to her again, the sight nearly made her pulse stumble. His pupils had blown wide enough to consume almost all the colour in his eyes, leaving only a thin ring of colour visible around the edges. Hunger burned there openly now, dark and intense enough to make warmth curl low in her stomach despite herself.

“Physical intimacy,” he repeated softly. The words came out rougher than before, quieter too, as though speaking required effort. His gaze did not leave her face for even a second while he said it. It dragged over her slowly afterward, unbearably attentive, and she suddenly became acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin, every shallow breath she took. Another shiver passed through him, smaller this time, and he exhaled through his nose with visible control. “Sweetheart,” he murmured after a moment, voice low enough to send heat racing up her spine, “you really should’ve led with that part.”

Her throat suddenly felt dry. “It’s only a theory.”

“Mhm.”

“You should still take the antidote, Lohen.”

Lohen crossed the space between them carefully, as though moving too fast might snap whatever fragile restraint he still possessed. Every step looked measured, deliberate, but she could see the tension coiled beneath it, in the tightness of his shoulders and in the way his fingers flexed once at his side like he was resisting the urge to reach for her immediately.

When he finally stopped in front of her, he was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. It wrapped around her instantly, warm and dizzying, carrying traces of cedar, leather and something distinctly him beneath the lingering sweetness of the flower’s effects. His gaze dipped briefly toward the antidote vial still clutched in her hand before lifting back to her eyes.

“Or,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked and wanting enough to send heat down her spine. “We could test the theory properly.”

The words sent a pulse of heat straight down her spine.

She hesitated. The antidote remained loosely trapped between her fingers while Lohen stood impossibly close, close enough that one small movement would bring them flush together. The warmth pouring off his skin felt almost feverish now and she became painfully aware of how uneven his breathing had grown.

“Lohen,” she said softly, trying very hard not to focus on the way his eyes kept drifting to her mouth between sentences. “You’re not thinking clearly right now.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, breathless around the edges. “My love,” he murmured, the endearment sounding almost unbearably tender despite the roughness in his voice. “I never think clearly when you’re near me.”

Heat bloomed instantly across her cheeks. Archons, even now, even half-drunk on the effects of a dangerously potent aphrodisiac, he still flirted with her as naturally as breathing.

“The potion is affecting your judgment,” she insisted weakly, though her voice lacked any real conviction now.

“It’s affecting a great many things,” he admitted honestly, his gaze dragging slowly over her face before settling back on her eyes with enough intensity to make her stomach tighten. “But not that, I am really sure of that.”

“You shouldn’t decide something like this while under the effects of an unknown aphrodisiac.”

Lohen stepped closer again, close enough now that the antidote vial trapped between them pressed lightly against his chest. And the reaction it caused in him was immediate, a visible shiver rolled through his entire body at the contact, his eyes fluttered shut briefly, like he was fighting to steady himself, and when they opened again the restraint inside them looked dangerously thin.

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “I already wanted you before this.” The words settled between them, warm and heavy enough to steal the air from her lungs. His gaze held hers with almost painful intensity now, honest in a way that made her chest tighten. “I always want you,” he admitted softly. “I want to hold you. I want you in my arms whenever I can get you there,” his fingers tightened faintly at her waist as though the confession itself cost him restraint. “Half the time you’re talking to me, I’m trying not to think about pulling you closer. This only…” he exhaled shakily, jaw tightening as another tremor passed through him. “Intensified it.”

“Lohen…”

“I’m serious,” his hands remained carefully at her waist, gentle despite the tension visibly straining through him, like he was still trying, desperately trying, to behave even while every instinct inside him screamed otherwise. “If you tell me no,” he said softly, voice quieter now, almost reverent despite the hunger threaded through it, “I’ll drink the antidote.”

That alone nearly undid her. Because he meant it, even like this, even visibly suffering through whatever hellish concoction she had created. He was still placing the decision entirely in her hands.

“But if you’re asking whether I want you…” his jaw tightened faintly, like even the question itself strained something inside him. “Archons, sweetheart.” A helpless laugh escaped him then, the sound thick with frustration and need. He dropped his forehead briefly against hers, exhaling shakily as though trying to steady himself and failing miserably. “You have no idea,” he murmured hoarsely. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

His fingers flexed against her waist, restrained tension trembling through the movement.

“I fucking need you,” the confession came out rougher, almost desperate now, like the words had been dragged out of him against his will. His breathing faltered for a second before he continued, quieter but somehow even more devastating. “Need to touch you. Need to hold you,” his eyes lifted back to hers, blown dark with aching want. “Need you close enough that I can’t think about anything else. “It’s always like this,” he admitted quietly, the confession slipping out of him before he could stop it. His gaze stayed fixed on hers, painfully intense, stripped completely bare now. “You probably wouldn’t even like being inside my head,” he murmured with a breathless, almost self-deprecating laugh. “You’d see how bad it really is. The things I think about when it comes to you…” his fingers tightened faintly at her waist again, like he needed the contact to ground himself.

“Archons,” he shook his head once, visibly overwhelmed by the admission alone. “Sometimes I think you’d be terrified if you knew how much I need you,” he confessed softly, the words sounding almost torn out of him. “Not just like this. Not because of the potion.” His gaze dropped briefly, like admitting it aloud made him feel too exposed, too vulnerable. “It’s constant,” he murmured. “You’re in my head all the time.” A shaky breath left him. “Sometimes it feels less like wanting and more like… an addiction I never learned how to survive. Like my body recognizes you before my mind even has the chance to catch up.” His fingers flexed weakly against her waist. “Like being near you is the only time something inside me finally settles. And when you’re not with me,” he admitted, quieter now, “I still catch myself reaching for you.”

Another breathless laugh escaped him, strained around the edges.

“Sweetheart… if you could see the inside of my mind, you’d probably realize this stopped being reasonable a long time ago.”

“You don’t mean all of that.”

“I do.”

“It’s the potion talking.”

Lohen shook his head immediately. “No,” he said firmly. “The potion only removed what little self-control I had left,” his forehead dropped lightly against hers then, his skin fever-warm, almost burning against her own. The contact drew a shaky breath from him, like even something as innocent as this had become overwhelming now. His hands tightened faintly at her waist before relaxing again, as though he was painfully aware of every ounce of pressure he put on her. “You think I haven’t imagined something like this before?” A strained laugh slipped out of him, quiet and breathless. “Half the time I’m around you, I’m trying to act like I’m not completely losing my mind over the fact that you’re standing so close to me. I’ve imagined kissing you until neither of us can think straight… Pulling you into my lap whenever you look at me like this.” His voice dipped lower. “Keeping you underneath me just so I could hear those little sounds you make when I touch you.”

The confession visibly cost him composure. She could feel it in the uneven way he breathed, in the tension wound tight beneath his skin.

“And if I need to get on my knees and beg for you properly,” he murmured, gaze dark and devastatingly sincere as it locked onto hers again, “I will.”

Her breath caught sharply. “Lohen…”

“I mean it,” his fingers tightened faintly at her waist. “Don’t leave me like this.” There was desperation creeping into his voice now beneath all the devotion and teasing, painfully intense, focused entirely on her. “Please,” he whispered. “I only want you. I need you.”

Archons.

That destroyed the last of her resistance almost instantly. She exhaled slowly, the sound shaky despite her best efforts. Every rational thought in her mind was still screaming at her that this was reckless, irresponsible, an absolutely terrible idea.

Unfortunately, Lohen was looking at her like she hung the stars over Mondstadt, trembling with restraint while still waiting for her permission like it was the only thing that mattered. And she was only human, a human weak for him.

“…Fine.”

Lohen went completely still.

For one suspended heartbeat, he simply stared at her as though he wasn’t entirely certain he had heard correctly. The tension running through him froze all at once, sharp and stunned, before something softer, something dangerously adoring, flooded his expression so quickly it made her chest tighten. The look he gave her afterward bordered on reverent, like she had just handed him something precious. And somehow, impossibly, that expression alone made heat rush straight to her face faster than any of his shameless flirting ever had.

But before he could speak, she immediately lifted a finger toward him in warning. “Under my conditions.”

The Vice-Captain of the Fifth Company nodded so fast it was almost embarrassing. “Anything.”

“You’re still technically my test subject.”

“I happily volunteer.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, my love.”

Her lips twitched despite herself and the sight of it seemed to affect him instantly. His gaze dropped to her mouth again with visible hunger before he caught himself, inhaling sharply through his nose like even that tiny expression of amusement from her nearly shattered whatever restraint he still possessed.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, sounding genuinely overwhelmed now, “you have no idea how difficult you’re making it for me to behave.”

She stepped closer, fingers sliding lightly beneath his chin to tilt his face toward hers. “I want to continue observing the effects,” she murmured softly.

Lohen looked moments away from losing his mind entirely. “You can observe whatever you want,” he said immediately.

“That eager?”

“My love,” he breathed, looking at her like she personally held the fate of his soul in her hands, “you could ask me to sign my life away right now and I’d ask where to place the signature.”

A laugh escaped her and Lohen visibly shuddered at the sound. “Gods, don’t laugh like that right now,” he muttered weakly. “You’re making this worse.”

“And yet you still agreed.”

“Enthusiastically,” he confirmed it, nodding his head.

“Poor decision-making skills,” she said, unable to suppress the smile that blossomed on her lips.

“Severely compromised by how beautiful you are.”

She barely had time to roll her eyes before Lohen suddenly moved.

One moment he was standing in front of her, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and the next his arms slid beneath her knees and around her waist with effortless confidence. A startled sound escaped her as the floor disappeared beneath her feet.

“Lohen!”

“I’m being efficient,” he replied smoothly, already carrying her toward the hallway before she could properly protest.

“You’re impossible.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, warm despite the visible strain still lingering beneath it. “You like me impossible.”

Unfortunately, she did. Very much. Especially like that, carrying her through the cottage as though she weighed nothing at all, one arm firm beneath her legs while the other held her securely against his chest. Even in his current state, every touch remained careful, almost instinctively protective despite the tension visibly coiled through him. She could feel it in the tightness of his muscles beneath her hands, in the uneven rhythm of his breathing against her temple, in the way his fingers flexed slightly whenever she shifted in his arms.

The effects of the flower were only getting worse. Every accidental brush of her fingertips against the exposed skin of his neck seemed to hit him like a physical blow now. His breath would catch immediately afterward, shoulders tightening for half a second before he forced himself to relax again.

By the time they reached the bedroom, Lohen already looked thoroughly unraveled. His pupils remained blown wide enough to swallow nearly all the colour in his eyes, and there was a flush spread across his skin now that hadn’t been there earlier. He set her down carefully beside the bed, though his hands lingered at her waist for one extra second before he reluctantly stepped back.

Her pulse skipped traitorously at the sight of him standing there. Archons, the man looked devastating.

She pointed toward the bed, forcing herself to maintain at least some degree of composure.

“Lay down.”

Lohen obeyed immediately. Without hesitation, without teasing argument, not even the faintest attempt to challenge her authority.

And honestly, that affected her far more than it should have.

He stretched back against the mattress, eyes following her every movement with open anticipation as she approached slowly. There was trust in that gaze too, complete and unquestioning, threaded so naturally beneath all the hunger that it made warmth tighten painfully in her chest.

He was waiting, watching her, looking completely hers in this moment and the realization sent another dangerous thrill through her body.

Then soft green light flickered around her fingertips, which he noticed instantly. His eyes widened just slightly before recognition settled over his expression, followed almost immediately by a slow, delighted grin that made heat rush straight to her face.

“Oh?”

The amused sound barely left his mouth before thick ivy curled upward from beneath the bedframe. The vines moved smoothly at her command, winding around his wrists first before securing them carefully, but firmly, against the wood above his head. Then came his ankles, restrained just as effectively beneath twisting green vines that tightened enough to hold him in place without causing pain.

A feeling similar to that time when they had first met and she had tied him to a post.

Lohen exhaled shakily the moment the restraints settled around him. Not fearful, Archons, no. If anything, the idea of him restrained seemed to affect him even more. His head tipped back briefly against the pillows as though he needed a second to process it, throat working visibly before he looked at her again with flushed cheeks and pupils blown impossibly dark.

The expression on his face bordered on worshipful now. Entirely too pleased and too affected.

“You really have no business looking that beautiful while tying me up,” he murmured, eyes following her every movement with shameless appreciation as she removed her hat and carefully placed it aside. The warm candlelight caught briefly in her hair afterward, softening her features in a way that made his breath hitch again. “I swear every time you use those vines on me, I fall in love with you a little harder.”

She stifled a laugh when she saw his completely lovestruck gaze. It was ridiculous, honestly. Completely ridiculous. The man was restrained to her bed, visibly half out of his mind from an aphrodisiac strong enough to make his hands shake, and somehow, he still looked at her like she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.

“There’s something deeply wrong with you,” she informed him, unable to fully suppress her smile now. “You know that, right?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve known that for years.” His grin widened immediately, mischievous despite the heat still burning behind his eyes. “But thank the Archons they sent me someone just as concerning as I am.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly in mock offense. “I am not concerning.”

Lohen actually laughed at that, low and warm and entirely unconvinced. The sound softened into something fonder as he shifted lightly against the restraints, the vines creaking faintly around his wrists. “My love,” he said gently, “The first time we trained together, you threatened me with carnivorous plants.”

“They were defensive plants.”

“You said they could dissolve bone.”

“They can dissolve bone.”

“That does not help your argument.”

She rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her far too easily. Lohen watched it happen like a man witnessing something sacred, completely enthralled by even the smallest changes in her expression.

Slowly, she stepped closer again. The mattress dipped softly beneath her knees as she climbed onto the bed, settling carefully between his legs. The movement drew an immediate reaction from him. His breath caught sharply, shoulders tightening against the pillows while his gaze darkened with helpless intensity.

Her fingers drifted toward the fastening of his shirt, brushing lightly against the fabric stretched across his chest. The contact earned another visible shiver from him, one strong enough that the vines around his wrists creaked faintly in response.

“Well,” she murmured, slipping open the first button slowly, “if you’re technically my test subject, I should probably continue observing how sensitive you’ve become.”

Lohen let out a shaky laugh at that, though it dissolved halfway into a breath the moment her fingertips brushed accidentally against the warm skin beneath his collar. His head tipped back briefly, throat working hard.

“Sweetheart,” he warned softly, voice already strained, “you’re discovering entirely too quickly that I’m weak for you.”

Another button came undone and then another. With each inch of exposed skin, his reactions only worsened. A faint tremor ran through him every time her fingers grazed him, his breathing growing progressively more uneven beneath her careful attention. And the worst part, the part making heat creep steadily higher into her own face, was how openly affected he allowed himself to be. No shame, no attempt to hide it, just completely beneath her touch.

His eyes never left her face while she pushed the loosened fabric aside, exposing more of his chest. The look in them nearly made her lose her composure entirely, dark with want but softer too, threaded through with so much affection it almost hurt to look at directly.

“There it is again,” he murmured quietly.

She blinked. “What?”

“That look you get when you’re focused.” His smile softened, utterly smitten. “You have no idea how beautiful you are when you’re studying something.”

Her fingers paused briefly against his chest. “You’re flirting while tied up and half delirious.”

“And somehow it’s still working.”

Unfortunately for her dignity, it absolutely was.

Clicking her tongue, she leaned down and kissed him. The reaction was immediate, a sharp breath caught in Lohen’s throat the second her lips touched his, his entire body tightening beneath her as though she had struck something unbearably sensitive. The restrained sound he made against her mouth nearly undid her on the spot, low and shaky and so obviously affected that warmth curled instantly through her chest.

He kissed her back like a starving man despite the vines keeping his wrists pinned above his head. Every movement carried restraint stretched dangerously thin, his shoulders tensing whenever instinct told him to reach for her only for the ivy to hold him in place. Her hands slid upward slowly, fingers brushing across his shoulders before tracing down the exposed skin of his chest, and the contact earned another visible shiver from him. Goosebumps rose beneath her touch almost instantly, his breathing growing heavier each time her palms wandered lower.

Lohen’s head tipped back briefly against the pillows when she kissed along his jaw, then lower toward his throat. A strained exhale escaped him at the feeling of her mouth against his skin, the sound rough enough to send heat flooding straight through her.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, already sounding wrecked, “you’re enjoying this entirely too much.” She hummed softly against his throat in response, entirely unapologetic.

The vines loosened slightly at her silent command, just enough for her to slide his shirt from his shoulders and tug it fully off him. The fabric disappeared somewhere onto the floor beside the bed moments later, leaving him bare beneath her hands. And Archons… That did not help her composure in the slightest. Lohen was already unfairly attractive under ordinary circumstances, but flushed and half undone beneath her, chest rising unevenly with every breath while ivy curled around his wrists, he looked genuinely devastating.

Worse still was the way he looked at her, completely open, trusting and overwhelmed by her.

Her fingertips drifted lower again, exploring slowly, deliberately testing the limits of his reactions now. Every brush of her nails against his skin made his muscles tense beneath her touch. Every kiss she pressed against his chest earned another shaky breath from him.

And when she finally reached the edge of his trousers, Lohen broke. A low, helpless sound escaped him before he could stop it, somewhere between a groan and a muffled moan, deep enough to vibrate through his chest. His head fell back against the pillows again, throat exposed as he inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, the noise sending a pulse of heat straight through her.

“Oh?” she murmured softly, fingertips resting just at the edge of his waistband. “That affected you more than expected.”

Lohen laughed weakly at that, though the sound dissolved immediately into another unsteady breath when her fingers shifted slightly. “My love,” he said hoarsely, eyes half-lidded now as he looked back at her, “at this point, breathing near me is affecting me.”

Her fingertips lingered at the waistband of his trousers, tracing the edge of the fabric with infuriating patience. Back and forth. Slow enough that it felt deliberate.

Every reaction was immediate.

She could feel the way his stomach tightened beneath her touch, muscles jumping instinctively whenever her fingers brushed too close to a particularly sensitive spot. His breathing, once merely uneven, had deteriorated into shallow, ragged pulls of air. Each exhale sounded strained, as though maintaining even the smallest amount of composure required conscious effort.

Leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss just below his navel and the response was instantaneous. Lohen's entire body tensed beneath her, a sharp breath escaped him before he could stop it, and the sound alone sent a flicker of satisfaction through her.

She continued downward at an agonizing pace, leaving a trail of lingering kisses across warm skin, without rushing, as if she were precisely planning everything she did. Every touch seemed calculated to observe, to test, to discover precisely where his limits were. And every discovery made her increasingly aware of how little restraint he had left.

The vines around his wrists shifted faintly as his hands flexed against them on instinct. Not enough to break free, just enough to reveal how badly he wanted to reach for her.

"God’s sake…" he breathed, the words emerged rough and unsteady.

She hummed thoughtfully, as though making a note of the reaction.

His eyes narrowed immediately. "You are enjoying this far too much."

A smile tugged at her mouth. "Research requires thorough observation, didn’t you know that?”

The look he gave her was almost offended.

Then her fingertips slipped beneath the edge of his waistband, barely enough to make contact, but it was enough to get a reaction from him. His breath caught sharply, every muscle in his body seemed to lock at once before slowly releasing again.

The reaction was fascinating under her eyes. And if she was being honest with herself, it was deeply satisfying, so she repeated the motion, letting her fingers brush lightly against warm skin before withdrawing again. Then once more, never giving him enough time to adjust, each touch left him looking progressively more undone. And by the third time, he had abandoned any attempt to hide it.

Lohen’s head rested against the pillows, eyes half-lidded and fixed entirely on her. The flush coloring his face had spread further now, and there was a tension in his expression that made it obvious exactly how much effort it was costing him to remain still.

Then, just as abruptly as she had started, she stopped, making Lohen look at her. She lifted her head, resting her chin lightly against him as she studied him with open curiosity, noticing how his chest rose and fell heavily, his pupils remained blown wide and every line of his body looked wound tight with anticipation.

"Tell me how you feel right now," she said softly.

For a second, he simply looked at her blinking, trying to process what he had asked her. Then a strained laugh escaped him. "You're conducting an interview?"

"I'm collecting data."

"Of course you are,” despite everything, a faint smile touched his mouth. But it lasted all of two seconds before another shaky breath ruined it. While she waited patiently, Lohen closed his eyes briefly before answering. "When you touch me, it feels like every nerve in my body notices,” the honesty in his voice made something warm twist inside her chest. "Everything feels stronger than it should. I can feel where you've touched me long after you've stopped, as if my body refuses to let go of it."

Her fingers drifted toward the fastening of his trousers, and for one glorious second, hope flashed across Lohen's face. Then she stopped, and the realization hit him almost immediately.

"You're doing that on purpose," he accused, though the complaint lacked any real bite.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Doing what?"

Lohen let out a disbelieving laugh and tipped his head back against the pillows. The vines shifted faintly as he moved, and when he looked at her again, there was a mixture of exasperation and unmistakable devotion in his eyes.

"Sweetheart," he said, voice rough with restraint, "I need you to stop conducting experiments on my patience."

That earned a quiet laugh from her. Unfortunately, hearing it only seemed to make things worse for him. His gaze followed her every movement, every tiny expression, as though she had become the center of his entire world. And so it was, she had become his whole world.

"Please," he murmured after a moment, the teasing finally giving way to something more vulnerable. "Do something. Anything, just... Do something, please, please sweetheart. I need more, more of you, more of this.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with a smile that was far too pleased with itself. The expression was playful, almost innocent on the surface, but her eyes betrayed her immediately. There was amusement there and something darker too. A mix of satisfaction, curiosity and the unmistakable thrill of discovering exactly how much power she held over him in that moment.

"Hmm,” her gaze drifted lazily over him, taking in every visible sign of his unraveling. "I don't know if you've earned it yet." The words drew an immediate reaction, Lohen let out a strained breath, his chest rising sharply before falling again. "You look so pretty like this," she continued softly. "All flushed and desperate."

His eyes closed briefly, the fact that she sounded genuinely pleased by that observation was almost worse than the teasing itself.

"Maybe I should make you wait a little longer."

The threat hung in the air between them and then her hand finally moved, the contact drew a sharp inhale from him. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock for a heartbeat before tension flooded through him all at once. His head tipped back against the pillows, a broken sound escaping before he could swallow it down.

The vines around his wrists tightened as his hands instinctively flexed against them, enough to reveal how badly he wanted more. A quiet, helpless noise slipped from him as he shifted beneath her touch, his entire body responding before his mind had a chance to catch up.

A small click of her tongue broke the silence. "You should already know struggling is pointless,” there was no real reprimand in her voice, only amusement. "We both know how strong my vines are.” The vines curled slightly against his wrists, almost as if responding to her words. "These aren't going anywhere until I decide otherwise."

Lohen laughed, a short, breathless sound that carried more frustration than humor. His composure was slipping faster now, every controlled breath seemed harder to manage than the last, every second stretched his patience thinner.

And she knew it.

"Sweetheart..." the nickname sounded rough, almost pleading. "Please,” the single word carried enough sincerity to make her heartbeat stumble. “Please, I beg you to do something,” his voice dropped lower, quieter, more vulnerable. “Anything, I don't fucking care what,” a shaky laugh escaped him. "Just don't stop touching me and then disappear again. Please, please, please.”

For several long seconds she simply looked at him in silence. Watching him, taking in the flushed skin, the uneven breathing, the way his eyes never once left her face. Then her expression finally gentled, the mischief remained but affection slipped through it now, warm and undeniable.

“Shh,” her voice came out quieter. "It's alright.” The words seemed to affect him immediately, because some of the tension left his shoulders. "You've been very patient, very obedient… and incredibly easy to study." Lohen groaned softly upon hearing how she praised him. "I think," she murmured, brushing a hand through his hair, "you've earned a small reward."

She hummed softly at his obedience, satisfaction flickering across her features as her attention finally shifted to the fastenings of his trousers. Her movements remained unhurried, deliberate enough to make his patience fray further with every passing second. She undid the button first, then the zipper, acutely aware of the way his breathing hitched in anticipation.

Lohen watched her through half-lidded eyes, every muscle in his body taut with expectation.

When she finally hooked her fingers beneath the fabric, he lifted his hips as much as the vines allowed, eager to help despite the restraints. The sight drew an amused smile from her.

"Look at you," she murmured. "So cooperative."

A strained laugh escaped him. "You've made it very difficult to be anything else."

The fabric slid slowly down his legs until it was discarded somewhere beside the bed. Freed at last, he exhaled shakily, his head falling briefly against the pillows as though the relief alone was enough to overwhelm him. His cock sprang up against his abdomen, flushed dark and painfully hard, already leaking at the tip, it was as if it were calling for her.

Her gaze lingered on him, enjoying the view, appreciating every detail that her eyes fell upon. And judging by the way heat immediately climbed higher into his cheeks, he knew exactly what she was doing.

"Sweetheart," he warned weakly.

"What?"

"You're staring, a lot.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. "Research."

"That excuse is getting less convincing every minute."

She laughed softly before her next move.

Her hand settled around him at last, careful at first, testing his reaction. The response was immediate, his entire body tensed beneath her touch before a shudder rolled through him from head to toe.

"Fuck—“ the curse escaped from his lips as his hips jerked upward, chasing her touch.

She stroked him slowly, more curious than hurried, watching every expression that crossed his face. His breathing grew increasingly uneven, chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged pulls while his fingers flexed helplessly against the restraints above his head.

She smiled, repeating the soft caress, letting her thumb brush over the sensitive head and spread the bead of precum. Every touch drew another hiss or low groan from him, his body twitching and straining against the vines as he tried to thrust into her fist.

"How does it feel now?" she asked softly, slipping back into her role as researcher despite the warmth steadily spreading through her own body, while she continued moving her hand up and down.

Lohen let out a gasp with a groan, a disbelieving breathless sound. "You are unbelievable."

"I'm asking a scientific question."

"Of course you are." His eyes closed briefly before opening again. "It feels like every nerve in my body is awake, I can feel everything… Fuck, don’t stop please, don’t stop.”

Deciding she had tortured him enough for now, she tightened her grip and began stroking him properly with firm, steady strokes from root to tip. Lohen let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, his head falling back against the pillows as a deep, broken moan vibrated through his chest.

“Fuck yes…” he gasped, voice hoarse.

She kept her eyes on him the entire time, drinking in every reaction. The way his abs tensed and fluttered, how his thighs trembled, the way his cock throbbed hot and heavy in her hand, thick, flushed dark, and leaking steadily now, clear beads of precum sliding down the shaft and over her fingers with each slow, deliberate pump.

Lohen’s breathing was ragged, chest heaving as desperate little sounds fell from his parted lips, half-moans, half-whimpers that made heat pool low in her belly. His fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white, fighting the urge to grab her head and thrust.

But she wanted more, just like him. So, with a wicked little smile, she shifted lower between his spread legs, her hair brushing over his thighs. She held his gaze for one heartbeat longer, watching the raw anticipation flash across his face, then lowered her head and took him into her mouth without warning.

“Fuck—” Lohen’s moan was loud and wrecked, torn straight from his throat as wet, velvet heat enveloped the sensitive head of his cock. His hips jerked up instinctively before he forced them back down, trembling with the effort.

She didn’t tease this time because she wanted to feel him lose control. Her lips stretched wide around his thickness as she sank down, taking him as deep as she could in one smooth motion. The taste of him, salty, musky, purely masculine, flooded her tongue. She hummed around him, the vibration pulling another broken groan from his chest, her tongue pressed firmly along the thick vein on the underside, tracing it slowly while she sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks.

One hand stayed wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking in perfect rhythm with her mouth, twisting gently on the upstroke. The other slid up his tense abdomen, nails lightly scraping over his flexing muscles, feeling every twitch and shiver.

“Archons, sweetheart” he rasped, voice hoarse and wrecked. “Your mouth— Fuck, it’s so fucking good…”

She took him even deeper, relaxing her throat until her nose brushed against the dark hair at his base. The wet, obscene sounds of her sucking filled the room, filthy, slick and simply perfect. Saliva dripped down his shaft, coating her hand as she worked him faster, tighter, hotter.

It didn’t take long. Only a couple of minutes of her warm, wet mouth and rhythmic stroking had Lohen unraveling. His hips began to stutter, thrusting shallowly into her mouth as his control slipped. His entire body went rigid, powerful muscles locking up from his chest down to his trembling thighs.

“I’m… fuck, I’m going to—” he choked out, voice strained and desperate, cracking on the words.

She didn’t pull away. If anything, she took him deeper, sucking harder, her eyes locked on his face with wicked satisfaction.

Lohen came with a deep, guttural groan that bordered on a broken cry. His cock pulsed violently against her tongue as thick, hot spurts flooded her mouth. Wave after wave of his release coated her throat, and she swallowed greedily around him, milking every last drop with slow, firm strokes of her hand and rhythmic pulls of her lips. His body shuddered violently beneath her, abs clenching, thighs quivering as helpless moans spilled from his lips.

Only when his orgasm finally began to ebb did she ease off him slowly, letting his spent cock slip from her mouth with a wet, obscene sound. A thin string of saliva and cum connected her bottom lip to the flushed head for a moment before she licked it away, savoring the taste of him.

For a few moments, he simply lay there trying to recover. Trying being the important word.

A soft laugh escaped her as she brushed her fingers lightly across his thigh. “Gods, Lohen,” his gaze shifted toward her sluggishly. “You usually last far longer than that.” The words immediately earned a groan from him.

“Sweetheart...”

“No, really,” her smile widened. “I don't think I've ever seen you unravel that quickly.”

A mixture of embarrassment and disbelief crossed his face. “Neither have I.”

And it was true, because Lohen was not someone easily overwhelmed. Even at his most affectionate, most passionate, he typically possessed remarkable control over himself. The fact that he had lost it so quickly was concerning from a scientific perspective and fascinating from every other perspective.

“Is that fucking flower, it definitely has to be,” Lohen muttered, dropping his head back against the pillows with a groan. “Because if this is being recorded in your research notes, I'd appreciate a footnote explaining that this is absolutely not normal for me.”

She laughed at his words. “I'll be sure to document your complaints.”

“Thank you,” the dry response made her laugh even harder.

For a brief moment the tension in the room softened, but then both of them froze because something was happening.

Her gaze dropped first, Lohen followed a second later and silence settled over the room.

“...Oh.”

The effects hadn't faded, if anything, they appeared to be escalating. Despite having barely begun recovering, despite the lingering exhaustion visible in every line of his body, the evidence was impossible to ignore. The flower wasn't allowing his body to rest.

“Archons…” the sound was filled with equal parts frustration, embarrassment and resignation. “It won't stop.”

A fascinated smile tugged at her lips. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” He turned his head toward her in disbelief. “Sweetheart, I am experiencing a crisis.”

“A fascinating crisis,” she said, unable to suppress the smile on her lips.

Lohen groaned immediately.

“Please stop sounding excited about this.”

“I am a researcher.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” the accusation only made her smile widen. “You are impossible.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Yeah, because apparently,” he murmured, gaze fixed entirely on her, “I seem to be completely obsessed with you.”

The admission made her smile warm, affectionate, dangerously pleased. Then she rose to her feet beside the bed and for a moment, Lohen simply watched her, confused until the realization dawned.

Without a word, she began undressing for him.

She unbuttoned her shirt slowly and let it slide off her shoulders, revealing her skin. Then she hooked her thumbs into her pants, sliding them down her hips and legs at a deliberately teasing pace and every trace of coherent thought appeared to abandon him. Lohen’s gaze never left her, dark and intense, completely captivated and unable to look away, his cock twitching visibly against his stomach as he watched her strip down to just her underwear.

By the time she turned her attention back to him, he looked almost stunned. “Archons...” he breathed. The words emerged rough and reverent, like a prayer. “You're beautiful, so fucking beautiful, I’m a damn lucky bastard.”

She climbed onto the bed with slow, deliberate grace, now dressed only in a delicate set of black lace that left very little to the imagination. The sight alone seemed to steal what little composure Lohen had managed to recover. His eyes followed her every movement, dark and intent, as though looking away was physically impossible.

When she settled over his hips, she took her time. Her hands wandered across his chest, tracing the contours of warm skin, occasionally dragging her nails lightly downward just to watch the resulting shiver travel through him. Every reaction fascinated her, every hitch of his breath and every tightening of muscle beneath her fingertips.

Lohen groaned softly when she shifted closer, his gaze fixed entirely on her. “Sweetheart…” the warning lacked conviction, it sounded far more like a plea.

She smiled. “What?”

“You know exactly what.” His answer dissolved into a shaky breath as she rolled her hips in a slow, deliberate motion. Not enough to give him what he wanted, just enough to keep him constantly aware of her presence. The vines around his wrists creaked faintly as his hands flexed against them on instinct. “Please,” he breathed, the word emerged rough and strained. “Stop teasing me… I need you,” the honesty in his voice sent a pulse of heat through her.

For a moment she simply looked at him, until she finally relented. A little.

Slowly, she lowered herself until the thin lace separating them became the only barrier left. The instant contact drew a sharp gasp from him. His entire body reacted, shoulders tightening, chest expanding with a sudden breath and head falling back against the pillows as though the sensation alone was enough to overwhelm him.

“More, I need more, please.”

She braced her hands against his chest for balance and started moving, slow, deliberate rolls of her hips, sliding her soaked panties up and down his cock. She rocked back and forth, then added small circles, grinding her clit against his throbbing shaft with every motion.

Each motion drew another reaction from him, his breathing grew increasingly uneven. Low sounds escaped him that he clearly had no intention of making, the flower had stripped away too much restraint for that. Lohen had always been expressive around her, but never like that, never so completely incapable of hiding what he felt. Every emotion crossed his face openly. Need, relief, frustration, affection, desire and more. All of it laid bare beneath her.

"My love..."

The words dissolved into another shaky breath and his body shifted instinctively beneath her, chasing every bit of contact she allowed.

The friction was driving him insane.

Every slow roll of her hips sent sparks of overwhelming pleasure racing up his spine. The soaked lace of her panties clung to her, creating a slick, teasing barrier between them. The wet heat of her arousal pressed right against his throbbing cock as she moved above him with such confident, sensual grace. Each grind pushed him closer to the edge, until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Without warning, Lohen’s entire body tensed violently. His abs clenched hard, thighs shaking beneath her as his hips stuttered upward in erratic thrusts.

“Fuck,” a deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he came again, hard.

Thick, hot pulses of his release spilled across his own abdomen in messy streaks, some of it splashing onto the front of her ruined panties. He kept twitching and spilling, the orgasm ripping through him with surprising intensity for a second release so soon.

She slowed her movements but didn’t stop completely, gently rocking against him as she watched the blissful agony play across his face. Lohen’s cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, his eyes half-lidded and glassy with overwhelming pleasure and clear embarrassment. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, looking almost mortified at how quickly he’d fallen apart again.

But her own desire was burning far too hot to let him retreat into shame. So, she leaned down closer, her hair falling around them like a curtain, and whispered softly against his lips. “Don’t even think about feeling shy, Lohen,” her voice was low, warm, and dripping with lust. “You’re so sensitive tonight… it’s honestly really fucking hot.”

She kept moving in slow, teasing circles, rubbing her soaked panties against his spent cock, spreading the evidence of his release between them. Lohen let out a broken whimper, still trembling from the aftershocks.

Even as he panted heavily, trying to recover, she felt it happening again, his cock twitched beneath her, thick and insistent. Slowly but surely, it began to harden once more, swelling against the messy, ruined fabric of her panties. The aphrodisiac was merciless, refusing to let his body rest.

“Please…” he begged, his voice hoarse and wrecked, barely more than a desperate rasp. “Don’t stop. I need more… I still need you so badly.”

His cock was already fully hard again, throbbing urgently, as if the last two orgasms had done nothing to ease the fire burning inside him.

She reached back with one hand and slowly slid her lace panties down her hips, lifting herself just enough to pull the soaked fabric off completely. The ruined garment was tossed carelessly aside, leaving her fully bare and glistening above him. Lohen’s eyes darkened with raw hunger at the sight of her exposed, slick folds hovering just over his aching cock. It twitched hard against his stomach, leaking steadily in desperate anticipation.

Straddling him once more, she wrapped her fingers around his throbbing length, stroking him with slow, torturous pulls before guiding the swollen, flushed head to her dripping entrance. Their eyes locked and with a shared, shaky breath, she sank down onto him in one smooth, deliberate motion.

A loud, synchronized moan filled the room as he stretched her open, filling her completely. She was incredibly wet and scorching hot around him, her walls fluttering and clenching as she took every thick inch. The delicious stretch made her eyelids flutter and her lips part in a silent gasp. Once fully seated, with him buried to the hilt inside her, she paused, savoring the feeling of being so perfectly full.

Then she began to move.

At first, her hips rolled in slow, sensual waves, grinding down so her clit rubbed deliciously against his pelvis with every stroke. Lohen groaned helplessly beneath her, his arms straining hard against the vines that bound his wrists to the bed. He tried to thrust up into her, chasing more of that tight, wet heat, but she immediately pressed her hands down on his chest, pinning him firmly in place.

“Uh-uh,” she murmured. “You stay still. I’m in charge right now.”

She kept riding him with deep, luxurious rolls of her hips, but every time his hips jerked up instinctively, she slowed to an agonizing stop, lifting just enough so only the tip of his cock remained inside her.

Lohen let out a wrecked, frustrated sound. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged hoarsely, eyes glassy with need. “I need you to move. Fuck, please ride me properly.”

Instead of giving in, she smiled down at him and sank back down torturously slow, clenching around him on the way. She repeated the cycle again and again, riding him hard for a few blissful moments, then slowing or stopping completely whenever he tried to take control, leaving him throbbing and desperate inside her.

The room was soon filled with the wet, filthy sounds of her pussy taking his cock, soft, slick noises every time she sank down, mixed with his deep, broken moans and her breathy sighs. She braced her hands on his chest, nails digging lightly into his skin as she picked up the pace for a while, bouncing on him with rhythmic, powerful strokes that made her breasts sway beautifully.

Lohen’s head pressed back into the pillows, veins standing out on his neck as he panted and groaned. “You’re killing me… Please, sweetheart. Let me move. I need to fuck you harder.” Every time she denied him, his cock throbbed angrily inside her, twitching and leaking. His thighs trembled violently beneath her, muscles rock-hard from the effort of holding back. “Archons, please…” Lohen’s voice was completely wrecked now, raw and desperate. “I’ll be good, just please don’t stop. I need to feel you, I need you.”

She smiled, unable to refuse his pleas and finally gave him what he wanted. She started riding him harder, faster, her hips slamming down onto him with wet, obscene slaps. The vines creaked as he pulled desperately against them, lost in overwhelming pleasure, moaning her name like a prayer every time she took him to the hilt.

Suddenly, Lohen’s entire body locked up beneath her. His powerful muscles strained hard against the glowing vines, veins standing out along his arms and neck as his hips jerked upward in short, desperate thrusts, the only movement the bindings allowed.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his chest, bordering on a broken cry as he came for the third time. His cock throbbed violently inside her, pulsing thick and hard with every powerful spurt. Hot, heavy ropes of his release flooded her walls, filling her completely as her pussy clenched rhythmically around him, milking every last drop. His whole body shuddered violently through the orgasm, thighs quivering, abs contracting in waves, chest heaving as a string of raw and broken moans spilled helplessly from his lips.

She slowed her movements but didn’t stop, continuing to ride him with slow, deep rolls of her hips, drawing out every second of his pleasure. The wet, filthy sound of his cum mixing with her own arousal filled the room with every glide.

When his breathing finally began to calm, just slightly, she leaned forward and brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead with surprising tenderness. Still fully impaled on his cock, she looked down at his flushed, blissed-out face. “How do you feel, love…? Is the effect starting to fade at all?”

Lohen let out a shaky, breathless laugh that quickly turned into a low groan. His eyes, still dark, wild and burning with insatiable lust, met hers with an almost feral intensity. “Fade?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and wrecked from moaning, while his chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. “I feel like I could fuck you for days… and still not be satisfied. This fire in my veins hasn’t even begun to die down. I’m still so fucking hard for you, Sweetheart. Can’t you feel it?”

As if to prove his point, his cock gave a heavy, insistent twitch deep inside her, still buried to the hilt in her cum-slick heat.

He swallowed hard, eyes pleading. “Please… untie me. Let me go, my love. I’m dying to touch you.” His voice dropped into a low, sensual growl. “I need my hands on your body, I want to feel you, all of you.  Please, I’m begging you.”

His desperate words were cut off by a sharp gasp as she deliberately rolled her hips in a slow, teasing circle, grinding her swollen clit against his pelvis while keeping him fully sheathed inside her. The movement made her walls flutter around his oversensitive cock, drawing a needy, broken sound from deep in his throat.

“Hmm… I don’t know,” she muttered, repeating the same torturous grind, sliding her soaked pussy along his entire length without ever lifting off. “You look so good when you’re like this, all tied up, flushed and begging so sweetly. Maybe I should keep you bound just a little longer…”

Another slow, sensual roll of her hips made Lohen’s breath hitch sharply. He strained hard against the vines, the magical bindings creaking as his muscles bulged with effort.

“Fuck, please,” he begged, voice cracking with raw need. “I’ll be so good for you, I swear. Just let me touch you… I need to feel you. I’m losing my mind, sweetheart. Please untie me.”

His cock throbbed angrily inside her again, another thick bead of precum mixing with his previous release as his body demanded more.

Nodding slowly, she moved, lifting her body slightly to separate from him, a gasp escaping her lips as she felt the emptiness when his dick left her, while he bit his lower lip hard, already missing being inside her. Finally, with a soft hum, she reached out and flicked her fingers. The vines responded instantly, loosening and retracting smoothly from around his wrists before disappearing entirely.

The moment the vines dissolved, Lohen didn’t waste a single second.

With a low, hungry growl, he surged upward and captured her mouth in a deep, desperate kiss. There was nothing gentle about it, it was raw need and pent-up hunger unleashed. He bit down on her lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. When she gasped, he took full advantage, sliding his tongue against hers in a heated, possessive tangle. The kiss was messy, urgent and completely intoxicating.

His hands roamed greedily over her body, finally free to touch what he’d been aching for. Strong fingers skimmed down her sides, gripped her waist, then slid up to cup her breasts possessively. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down the column of her neck, sucking and licking at her pulse point until she shivered.

Lower still, he lavished attention on her chest. He took one sensitive nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and flicking his tongue over the stiff peak. His hand kneaded the other breast firmly, thumb brushing over her nipple before pinching it lightly. He switched sides with a needy groan, giving the neglected breast the same hungry treatment, sucking, licking and grazing his teeth over her soft flesh. Every mark he left was deliberate. Dark hickeys bloomed across the curves of her breasts, along with the faint imprint of his teeth, clear signs of his claim on her. He groaned deeply against her skin, the vibrations traveling straight to her core as he worshipped her.

She arched sharply beneath him, pressing her chest closer to his mouth with a loud, breathy moan. Her fingers threaded through his dark hair, tugging hard as pleasure coursed through her. “Lohen…” she gasped, her voice wrecked and needy.

The sound of his name on her lips only seemed to spur him on. He released her nipple with a wet pop and looked up at her, eyes dark with lust, lips slightly swollen and glistening.

“You have no idea how badly I needed to touch you,” he rasped, voice rough with desire. “How crazy it drove me… being tied down without being able to touch all of you.”

And unable to stop himself, he captured her lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss, as if she were the only one capable of mitigating the craving he was experiencing.

He pulled back from the desperate kiss, breathing heavily as he hovered above her. His eyes were dark, ravenous and completely feral with need. For a moment he simply looked down at her. flushed, marked by his mouth and utterly beautiful beneath him. His cock, already hardening again with unnatural speed thanks to the aphrodisiac, throbbed hot and heavy between them, still slick from her earlier attention and the remnants of his previous releases.

Without a word, he shifted lower, his strong hands spreading her thighs wide apart. He settled firmly between them in a deep missionary position, caging her body with his own. Bracing himself on his forearms, he lined up the thick, swollen head of his cock against her dripping entrance.

With one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her and both of them moaned loudly at the overwhelming sensation. She was incredibly wet, scorching hot and still so tight around him, her walls fluttering and clenching greedily as he stretched her open.

Lohen let out a shaky, broken breath against the side of her neck. “Archons…” he groaned, voice hoarse and low. “You’re so fucking tight. Even after everything we’ve done tonight, you still feel perfect around me.”

He started moving with slow, deep rolls of his hips, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with deliberate, powerful strokes. Each thrust made her breasts bounce beautifully, the dark hickeys and bite marks he’d left earlier standing out against her flushed skin. He leaned down and captured her mouth again in a deep, messy kiss, swallowing her moans as he gradually picked up speed. Soon his thrusts grew harder, more intense. The obscene sound of skin slapping wetly against skin filled the room, accompanied by their ragged breathing and desperate, needy sounds. Lohen buried his face in the curve of her neck, sucking and biting at her sensitive skin, leaving fresh red marks and blooming hickeys that made her gasp and arch sharply beneath him.

“Lohen!” she cried out as he sank his teeth into the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“You feel incredible,” he rasped hotly against her skin, punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust. “So hot… so fucking wet. Every time I push in, you squeeze me like you never want me to leave.” He groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against her throat as he drove into her harder, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside her with every stroke. “Fuck, I can feel you pulsing around me. That fucking flower is making everything more intense… I can’t get enough of you, sweetheart.”

He hooked one of her legs over his arm, spreading her even wider, allowing him to sink impossibly deeper. The new angle made her cry out in pleasure, her nails digging hard into his back as he began pounding into her with long, powerful strokes. The head of his cock dragged perfectly against that sensitive spot inside her with every thrust, sending waves of sharp pleasure through her body.

Lohen kept kissing and biting along her neck, her collarbone, and the swell of her breasts, anywhere his mouth could reach, leaving a trail of possessive red marks. Between heavy thrusts, he whispered filthy praises against her ear, his voice rough and dripping with lust.

“I love how you take me… so deep. Can you feel how hard I am for you?” He groaned as he slammed into her again. “Even after coming so many times, I’m still so fucking full for you.”

His pace became almost punishing, fast, deep and relentless. The bed creaked loudly beneath them with every powerful thrust as he fucked her hard into the mattress. Their bodies were slick with sweat, skin gliding together sensually with every movement. Every time Lohen bottomed out inside her, a wet, filthy slap echoed through the room, accompanied by the heavy sound of his balls smacking against her ass.

And she was completely lost in pleasure, her head thrown back against the pillows as broken, unintelligible sounds spilled from her lips. The words melted into desperate whimpers and breathy cries that barely formed coherent thoughts. Each brutal thrust punched the air out of her lungs, turning her moans into high-pitched, needy noises she couldn’t control.

Unable to stop himself, Lohen captured her mouth again in a heated, messy kiss, their tongues sliding and tangling desperately while he continued driving into her without mercy. Her moans vibrated against his lips, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as she urged him even deeper.

His breathing grew more erratic, chest heaving against hers. His thrusts started losing their steady rhythm, becoming wilder and more desperate as he chased his release. “I’m…  I’m going to come again,” he groaned against her mouth, voice strained and rough. “Come with me, sweetheart, I know you are almost there… I want to feel you clenching around me when I fill you up.”

She could only respond with another string of incoherent sounds, a trembling cry mixed with a desperate whimper as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her. Her nails raked down his back, her walls fluttering and pulsing wildly around his thick cock.

With a few more brutal, deep thrusts, Lohen buried himself as far as possible and came hard. A loud, guttural groan tore from his throat as his cock pulsed violently inside her, flooding her with thick, hot spurts of his release. His entire body trembled above hers, muscles taut and straining as the intense orgasm ripped through him again and again.

She cried out sharply, her own pleasure peaking as she felt him filling her. Her walls clenched tightly around him in rhythmic spasms, milking every drop while broken, ecstatic sounds continued falling from her lips.

Even after the strongest waves passed, Lohen kept moving, slow, deep grinds of his hips, pressing himself flush against her as he drew out every last spark of pleasure for both of them. He kissed her softly through the aftershocks, swallowing her quiet, trembling whimpers while their bodies remained tightly joined.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was quiet save for the sound of their breathing gradually slowing, the last remnants of laughter, affection and exhaustion settling comfortably around them. Lohen eventually shifted, pulling back just enough to press a kiss to her forehead before collapsing beside her with a dramatic sigh.

She immediately narrowed her eyes. “That dramatic sigh means you're thinking something.”

“I would never.”

“Lohen.”

“Alright, maybe a little.”

She snorted softly and turned onto her side to look at him. His hair was thoroughly disheveled, there were bite marks scattered across his neck and shoulders, and somehow, he still managed to look entirely too pleased with himself. “How do you feel?” the question immediately brought back her researcher instincts.

Lohen considered it seriously. “Better.”

“Better?”

“Much better.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “The effects seem weaker?”

“I think so.”

For several seconds, silence settled between them. Until Lohen blinked and his expression changed.

“Oh.”

She immediately noticed. “Oh?”

He stared at the ceiling and then let out a long sigh. “Nope,” a pause. “There it is again.”

She groaned. “Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Lohen.”

“I wish I was joking, my love,” he rubbed a hand over his face.

She dropped backward onto the mattress. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Sweetheart, this is entirely your fault.”

Her head snapped toward him. “My fault?”

“Yes,” he pointed at her. “You created that thing.”

“You drank it.”

“You left it where I could find it,” he said it as if that were a valid answer.

“I told you not to take it, Lohen,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow. “I offered you the antidote!” Lohen smiled at her words, the audacity of that bastard. “Honestly,” she declared, sitting up, “I should leave you here to suffer the consequences of your own actions, I've already done too much.”

She made a show of climbing out of bed.  “Sweetheart,” the wounded tone immediately made her suspicious, so she ignored it. A second later she heard: “Sweetheart.” even more pathetic that time. “You wouldn't abandon a wounded knight, would you?”

She laughed. “Oh, now you're wounded?”

“I am suffering tremendously.”

“Somehow I don't believe that.”

Before she could escape any farther, strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her backward. A startled laugh escaped her as she landed against his chest.

“Lohen!”

“You can't leave, my love.”

“Yes, I can.”

“No.”

“That's not how that works.”

“It is today, you can’t leave me.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn't stop smiling. Then she suddenly froze, upon feeling something firm against her belly. “Wait.” Lohen looked entirely too innocent.

She pointed accusingly.

“Is that...?”

“Mhm.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

“Archons above.”

His grin widened. “That would be the effect you have on me.”

“You are impossible.”

“You've said that several times tonight.”

“Because it's true.”

He laughed and buried his face briefly against her shoulder, the sound warmed her from the inside out. When he finally looked at her again, his eyes were bright with mischief.

“So...”

“No.”

“You don't even know what I was going to say,” he blurted out with mock indignation.

“I absolutely know what you were going to say.”

His grin became completely shameless. “Still.”

“Lohen.”

“Sweetheart.”

She tried very hard not to laugh but failed immediately, and his smile softened.

“Looks like we might be here a while.”

She groaned dramatically and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. “This is why Albedo says I shouldn't test experimental compounds at home.”

“Well,” Lohen began, unable to suppress a smile. “I think you should keep doing it.”

She immediately narrowed her eyes. “That is not the lesson you're supposed to take from this.”

“I disagree.”

“Lohen.”

“Sweetheart.”

The smile on his face only widened. “I think you should keep experimenting, with me as the test subject, especially if the experiments are going to be like this one. This is by far my favorite investigation,” he declared, and it was clear that although he was joking, there was truth in his words. “In fact, I think we should try it again after the effect of this one wears off. Perhaps you should do something to increase our energy, if we're going to be up all night...”

She slapped him on the arm, causing a laugh to escape his lips. “Shut up, we're not going to do this again, ever."

“Mhm, say what you want sweetheart, but we both know that's a fucking lie.”

“It is not.”

“It absolutely is.”

“It isn't.”

“Mhm,” the infuriatingly knowing look remained firmly in place. “Maybe I should ask Varka for the contact information for the people in Sumeru to see if they can get us more of those flowers.”

She sat upright so quickly she nearly headbutted him. “No””

Lohen blinked. “No?”

“No,” she pointed a threatening finger at him. “Do not ask Varka.”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Compelling argument,” he said, stifling a laugh.

“Lohen.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Neither Varka nor anyone else needs to know about this.” The amusement in his eyes intensified. “I mean it.”

“Then how exactly do you intend to stop me from doing it?”

“I'll go get the flowers myself, if necessary,” the words left her mouth and silence followed. Her eyes widened while Lohen's grin became positively wicked.

“Ah…”

“No, don’t.”

“So, you do want this to happen again,” he blurted out in an arrogant tone.

She buried her face in her hands. “You are the worst.”

His laughter filled the room, warm and victorious, entirely too pleased with himself. “I knew it.”

“You know nothing.”

“I know enough.”

She groaned, because he looked unbearably smug. “If I start planning a trip to Sumeru…”

“If you finish that sentence,” she interrupted, pointing at him again. “The only company you're going to have for the rest of the night until the effects wear off is your own hand.”

Lohen looked genuinely horrified, utterly scandalized, and the reaction was so immediate that she almost laughed.

“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t…”

“Try me.”

“That's cruel.”

“Try me.”

He opened his mouth again, but she didn't even let him finish. “Just shut up.”

Then she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him and the rest of his protest disappeared instantly. A pleased sound escaped him as his arms wrapped around her waist, hopeless, completely hopeless.

But then again, so was she.

And judging by the laughter that lingered between kisses, neither of them seemed especially bothered by the prospect of spending the next several hours dealing with the consequences.

[foolishleclerc]

vice-captain down - lohen

pairing: lohen x fem! witch, dendro user reader summary: lohen expected to pick up a shipment for varka. he did not expect to get pinned to a post by magical ivy and immediately fall in love with the woman threatening him with a dagger. warnings: varka being varka, love at first sight, lohen is down bad, flirting, accidental meet cute, suggestive themes and sexual tension, weapon threats, no use of Y/N, third person narration. english is not my first language, i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. word count: 5.5k a/n: this was supposed to be something much shorter, to post while i plan and write other things, but oh well… i hope you like it as much as i do! thank you so much for reading :))

The cottage sat at the edge of Starfell Valley where the trees thickened enough to swallow the noise of Mondstadt whole. Ivy crawled over the stone walls in dark green spirals, silver bells hung from the eaves chiming softly whenever the wind brushed through them, and faint golden light glowed behind the round windows despite the late hour.

Inside, dried herbs hung from wooden beams in neat bundles. Lavender, mint, valberry leaves and more. Jars of powders and glowing fungi lined shelves beside simmering cauldrons, and the entire house smelled faintly of cedar smoke and flowers after rain.

She preferred it that way. Silent, warm, and calm, away from the city, far from the daily hustle and bustle, far from the endless bustle of knights and commissions and people who only ever sought witches when they needed something. Which, admittedly, was often. She enjoyed being alone in her own space, in her cottage accompanied by her ingredients, her books, her record player and her cat. And although she enjoyed solitude, there were some people in Mondstadt whom she liked, or at least tolerated much more than the rest.

Like Lisa, who always arrived with some dessert and gossip to share, as well as new books that might interest him.

Mona, who would go to see her for advice and support as if she were an older sister, while enjoying the food she prepared for her, knowing about the issue Mona had with money.

Jean, whom she adored for her tranquility, for the peace she transmitted to her every time she went to visit her at her home, especially since Varka’s return as she had a little more free time.

And Varka himself.

Although Varka had somewhat forced his way into her life, and unfortunately for her it was difficult to say no to him, he had become, much to her dismay, a good friend. Which was exactly why she had spent the last three days preparing medicinal tinctures and accelerated healing potions for the expedition team currently stationed far from Mondstadt.

The final vial clicked softly onto the wooden crate. “There,” she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything ready, I think I have everything Varka asked for,” she said to the air, even though it was just her and her cat there.

A soft meow answered from nearby, her black cat blinked lazily at her from atop the counter. “Yeah, I know, you don’t have to tell me,” she sighed. “He’s late, again, to no one's surprise.” He had promised he would retrieve the shipment before sundown, and the sky outside was already sinking into indigo.

After carefully finishing sealing the jar, she placed it to one side with the others, and then headed towards the stove to heat the kettle.

And it was then that she could perceive the sound of a series of footsteps, soft footsteps, almost mapped out on her garden patio, as if whoever was there was treading deliberately with too much care.

That wasn't Varka, the mere sound of the footsteps was more than enough to know it wasn't him, because Varka stomped around like the Anemo Archon himself had personally declared stealth illegal.

There was an intruder. No one went to that area, and those who did, her friends, usually warned her beforehand, no one appeared unannounced, and knights and travelers were advised to avoid that specific area.

Moving carefully, without making a sound and avoiding being seen through the window, she approached the kitchen counter where a dagger was resting next to the chopping board, gripping it tightly between her fingers. She could hear the sound of the wind ringing the bell outside, and along with that she heard the sound of the gate being opened, which was then preceded by the sound of footsteps again.

Her eyes narrowed and the air in the cottage changed immediately, dendro energy threading beneath her skin in quiet anticipation as she extinguished the lantern with a flick of her fingers. Through the window she could see the shadow of a figure, she couldn't glean too much information from it, but it was clear that it was a man, perhaps a little taller than her.

The sound of knocking on the door echoed through the place, the music that had previously filled the air was now completely silent, and his cat watched curiously from its spot, as if it were not a critical situation. For a few seconds there was silence, only the tinkling of the bells outside, and then the handle of the front door moved slightly, as if someone were trying to open it.

And the moment it opened, vines exploded from the wooden floorboards.

The man barely had time to react before thick green ivy snapped around his wrist and yanked him violently forward, his spear clattered across the floor. Another vine coiled around his ankle while a third wrapped around his waist hard enough to slam him against one of the support posts near the staircase. She hadn't even given him time to defend himself, quickly gaining control of the situation in her favor.

“What the hell— “

A stream of dendro that shout out of her made the vines' grip stronger, causing his body to slam against the post again, stealing a groan from his lips, before he opened his eyes disoriented, surprised.

The dagger she held in her hand rested near his neck, its edge gleaming in the rays of the setting sun. “Who the hell are you?” she said, bringing the dagger's edge closer to his neck, allowing him to feel the cold metal.

The stranger blinked once. Twice.

And then, to her utter disbelief, he smiled.

It wasn't a nervous or scared smile, but a real smile, as if he were enjoying the situation.

Her eyes narrowed further.

Slightly taller than her, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, with a mole under his right eye and with sharp eyes that should have looked intimidating if not for the fact he currently seemed entirely distracted by staring at her face, and that smile on his lips, as if he were living his best moment.

“…You’re not Varka,” she muttered, analyzing his face, looking for something that might tell her who the hell he was.

“No,” he agreed softly, with a voice that sound warm, the kind of voice that sounded entirely too amused for a man currently tied to a wooden post by aggressive magical ivy.

The vines tightened slightly around his arms when he shifted. But instead of complaining, of uttering a curse, of letting an expression of pain appear on his face, his smile deepened.

Something flickered across his face, something that seemed similar to enjoyment, entertainment, even pleasure.

Her brows slowly furrowed, confused by his reaction. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

His gaze deliberately slid, slowly as if he were performing a detailed scan, from her face to the delicate, shimmering dendro vision hanging at her waist. And finally, he raised his gaze again, settling on her lips, unable to resist licking his own at the sight of those lips that seemed to beckon him.

“I am trying to decide,” he said, smooth as silk. “If getting attacked by beautiful witches is a common occurrence around this part of Mondstadt or if I’m uniquely fortunate.”

She watched him silently, the confusion more than evident in her gaze, which made everything more entertaining for him. For a few seconds they both remained silent, simply observing each other face to face, he being able to feel the cold of the dagger's edge still grazing his neck.

Then another vine snapped around his chest and tightened hard enough to pin him flatter against the post. His breath caught slightly, but not in pain. Not if she took into account the way his face had contorted in an expression of excitement, of anticipation, as if he were waiting to see what else she wanted to do to him. As if he even longed for it.

Archons preserve her.

Was he really enjoying being in that position with her? Wasn't it just a facade?

“You broke into my house,” she accused.

"I didn't even open the door," he said, as if that were nothing.

"That's still trespassing."

He tilted his head slightly, nodding. “Well... you have a point.” His eyes glittering, still smiling, still entirely too calm. Her grip on the dagger tightened.

“Who sent you?”

The question finally seemed to drag him slightly back to reality, though not much.

“Varka,” he answered immediately. “I am the Vice-Captain Lohen, Fifth Company of the Knights of Favonius.”

At the title, she hesitated slightly. Only slightly.

“And why,” she asked carefully, “would Varka send you here instead of coming himself as we had agreed?”

“To retrieve a shipment of healing tinctures, Varka was busy training the new recruits and sent me in his place.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the crate behind her before returning immediately to her face. “Though admittedly, he neglected to mention the part where I’d be assaulted upon arrival.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You could always search my coat, feel around to see if I have anything unusual.” The way he said it made her narrow her eyes instantly.

“That sounded intentional, as if you really wanted me to do it.”

“It was, sweetheart.”

The bastard actually looked pleased with himself.

Her cat jumped onto a nearby shelf, tail swishing judgmentally while she continued glaring at him.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Varka would have warned me.”

“That,” Lohen said, “does sound like something he should have done. But it seems that wasn't the case.” The ivy around his wrists shifted again as he adjusted experimentally, he looked down at the vines and then back at her. “…These are impressive, by the way, and very tight.” She raised an eyebrow, he was trapped under her control and now he was praising her? There was something wrong with that man, what he had in good looks he probably also had in his madness.

And something must have been very wrong with her too, because she felt a tingling in her stomach at that.

His smile widened. Archons, he was absolutely doing this on purpose.

“You enjoy being restrained?” she asked before she could stop herself, the question slipped out sharp and incredulous.

Lohen looked genuinely delighted by it. “Only under very specific circumstances.”

Heat flashed instantly across her face and his eyes immediately caught it, which only motivated him more.

“Oh, you’re blushing now,” he murmured, his tone full of mischief.

“You’re tied to a post.”

“And having a wonderful evening so far, sweetheart,” he smiled sincerely, to confirm his words. "Aren't you?"

She opened her mouth to respond when suddenly a shrill chime echoed through the cottage. Both of them glanced toward the table, a small device no larger than a lantern sat glowing softly and vibrating atop the wood. A modified dodocommunicator, with a small screen that allowed you to see who was on the other side.

The screen flickered and then Varka’s face appeared. “Well! There you are—”

She stared at him in disbelief, releasing her grip on the dagger to reach for the device, Lohen still tied up behind her.

“You.”

Varka blinked, then squinted. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You forgot to tell me you were sending someone,” she murmured,

“Oh.”

She raised an eyebrow, slightly moving the device to show Lohen that it was still attached to the post with glowing ivy, still smiling.

Seeing that, Varka burst out laughing, so loudly it crackled through the device. “Oh, this is incredible,” he said, laughing, moving closer to the device to try to see them better.

Lohen sighed deeply, without losing his smile, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “She’s very welcoming, another thing you forgot to mention Varka.”

“You deserved it,” she muttered.

“I absolutely did not,” Lohen shook his head, trying to look innocent, but his smile and mischievous gaze gave him away completely.

Varka was still laughing, actually wiping tears from his eyes. “This— this is the best thing that’s happened all week.”

“You could have warned me,” she snapped.

“I thought I did it, I swear.”

"It would have been useful to know that someone I didn't even know by sight was coming, so I wouldn't think they were trying to rob me."

"But— But he was wearing the knights' uniform, didn't you see?" Varka said, trying to get out of the situation, he knew how fierce she could be when she got angry.

"Oh, please Varka, as if anyone couldn't steal a uniform and pass themselves off as one, it wouldn't be the first time."

Varka sighed, knowing that she was right. “Okay, you’re right. Sorry, I forgot, but I was busy.”

She snorted. “Your favorite pastime is delegating your responsibilities to Jean, tell that story to someone else.”

Lohen made a very poorly concealed sound that suspiciously resembled a cough hiding laughter. His eyes watched her in wonder, he really liked that she didn't keep quiet about anything and stood up to even the Grand Master.

Varka pointed accusingly through the screen. “You're lucky I adore you, not everyone talks to me like that.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing that Varka cared for her too much to seriously reproach her, and all three of them were aware of the truth in her words when speaking of Jean. “How can you say that to me when you practically begged me to be friends? “

"Shhh, that had to stay between us! I have a reputation to uphold."

“Mhm, whatever you say Grand Master,” she blurted out with amusement, while Lohen continued to gaze at her in ecstasy, as if she were the most incredible person he had ever seen.

“So,” Varka said far too casually, “has Lohen caused any trouble?”

Lohen smiled lazily from where he remained restrained. “None whatsoever,” he said smoothly, eyes fixed entirely on her, almost as if Varka did not exist even though he was responding to him. “In fact, I’d say I’m more than fine, the company is… amazing.”

The implication hit instantly, heat rushed back into her cheeks. And Varka, being so perceptive, of course noticed it.

“Oh, this is even better than I thought.”

“Varka,” she warned.

“What? I’m just saying—“ he began in a playful tone. “The least you can do after attacking the poor man is invite him in for tea.”

"I want to make it clear that I wasn't bothered at all by being attacked by her," Lohen interjected, causing her to turn and look at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. "It was a pleasant surprise."

"For Archon's sake, what kind of people are they accepting into the Knights now? Is there some kind of test to see how mentally unstable they are?” she murmured, still feeling the blush rising up her neck and face, and that tingling again in her belly. "This one here isn't right”

Lohen's laughter, deep and seductive, reached her ears, and judging by the reaction it caused in her, seeing his face out of the corner of her eye and thinking how attractive he looked like that, she wasn't right either.

Varka nearly choked laughing again. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Varka wheezed. “He’s fine! I'd even say he's doing more than well, look at his face, it looks like it's his birthday.”

“This is your fault.”

“Yeah,” Varka agreed cheerfully. “But now you have to deal with the consequences.”

Lohen shifted slightly against the vines again. “No rush,” he said. “I’m quite comfortable.”

She shot him a look, noticing that he looked unbearably pleased with himself.

Varka grinned knowingly from the communicator. “Well,” he said, voice suddenly suspiciously innocent. “Good luck to both of you.”

The screen went black before either of them could respond and silence filled the cottage again. The two of them were alone, because even her cat had left, leaving her with the knight.

Slowly, she turned back toward Lohen. Still tied up, still extremely handsome, still staring at her like she had personally descended from Celestia to ruin him, as if she were a dessert he eagerly wanted to taste.

"You seem too comfortable in your position, even having the nerve to flirt with me so shamelessly,” she said, taking a step towards him, noticing how his gaze seemed to darken, the black of his pupil overshadowing the color.

"I can stop if you want," he replied quietly, seriously.

“…You sound disappointed by the idea.”

“I am.”

Another pulse of warmth spread across her face at his words and the ease with which he uttered them.

With a sigh, she lifted her hand. The ivy loosened immediately, unwinding from his wrists and torso before retreating slowly across the floorboards. Lohen rolled one shoulder once he was free, stretching his arms slightly, and then he bent to retrieve his spear. But instead of immediately stepping away, he walked directly toward her, slowly, deliberately, as if he were a hunter stalking his prey, until only inches remained between them.

Her breath caught despite herself, he was even taller when he wasn't tied up and stood in front of her like that. One gloved hand gently took hers before she could react. Then, with effortless elegance, Lohen bowed slightly and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles, his eyes never left hers.

“I should tell you,” he murmured. “There’s usually a dinner involved before I let someone tie me up.”

Her lips twitched despite every effort to remain serious. “Oh, really?”

What was she doing? Why was she playing along?

“Mhm,” his thumb brushed lightly against the back of her hand. “Though for you, I’d be willing to reverse the order.”

He was a dangerous man, clearly out of his mind, but that didn't make him any less attractive, any less captivating. It's not like she was entirely sane, after all, she was a witch. And she could play hard to get all she wanted, but she was more than aware that she liked all of it, it made him far more interesting than any other man who had ever tried to approach her before.

She laughed softly then, unable not to. At that moment, with that image before his eyes, Lohen discovered that there were simpler ways to ruin a man completely than with magic, like her laughter for example.

“You use lines like that often?”

Lohen tilted his head thoughtfully. “No,” he said honestly. “You’re actually the first woman who’s ever pinned me to a post with magical vines.”

“…What an honor.”

“It truly is.”

The way he looked at her made warmth curl low in her stomach. Not playful now, not entirely, there was still teasing there but beneath it sat genuine fascination, wonder, like he genuinely could not believe she existed.

“And,” he continued softly, stepping just slightly closer, “if I’m particularly lucky… perhaps the last and only one.” Her pulse skipped, while his gaze dropped briefly to her mouth and the returned to her eyes. “…Though,” he added, voice lowering. “I certainly wouldn’t object if it happened again under different circumstances.”

The implication in his tone sent heat rushing through her all over again. She tilted her head slightly.

“Careful, Vice-Captain.”

“Mhm?”

“You sound very eager to end up restrained again.”

Lohen smiled slowly. “If it’s by you?” he murmured. “Absolutely. No victory on the battlefield has ever felt as incredible as that, and I love to fight.”

Archons.

She should throw him back outside. Instead, she found herself stepping closer too, close enough now to catch the faint scent of leather, steel and cedar clinging to him. Close enough to notice the way his breathing subtly changed when her fingers lightly brushed the front of his uniform.

“Maybe,” she said softly, “next time you should announce yourself before entering a witch’s home.”

“Maybe,” Lohen replied, eyes darkening with amusement, “next time I’ll intentionally forget, if that leads me to this.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. And judging by the utterly smitten look on his face, Lohen seemed to decide right then and there that he had just won the lottery.

She should have stepped away, that was the sensible thing to do. Instead, she stayed exactly where she was, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to notice the smug little curve of his mouth every time her gaze flickered briefly toward it.

Lohen looked entirely too pleased for a man who had been ambushed twenty minutes ago.

Though, admittedly, he also looked entirely too handsome leaning there in the middle of her cottage with his spear resting casually against one shoulder and ivy leaves still caught in the silver strands of his hair. One of the vines had even left faint green marks along his wrists.

His eyes caught her staring, the bastard smiled immediately. “You’re admiring your work.”

“I'm considering whether I should tie you up again and, while I'm at it, shut you up for a bit.” 

“Making me promises already, sweetheart?”

He was danger, a temptation made flesh.

A breath of laughter escaped her despite herself. Lohen’s expression softened slightly at the sound, like hearing her laugh had done something irreversible to him. Which, honestly, judging by the way he kept looking at her maybe it had.

The kettle in the kitchen began whistling softly, but neither of them moved. Then finally, she tilted her head toward the doorway.

“Well,” she said lightly, “since Varka apparently volunteered me to entertain his Vice-Captain…” Lohen’s brows lifted with immediate interest. “…I suppose I can allow you inside for tea.”

“Just tea?” he asked smoothly.

The look she gave him was slow and deliberate. “Oh,” she murmured, turning toward the kitchen, “I imagine that depends entirely on your behavior.”

The man nearly looked like he stopped breathing.

She could feel his stare burning into her back as she walked away, entirely aware of the sway of her hips beneath the loose fabric of her dress. And when she glanced back over her shoulder, Lohen was still standing there staring at her like she had personally rewritten the laws of Teyvat.

“…Vice-Captain?”

He blinked once, dragged violently back to reality. “Right,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. Tea. Of course.”

She smiled faintly to herself and disappeared into the kitchen. A second later, she heard him murmur under his breath: “I’m going to marry this woman.”

Her lips twitched instantly. “You know I can hear you, right?”

“Good,” Lohen replied without a shred of shame.

She laughed softly again as she began preparing the tea set.

Behind her came the quiet sound of boots against wooden floors before his presence settled near enough to send warmth curling along the back of her neck. He leaned one shoulder against the doorway, arms crossed loosely now, watching her with utterly shameless admiration.

“So,” she asked while reaching for the teacups, “do all Knights of Favonius flirt this aggressively after being threatened with a dagger?”

“No,” Lohen said immediately.

“Just you?”

“Just me when I’m standing in a candlelit cottage with a beautiful witch who tied me to a post and then invited me inside afterward.”

“…You make that sound strangely romantic.”

“It was strangely romantic.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said smoothly, stepping closer, “you still invited me in.”

That low warmth returned to her stomach instantly.

Arrogant man.

Though the way he looked at her, like she was something precious, something devastating. Something he already wanted more of… It made it very difficult to stay unaffected.

She handed him a teacup, their fingers brushed. Lohen looked down at their hands briefly before meeting her eyes again. "Did you put something strange in this?" he asked, looking down at the teacup.

"No... what would I gain from that? A body I'd have to get rid of? I'm not in the mood to bury someone today."

No enchantment or potion had ever ruined a man this quickly before, and she managed it even without casting a single spell.

“Well... anyway, if I die tonight,” he said solemnly, “I want it officially recorded that I died the happiest man in Mondstadt.”

Her brows lifted. “That dramatic already?”

“You attacked me, pinned me against a wall, looked at me like you might kill me, then invited me into your house afterward.” He took a slow sip of tea without breaking eye contact. “I found the woman of my dreams.”

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “You don’t even know me, Lohen.”

“I know enough, sweetheart.”

“And what exactly do you know?”

Lohen stepped closer again, close enough now that she had to tilt her head slightly upward to hold his gaze. “I know,” he murmured, “that you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” Heat flickered across her cheeks. “I know you live alone in the middle of nowhere because peace matters more to you than attention.” His fingers brushed lightly against her wrist. “I know you’re powerful enough to disarm a knight twice your size without hesitation.”

His voice dropped lower.

“And I know,” he continued softly, eyes darkening with unmistakable intent, “that every time you threaten me, I like you more.”

Her breath caught slightly, that man was impossible. Impossibly irresistible.

“Careful,” she whispered.

“With?”

“You’re looking at me like you plan on staying.”

Lohen smiled slowly. “If you keep looking back at me like that,” he said, “I may never leave.” It was no longer the vines on his wrists that kept him there in the cottage, but her, with her words, her gaze, her smile...

Silence settled between them then. Warm, heavy and charged.

The candles flickered softly around the room, golden light dancing across his face while the wind outside rattled gently through the ivy climbing the cottage walls.

Neither of them moved away.

Lohen simply kept looking at her with that same devastating expression, amused, fascinated, hungry. Like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real.

And the feeling was becoming dangerously mutual.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured softly.

“I know.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“I don’t think self-awareness is helping me much right now.”

A quiet laugh escaped her.

Lohen visibly melted at the sound of it, actually melted. His shoulders loosened, his smile softened, and for one brief moment the shameless flirting slipped enough for her to catch something unexpectedly genuine underneath all that confidence.

He was completely gone for her already.

That realization sent a dangerous little thrill through her chest.

She took a slow sip from her teacup without looking away from him.

“What exactly is going through your mind right now, Vice-Captain?”

Lohen exhaled a soft breath through his nose. “You truly want an honest answer?”

“That depends. Is it scandalous?”

“Extremely.”

Her lips twitched upward. “Then there's no doubt that I want to know.”

He set his teacup down carefully onto the counter beside him before stepping closer again. Not rushed, not hesitant either, just certain, until there was barely any space left between them at all.

“I think,” he said slowly, voice low and warm enough to send heat down her spine, “that if you asked me to stay here forever, I would.”

Her breath caught slightly despite herself and judging by the look in his eyes… He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You’re very bold for a man who got overpowered in under a minute.”

Lohen grinned lazily. “In my defense, I was distracted.”

“By what?”

“You,” the answer came instantly, too instantly. Like there had never been any other possibility. His gaze dipped briefly to her mouth again before returning to her eyes.

“And now,” he continued softly, “I’m standing in a witch’s cottage drinking tea while she looks at me like she’s deciding whether to kiss me or ruin my life.”

“Maybe both.”

His smile widened immediately. “Archons,” he murmured. “Please, I would gladly submit to that, to you.”

Heat curled low in her stomach at the sound, the confidence, the teasing in his tone. The fact he somehow made wanting her sound almost reverent.

Her fingers toyed absently with the edge of her teacup before she tilted her head slightly. "Don't you think people will start talking if they see you've been gone for so long?"

“I intend to stay much longer than I already have… If you’ll have me.”

“And the shipment for Varka?”

“He can wait,” he quickly dismissed the matter.

“You’re abandoning your duties?”

“More like I’m prioritizing my future.”

That made her laugh again, softer this time. Lohen looked entirely too pleased with himself for causing it. Then his expression shifted subtly as his eyes traced over her face once more. Slower now, more intent, while his hand brushed gently against hers where it rested near the counter.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve found the woman I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life bothering.”

She watched him, raising an eyebrow.  “That quickly?”

“I’m efficient.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m in love already, actually, but insane probably too.”

That one caught her off guard enough that she actually looked away for a second, smiling helplessly despite herself. Lohen noticed that too, his voice softened immediately. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“That look,” his thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles. “The one that makes me want to stay.”

The warmth in her chest deepened dangerously.

Archons, this man.

She should have been alarmed by how quickly he affected her.

Instead, she found herself stepping even closer until the fabric of his uniform brushed lightly against her sleeves.

Close enough now that his breathing slowed.

Close enough that his eyes darkened instantly.

Her voice dropped softer.

“Careful, Vice-Captain,” for archon’s sake, how he loved it when she referred to him that way.

“With you?”

“Mhm.”

Lohen smiled slowly.

“I don’t think careful is a word in my vocabulary, sweetheart.”

Then his gaze flickered toward the hallway leading deeper into the cottage before returning to her face with unmistakably sinful amusement.

“…So,” he murmured, “is this the part where we continue pretending you invited me in only for tea?”

Heat flooded straight through her and he looked devastatingly satisfied by the reaction.

The smug bastard.

She reached up slowly, fingers curling around the front of his uniform near the collar. And then, leaning just enough to brush her lips near his ear, she whispered, “That depends.”

Lohen went completely still. “On?”

Her nails dragged lightly against his chest as she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again. “Whether you behave,” she murmured. The sound that left him was somewhere between a laugh and complete surrender.

“Archons, I will be the most obedient man if you ask me to,” Lohen breathed, staring at her like she was something catastrophic for his self-control. “You do realize I’m completely at your mercy now, right?”

Her brows lifted faintly, amused. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” his hands settled loosely at her waist, careful despite the heat simmering in his gaze. “I’m serious. I don’t think there’s anything you could ask of me tonight that I wouldn’t do.”

A slow smile curved against her lips. “That sounds dangerous.”

“For me? Absolutely.”

She hummed softly, her fingers still curled around the front of his uniform. “And if I asked you to get on your knees?”

The answer came immediately. “I would.”

No hesitation, no embarrassment, just complete and devastating sincerity. Lohen had met plenty of witches before and none of them had ever made him willing to kneel without using magic.

The heat that rushed through her nearly made her lose composure entirely.

Lohen noticed instantly, looking unbearably pleased with himself.

“And if I told you to stay?” she asked softly.

“I’d stay.”

“To leave Mondstadt behind?”

“I’d pack my things tonight.”

“To jump?”

“I’d ask how high while already doing it.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Lohen looked completely ruined by the sound, smiling like he’d just been handed the greatest treasure in Teyvat. “There,” he murmured quietly, almost dazed. “That laugh again. Archons, I’m finished.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m devoted… to you,” the words landed warmer than they should have. Especially with the way he was looking at her now, teasing still, yes, but underneath it sat something frighteningly genuine. Like he truly meant every word.

His forehead dipped lightly against hers. “And the worst part,” he murmured softly, “is that I don’t even mind.”

Her fingers slid slowly up the front of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath the fabric of his uniform. “No?”

“Not even a little,” his smile turned dangerously soft. “I think you could ruin my entire life and I’d thank you for it afterward.”

She shook her head, laughing quietly under her breath.

“Looks like you fell hard, uh?”

“I fell the moment you pinned me against that post.”

“And here I thought knights were supposed to resist danger.”

“Oh, I fully intend to surrender to this one.” The warmth in her chest deepened helplessly at that. Then Lohen’s gaze flickered once more toward the hallway deeper inside the cottage before returning to her with shameless intent.

It should’ve concerned him how quickly he became obsessed with her. Instead, Lohen found himself hoping it would only get worse.

“…So,” he murmured, voice dropping low again. “Should I continue proving how obedient I can be, or are you finally going to kiss me?”

[foolishleclerc]

...

If I were to make a sequel, what would you prefer it to be like?

with nsfw content (+18)

without nsfw content

Voting ended onMay 19

[foolishleclerc]

vice-captain down - lohen

pairing: lohen x fem! witch, dendro user reader summary: lohen expected to pick up a shipment for varka. he did not expect to get pinned to a post by magical ivy and immediately fall in love with the woman threatening him with a dagger. warnings: varka being varka, love at first sight, lohen is down bad, flirting, accidental meet cute, suggestive themes and sexual tension, weapon threats, no use of Y/N, third person narration. english is not my first language, i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. word count: 5.5k a/n: this was supposed to be something much shorter, to post while i plan and write other things, but oh well… i hope you like it as much as i do! thank you so much for reading :))

part 2 (nsfw)

The cottage sat at the edge of Starfell Valley where the trees thickened enough to swallow the noise of Mondstadt whole. Ivy crawled over the stone walls in dark green spirals, silver bells hung from the eaves chiming softly whenever the wind brushed through them, and faint golden light glowed behind the round windows despite the late hour.

Inside, dried herbs hung from wooden beams in neat bundles. Lavender, mint, valberry leaves and more. Jars of powders and glowing fungi lined shelves beside simmering cauldrons, and the entire house smelled faintly of cedar smoke and flowers after rain.

She preferred it that way. Silent, warm, and calm, away from the city, far from the daily hustle and bustle, far from the endless bustle of knights and commissions and people who only ever sought witches when they needed something. Which, admittedly, was often. She enjoyed being alone in her own space, in her cottage accompanied by her ingredients, her books, her record player and her cat. And although she enjoyed solitude, there were some people in Mondstadt whom she liked, or at least tolerated much more than the rest.

Like Lisa, who always arrived with some dessert and gossip to share, as well as new books that might interest him.

Mona, who would go to see her for advice and support as if she were an older sister, while enjoying the food she prepared for her, knowing about the issue Mona had with money.

Jean, whom she adored for her tranquility, for the peace she transmitted to her every time she went to visit her at her home, especially since Varka’s return as she had a little more free time.

And Varka himself.

Although Varka had somewhat forced his way into her life, and unfortunately for her it was difficult to say no to him, he had become, much to her dismay, a good friend. Which was exactly why she had spent the last three days preparing medicinal tinctures and accelerated healing potions for the expedition team currently stationed far from Mondstadt.

The final vial clicked softly onto the wooden crate. “There,” she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Everything ready, I think I have everything Varka asked for,” she said to the air, even though it was just her and her cat there.

A soft meow answered from nearby, her black cat blinked lazily at her from atop the counter. “Yeah, I know, you don’t have to tell me,” she sighed. “He’s late, again, to no one's surprise.” He had promised he would retrieve the shipment before sundown, and the sky outside was already sinking into indigo.

After carefully finishing sealing the jar, she placed it to one side with the others, and then headed towards the stove to heat the kettle.

And it was then that she could perceive the sound of a series of footsteps, soft footsteps, almost mapped out on her garden patio, as if whoever was there was treading deliberately with too much care.

That wasn't Varka, the mere sound of the footsteps was more than enough to know it wasn't him, because Varka stomped around like the Anemo Archon himself had personally declared stealth illegal.

There was an intruder. No one went to that area, and those who did, her friends, usually warned her beforehand, no one appeared unannounced, and knights and travelers were advised to avoid that specific area.

Moving carefully, without making a sound and avoiding being seen through the window, she approached the kitchen counter where a dagger was resting next to the chopping board, gripping it tightly between her fingers. She could hear the sound of the wind ringing the bell outside, and along with that she heard the sound of the gate being opened, which was then preceded by the sound of footsteps again.

Her eyes narrowed and the air in the cottage changed immediately, dendro energy threading beneath her skin in quiet anticipation as she extinguished the lantern with a flick of her fingers. Through the window she could see the shadow of a figure, she couldn't glean too much information from it, but it was clear that it was a man, perhaps a little taller than her.

The sound of knocking on the door echoed through the place, the music that had previously filled the air was now completely silent, and his cat watched curiously from its spot, as if it were not a critical situation. For a few seconds there was silence, only the tinkling of the bells outside, and then the handle of the front door moved slightly, as if someone were trying to open it.

And the moment it opened, vines exploded from the wooden floorboards.

The man barely had time to react before thick green ivy snapped around his wrist and yanked him violently forward, his spear clattered across the floor. Another vine coiled around his ankle while a third wrapped around his waist hard enough to slam him against one of the support posts near the staircase. She hadn't even given him time to defend himself, quickly gaining control of the situation in her favor.

“What the hell— “

A stream of dendro that shout out of her made the vines' grip stronger, causing his body to slam against the post again, stealing a groan from his lips, before he opened his eyes disoriented, surprised.

The dagger she held in her hand rested near his neck, its edge gleaming in the rays of the setting sun. “Who the hell are you?” she said, bringing the dagger's edge closer to his neck, allowing him to feel the cold metal.

The stranger blinked once. Twice.

And then, to her utter disbelief, he smiled.

It wasn't a nervous or scared smile, but a real smile, as if he were enjoying the situation.

Her eyes narrowed further.

Slightly taller than her, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, with a mole under his right eye and with sharp eyes that should have looked intimidating if not for the fact he currently seemed entirely distracted by staring at her face, and that smile on his lips, as if he were living his best moment.

“…You’re not Varka,” she muttered, analyzing his face, looking for something that might tell her who the hell he was.

“No,” he agreed softly, with a voice that sound warm, the kind of voice that sounded entirely too amused for a man currently tied to a wooden post by aggressive magical ivy.

The vines tightened slightly around his arms when he shifted. But instead of complaining, of uttering a curse, of letting an expression of pain appear on his face, his smile deepened.

Something flickered across his face, something that seemed similar to enjoyment, entertainment, even pleasure.

Her brows slowly furrowed, confused by his reaction. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

His gaze deliberately slid, slowly as if he were performing a detailed scan, from her face to the delicate, shimmering dendro vision hanging at her waist. And finally, he raised his gaze again, settling on her lips, unable to resist licking his own at the sight of those lips that seemed to beckon him.

“I am trying to decide,” he said, smooth as silk. “If getting attacked by beautiful witches is a common occurrence around this part of Mondstadt or if I’m uniquely fortunate.”

She watched him silently, the confusion more than evident in her gaze, which made everything more entertaining for him. For a few seconds they both remained silent, simply observing each other face to face, he being able to feel the cold of the dagger's edge still grazing his neck.

Then another vine snapped around his chest and tightened hard enough to pin him flatter against the post. His breath caught slightly, but not in pain. Not if she took into account the way his face had contorted in an expression of excitement, of anticipation, as if he were waiting to see what else she wanted to do to him. As if he even longed for it.

Archons preserve her.

Was he really enjoying being in that position with her? Wasn't it just a facade?

“You broke into my house,” she accused.

"I didn't even open the door," he said, as if that were nothing.

"That's still trespassing."

He tilted his head slightly, nodding. “Well... you have a point.” His eyes glittering, still smiling, still entirely too calm. Her grip on the dagger tightened.

“Who sent you?”

The question finally seemed to drag him slightly back to reality, though not much.

“Varka,” he answered immediately. “I am the Vice-Captain Lohen, Fifth Company of the Knights of Favonius.”

At the title, she hesitated slightly. Only slightly.

“And why,” she asked carefully, “would Varka send you here instead of coming himself as we had agreed?”

“To retrieve a shipment of healing tinctures, Varka was busy training the new recruits and sent me in his place.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the crate behind her before returning immediately to her face. “Though admittedly, he neglected to mention the part where I’d be assaulted upon arrival.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You could always search my coat, feel around to see if I have anything unusual.” The way he said it made her narrow her eyes instantly.

“That sounded intentional, as if you really wanted me to do it.”

“It was, sweetheart.”

The bastard actually looked pleased with himself.

Her cat jumped onto a nearby shelf, tail swishing judgmentally while she continued glaring at him.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Varka would have warned me.”

“That,” Lohen said, “does sound like something he should have done. But it seems that wasn't the case.” The ivy around his wrists shifted again as he adjusted experimentally, he looked down at the vines and then back at her. “…These are impressive, by the way, and very tight.” She raised an eyebrow, he was trapped under her control and now he was praising her? There was something wrong with that man, what he had in good looks he probably also had in his madness.

And something must have been very wrong with her too, because she felt a tingling in her stomach at that.

His smile widened. Archons, he was absolutely doing this on purpose.

“You enjoy being restrained?” she asked before she could stop herself, the question slipped out sharp and incredulous.

Lohen looked genuinely delighted by it. “Only under very specific circumstances.”

Heat flashed instantly across her face and his eyes immediately caught it, which only motivated him more.

“Oh, you’re blushing now,” he murmured, his tone full of mischief.

“You’re tied to a post.”

“And having a wonderful evening so far, sweetheart,” he smiled sincerely, to confirm his words. "Aren't you?"

She opened her mouth to respond when suddenly a shrill chime echoed through the cottage. Both of them glanced toward the table, a small device no larger than a lantern sat glowing softly and vibrating atop the wood. A modified dodocommunicator, with a small screen that allowed you to see who was on the other side.

The screen flickered and then Varka’s face appeared. “Well! There you are—”

She stared at him in disbelief, releasing her grip on the dagger to reach for the device, Lohen still tied up behind her.

“You.”

Varka blinked, then squinted. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You forgot to tell me you were sending someone,” she murmured,

“Oh.”

She raised an eyebrow, slightly moving the device to show Lohen that it was still attached to the post with glowing ivy, still smiling.

Seeing that, Varka burst out laughing, so loudly it crackled through the device. “Oh, this is incredible,” he said, laughing, moving closer to the device to try to see them better.

Lohen sighed deeply, without losing his smile, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “She’s very welcoming, another thing you forgot to mention Varka.”

“You deserved it,” she muttered.

“I absolutely did not,” Lohen shook his head, trying to look innocent, but his smile and mischievous gaze gave him away completely.

Varka was still laughing, actually wiping tears from his eyes. “This— this is the best thing that’s happened all week.”

“You could have warned me,” she snapped.

“I thought I did it, I swear.”

"It would have been useful to know that someone I didn't even know by sight was coming, so I wouldn't think they were trying to rob me."

"But— But he was wearing the knights' uniform, didn't you see?" Varka said, trying to get out of the situation, he knew how fierce she could be when she got angry.

"Oh, please Varka, as if anyone couldn't steal a uniform and pass themselves off as one, it wouldn't be the first time."

Varka sighed, knowing that she was right. “Okay, you’re right. Sorry, I forgot, but I was busy.”

She snorted. “Your favorite pastime is delegating your responsibilities to Jean, tell that story to someone else.”

Lohen made a very poorly concealed sound that suspiciously resembled a cough hiding laughter. His eyes watched her in wonder, he really liked that she didn't keep quiet about anything and stood up to even the Grand Master.

Varka pointed accusingly through the screen. “You're lucky I adore you, not everyone talks to me like that.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing that Varka cared for her too much to seriously reproach her, and all three of them were aware of the truth in her words when speaking of Jean. “How can you say that to me when you practically begged me to be friends? “

"Shhh, that had to stay between us! I have a reputation to uphold."

“Mhm, whatever you say Grand Master,” she blurted out with amusement, while Lohen continued to gaze at her in ecstasy, as if she were the most incredible person he had ever seen.

“So,” Varka said far too casually, “has Lohen caused any trouble?”

Lohen smiled lazily from where he remained restrained. “None whatsoever,” he said smoothly, eyes fixed entirely on her, almost as if Varka did not exist even though he was responding to him. “In fact, I’d say I’m more than fine, the company is… amazing.”

The implication hit instantly, heat rushed back into her cheeks. And Varka, being so perceptive, of course noticed it.

“Oh, this is even better than I thought.”

“Varka,” she warned.

“What? I’m just saying—“ he began in a playful tone. “The least you can do after attacking the poor man is invite him in for tea.”

"I want to make it clear that I wasn't bothered at all by being attacked by her," Lohen interjected, causing her to turn and look at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. "It was a pleasant surprise."

"For Archon's sake, what kind of people are they accepting into the Knights now? Is there some kind of test to see how mentally unstable they are?” she murmured, still feeling the blush rising up her neck and face, and that tingling again in her belly. "This one here isn't right”

Lohen's laughter, deep and seductive, reached her ears, and judging by the reaction it caused in her, seeing his face out of the corner of her eye and thinking how attractive he looked like that, she wasn't right either.

Varka nearly choked laughing again. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Varka wheezed. “He’s fine! I'd even say he's doing more than well, look at his face, it looks like it's his birthday.”

“This is your fault.”

“Yeah,” Varka agreed cheerfully. “But now you have to deal with the consequences.”

Lohen shifted slightly against the vines again. “No rush,” he said. “I’m quite comfortable.”

She shot him a look, noticing that he looked unbearably pleased with himself.

Varka grinned knowingly from the communicator. “Well,” he said, voice suddenly suspiciously innocent. “Good luck to both of you.”

The screen went black before either of them could respond and silence filled the cottage again. The two of them were alone, because even her cat had left, leaving her with the knight.

Slowly, she turned back toward Lohen. Still tied up, still extremely handsome, still staring at her like she had personally descended from Celestia to ruin him, as if she were a dessert he eagerly wanted to taste.

"You seem too comfortable in your position, even having the nerve to flirt with me so shamelessly,” she said, taking a step towards him, noticing how his gaze seemed to darken, the black of his pupil overshadowing the color.

"I can stop if you want," he replied quietly, seriously.

“…You sound disappointed by the idea.”

“I am.”

Another pulse of warmth spread across her face at his words and the ease with which he uttered them.

With a sigh, she lifted her hand. The ivy loosened immediately, unwinding from his wrists and torso before retreating slowly across the floorboards. Lohen rolled one shoulder once he was free, stretching his arms slightly, and then he bent to retrieve his spear. But instead of immediately stepping away, he walked directly toward her, slowly, deliberately, as if he were a hunter stalking his prey, until only inches remained between them.

Her breath caught despite herself, he was even taller when he wasn't tied up and stood in front of her like that. One gloved hand gently took hers before she could react. Then, with effortless elegance, Lohen bowed slightly and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles, his eyes never left hers.

“I should tell you,” he murmured. “There’s usually a dinner involved before I let someone tie me up.”

Her lips twitched despite every effort to remain serious. “Oh, really?”

What was she doing? Why was she playing along?

“Mhm,” his thumb brushed lightly against the back of her hand. “Though for you, I’d be willing to reverse the order.”

He was a dangerous man, clearly out of his mind, but that didn't make him any less attractive, any less captivating. It's not like she was entirely sane, after all, she was a witch. And she could play hard to get all she wanted, but she was more than aware that she liked all of it, it made him far more interesting than any other man who had ever tried to approach her before.

She laughed softly then, unable not to. At that moment, with that image before his eyes, Lohen discovered that there were simpler ways to ruin a man completely than with magic, like her laughter for example.

“You use lines like that often?”

Lohen tilted his head thoughtfully. “No,” he said honestly. “You’re actually the first woman who’s ever pinned me to a post with magical vines.”

“…What an honor.”

“It truly is.”

The way he looked at her made warmth curl low in her stomach. Not playful now, not entirely, there was still teasing there but beneath it sat genuine fascination, wonder, like he genuinely could not believe she existed.

“And,” he continued softly, stepping just slightly closer, “if I’m particularly lucky… perhaps the last and only one.” Her pulse skipped, while his gaze dropped briefly to her mouth and the returned to her eyes. “…Though,” he added, voice lowering. “I certainly wouldn’t object if it happened again under different circumstances.”

The implication in his tone sent heat rushing through her all over again. She tilted her head slightly.

“Careful, Vice-Captain.”

“Mhm?”

“You sound very eager to end up restrained again.”

Lohen smiled slowly. “If it’s by you?” he murmured. “Absolutely. No victory on the battlefield has ever felt as incredible as that, and I love to fight.”

Archons.

She should throw him back outside. Instead, she found herself stepping closer too, close enough now to catch the faint scent of leather, steel and cedar clinging to him. Close enough to notice the way his breathing subtly changed when her fingers lightly brushed the front of his uniform.

“Maybe,” she said softly, “next time you should announce yourself before entering a witch’s home.”

“Maybe,” Lohen replied, eyes darkening with amusement, “next time I’ll intentionally forget, if that leads me to this.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. And judging by the utterly smitten look on his face, Lohen seemed to decide right then and there that he had just won the lottery.

She should have stepped away, that was the sensible thing to do. Instead, she stayed exactly where she was, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to notice the smug little curve of his mouth every time her gaze flickered briefly toward it.

Lohen looked entirely too pleased for a man who had been ambushed twenty minutes ago.

Though, admittedly, he also looked entirely too handsome leaning there in the middle of her cottage with his spear resting casually against one shoulder and ivy leaves still caught in the silver strands of his hair. One of the vines had even left faint green marks along his wrists.

His eyes caught her staring, the bastard smiled immediately. “You’re admiring your work.”

“I'm considering whether I should tie you up again and, while I'm at it, shut you up for a bit.” 

“Making me promises already, sweetheart?”

He was danger, a temptation made flesh.

A breath of laughter escaped her despite herself. Lohen’s expression softened slightly at the sound, like hearing her laugh had done something irreversible to him. Which, honestly, judging by the way he kept looking at her maybe it had.

The kettle in the kitchen began whistling softly, but neither of them moved. Then finally, she tilted her head toward the doorway.

“Well,” she said lightly, “since Varka apparently volunteered me to entertain his Vice-Captain…” Lohen’s brows lifted with immediate interest. “…I suppose I can allow you inside for tea.”

“Just tea?” he asked smoothly.

The look she gave him was slow and deliberate. “Oh,” she murmured, turning toward the kitchen, “I imagine that depends entirely on your behavior.”

The man nearly looked like he stopped breathing.

She could feel his stare burning into her back as she walked away, entirely aware of the sway of her hips beneath the loose fabric of her dress. And when she glanced back over her shoulder, Lohen was still standing there staring at her like she had personally rewritten the laws of Teyvat.

“…Vice-Captain?”

He blinked once, dragged violently back to reality. “Right,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. Tea. Of course.”

She smiled faintly to herself and disappeared into the kitchen. A second later, she heard him murmur under his breath: “I’m going to marry this woman.”

Her lips twitched instantly. “You know I can hear you, right?”

“Good,” Lohen replied without a shred of shame.

She laughed softly again as she began preparing the tea set.

Behind her came the quiet sound of boots against wooden floors before his presence settled near enough to send warmth curling along the back of her neck. He leaned one shoulder against the doorway, arms crossed loosely now, watching her with utterly shameless admiration.

“So,” she asked while reaching for the teacups, “do all Knights of Favonius flirt this aggressively after being threatened with a dagger?”

“No,” Lohen said immediately.

“Just you?”

“Just me when I’m standing in a candlelit cottage with a beautiful witch who tied me to a post and then invited me inside afterward.”

“…You make that sound strangely romantic.”

“It was strangely romantic.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said smoothly, stepping closer, “you still invited me in.”

That low warmth returned to her stomach instantly.

Arrogant man.

Though the way he looked at her, like she was something precious, something devastating. Something he already wanted more of… It made it very difficult to stay unaffected.

She handed him a teacup, their fingers brushed. Lohen looked down at their hands briefly before meeting her eyes again. "Did you put something strange in this?" he asked, looking down at the teacup.

"No... what would I gain from that? A body I'd have to get rid of? I'm not in the mood to bury someone today."

No enchantment or potion had ever ruined a man this quickly before, and she managed it even without casting a single spell.

“Well... anyway, if I die tonight,” he said solemnly, “I want it officially recorded that I died the happiest man in Mondstadt.”

Her brows lifted. “That dramatic already?”

“You attacked me, pinned me against a wall, looked at me like you might kill me, then invited me into your house afterward.” He took a slow sip of tea without breaking eye contact. “I found the woman of my dreams.”

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “You don’t even know me, Lohen.”

“I know enough, sweetheart.”

“And what exactly do you know?”

Lohen stepped closer again, close enough now that she had to tilt her head slightly upward to hold his gaze. “I know,” he murmured, “that you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” Heat flickered across her cheeks. “I know you live alone in the middle of nowhere because peace matters more to you than attention.” His fingers brushed lightly against her wrist. “I know you’re powerful enough to disarm a knight twice your size without hesitation.”

His voice dropped lower.

“And I know,” he continued softly, eyes darkening with unmistakable intent, “that every time you threaten me, I like you more.”

Her breath caught slightly, that man was impossible. Impossibly irresistible.

“Careful,” she whispered.

“With?”

“You’re looking at me like you plan on staying.”

Lohen smiled slowly. “If you keep looking back at me like that,” he said, “I may never leave.” It was no longer the vines on his wrists that kept him there in the cottage, but her, with her words, her gaze, her smile...

Silence settled between them then. Warm, heavy and charged.

The candles flickered softly around the room, golden light dancing across his face while the wind outside rattled gently through the ivy climbing the cottage walls.

Neither of them moved away.

Lohen simply kept looking at her with that same devastating expression, amused, fascinated, hungry. Like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real.

And the feeling was becoming dangerously mutual.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured softly.

“I know.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“I don’t think self-awareness is helping me much right now.”

A quiet laugh escaped her.

Lohen visibly melted at the sound of it, actually melted. His shoulders loosened, his smile softened, and for one brief moment the shameless flirting slipped enough for her to catch something unexpectedly genuine underneath all that confidence.

He was completely gone for her already.

That realization sent a dangerous little thrill through her chest.

She took a slow sip from her teacup without looking away from him.

“What exactly is going through your mind right now, Vice-Captain?”

Lohen exhaled a soft breath through his nose. “You truly want an honest answer?”

“That depends. Is it scandalous?”

“Extremely.”

Her lips twitched upward. “Then there's no doubt that I want to know.”

He set his teacup down carefully onto the counter beside him before stepping closer again. Not rushed, not hesitant either, just certain, until there was barely any space left between them at all.

“I think,” he said slowly, voice low and warm enough to send heat down her spine, “that if you asked me to stay here forever, I would.”

Her breath caught slightly despite herself and judging by the look in his eyes… He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You’re very bold for a man who got overpowered in under a minute.”

Lohen grinned lazily. “In my defense, I was distracted.”

“By what?”

“You,” the answer came instantly, too instantly. Like there had never been any other possibility. His gaze dipped briefly to her mouth again before returning to her eyes.

“And now,” he continued softly, “I’m standing in a witch’s cottage drinking tea while she looks at me like she’s deciding whether to kiss me or ruin my life.”

“Maybe both.”

His smile widened immediately. “Archons,” he murmured. “Please, I would gladly submit to that, to you.”

Heat curled low in her stomach at the sound, the confidence, the teasing in his tone. The fact he somehow made wanting her sound almost reverent.

Her fingers toyed absently with the edge of her teacup before she tilted her head slightly. "Don't you think people will start talking if they see you've been gone for so long?"

“I intend to stay much longer than I already have… If you’ll have me.”

“And the shipment for Varka?”

“He can wait,” he quickly dismissed the matter.

“You’re abandoning your duties?”

“More like I’m prioritizing my future.”

That made her laugh again, softer this time. Lohen looked entirely too pleased with himself for causing it. Then his expression shifted subtly as his eyes traced over her face once more. Slower now, more intent, while his hand brushed gently against hers where it rested near the counter.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve found the woman I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life bothering.”

She watched him, raising an eyebrow.  “That quickly?”

“I’m efficient.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m in love already, actually, but insane probably too.”

That one caught her off guard enough that she actually looked away for a second, smiling helplessly despite herself. Lohen noticed that too, his voice softened immediately. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“That look,” his thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles. “The one that makes me want to stay.”

The warmth in her chest deepened dangerously.

Archons, this man.

She should have been alarmed by how quickly he affected her.

Instead, she found herself stepping even closer until the fabric of his uniform brushed lightly against her sleeves.

Close enough now that his breathing slowed.

Close enough that his eyes darkened instantly.

Her voice dropped softer.

“Careful, Vice-Captain,” for archon’s sake, how he loved it when she referred to him that way.

“With you?”

“Mhm.”

Lohen smiled slowly.

“I don’t think careful is a word in my vocabulary, sweetheart.”

Then his gaze flickered toward the hallway leading deeper into the cottage before returning to her face with unmistakably sinful amusement.

“…So,” he murmured, “is this the part where we continue pretending you invited me in only for tea?”

Heat flooded straight through her and he looked devastatingly satisfied by the reaction.

The smug bastard.

She reached up slowly, fingers curling around the front of his uniform near the collar. And then, leaning just enough to brush her lips near his ear, she whispered, “That depends.”

Lohen went completely still. “On?”

Her nails dragged lightly against his chest as she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again. “Whether you behave,” she murmured. The sound that left him was somewhere between a laugh and complete surrender.

“Archons, I will be the most obedient man if you ask me to,” Lohen breathed, staring at her like she was something catastrophic for his self-control. “You do realize I’m completely at your mercy now, right?”

Her brows lifted faintly, amused. “Oh?”

“Mhm,” his hands settled loosely at her waist, careful despite the heat simmering in his gaze. “I’m serious. I don’t think there’s anything you could ask of me tonight that I wouldn’t do.”

A slow smile curved against her lips. “That sounds dangerous.”

“For me? Absolutely.”

She hummed softly, her fingers still curled around the front of his uniform. “And if I asked you to get on your knees?”

The answer came immediately. “I would.”

No hesitation, no embarrassment, just complete and devastating sincerity. Lohen had met plenty of witches before and none of them had ever made him willing to kneel without using magic.

The heat that rushed through her nearly made her lose composure entirely.

Lohen noticed instantly, looking unbearably pleased with himself.

“And if I told you to stay?” she asked softly.

“I’d stay.”

“To leave Mondstadt behind?”

“I’d pack my things tonight.”

“To jump?”

“I’d ask how high while already doing it.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Lohen looked completely ruined by the sound, smiling like he’d just been handed the greatest treasure in Teyvat. “There,” he murmured quietly, almost dazed. “That laugh again. Archons, I’m finished.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m devoted… to you,” the words landed warmer than they should have. Especially with the way he was looking at her now, teasing still, yes, but underneath it sat something frighteningly genuine. Like he truly meant every word.

His forehead dipped lightly against hers. “And the worst part,” he murmured softly, “is that I don’t even mind.”

Her fingers slid slowly up the front of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath the fabric of his uniform. “No?”

“Not even a little,” his smile turned dangerously soft. “I think you could ruin my entire life and I’d thank you for it afterward.”

She shook her head, laughing quietly under her breath.

“Looks like you fell hard, uh?”

“I fell the moment you pinned me against that post.”

“And here I thought knights were supposed to resist danger.”

“Oh, I fully intend to surrender to this one.” The warmth in her chest deepened helplessly at that. Then Lohen’s gaze flickered once more toward the hallway deeper inside the cottage before returning to her with shameless intent.

It should’ve concerned him how quickly he became obsessed with her. Instead, Lohen found himself hoping it would only get worse.

“…So,” he murmured, voice dropping low again. “Should I continue proving how obedient I can be, or are you finally going to kiss me?”

[foolishleclerc]

damage control - aerion targaryen modern!au

pairing: f1 reserve driver! aerion targaryen x fem!reader summary: her only job is to keep aerion targaryen’s chaos under control. too bad the more she tries to tame him, the more he seems determined to ruin every rule between them. warnings: formula one setting, the targaryens have a racing team, there's a heated kissing session, no use of Y/N, third person narration. english is not my first language, i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. word count: 6.3k a/n: it took me a while… quite a while, but here's the second part (?) of the targaryen au in f1. i apologize if the dashes are misused anywhere, i'm trying to start including them in my writing because, while i don't use them in spanish (my native language), i know they're more common in english, so i'm still learning to use them properly. anyway, i hope you liked it as much as i did!! i think it's obvious that my headcanon is that aerion likes his partner to treat him a little badly. the next one in this au will be valarr, and i hope you don't mind the "single mom" idea for the protagonist of that one.

The notification came abruptly, taking her by surprise, like a car going off the track in a race that ended with an impact against the barrier.

BREAKING: Daeron Targaryen to miss upcoming Grands Prix following collision with Aston Martin driver. Medical reports confirm injury requiring extended recovery.

She stared at the screen, frowning, her lips slightly parted. It was supposed to be just a minor bump, and Daeron was only supposed to need a few days of rest.

And then, another notification appeared on her screen.

BREAKING: Targaryen Racing confirms Aerion Targaryen will replace Daeron Targaryen during his recovery period.

She stared at her phone screen frozen in place, the coffee she had prepared minutes before now cold from waiting, the voices of the other people in the team hospitality area turning into a muffled murmur.

For weeks she had been riding the high of being Daeron’s PR. He had been… cooperative, almost pleasant. Short answers, yes, but never disrespectful or out of place, always something she could work with. No scandals and no viral disasters. She had started to believe she might actually keep the job.

But now?

Now she was being handed the Targaryen equivalent of a live grenade with a smiley face painted on it.

Aerion Targaryen.

The same one who had had 5 PR handlers in IndyCar in under two seasons. The same man who had called a steward ‘a fucking idiot who doesn't know anything and should stick his nose in his paperwork’ on live radio. The one who once tweeted a middle-finger emoji at the FIA after a penalty and then doubled down in the media pen with, ‘If they want me to shut up, they should stop handing out bullshit decisions.’

God, this was the end of the line. She could now begin to say goodbye to the paddock and everything related to Formula One.

She exhaled slowly, already feeling the familiar knot of dread twist in her stomach. She was good at her job, she knew it, she'd heard numerous compliments during the short time she'd been working since graduating from university, and she was determined and persistent. But she also knew he could be a terrible son of a... simply terrible, to put it bluntly, because he was Aerion Targaryen and no one had ever accused Aerion Targaryen of making anyone’s job easy.

All she could do was wait and pray that his arrival in Formula One as a temporary official driver would help to calm the beast. Because she refused to let someone like him ruin such an incredible opportunity for her.

The official introduction happened two days later in the team’s Wales hospitality suite, through the windows, one could see the sun's rays hitting the green fields surrounding the place, an image of tranquility and peace, the complete opposite of what she was feeling inside. Maekar Targaryen, the team director, stood at the head of the table like a king reviewing his troops. Aerion was slouched in the chair opposite her, legs spread, one arm draped over the backrest, the dragon crest gleaming on the chest of his team polo. His eyes, more intense, perhaps wilder, than Daeron’s locked onto her the second she walked in.

“Maekar,” she said, nodding respectfully to the older man first. Then she turned to his son. “Aerion. I’m—”

"Oh, that won't be necessary, I know perfectly well who you are,” he cut in, lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. "You're the poor soul— I mean, the lucky person they assigned me to stop me from setting the paddock on fire,” he tilted his head slightly, the mocking, dangerous smile still on his lips, as he watched her curiously, as if she were a new toy in his collection. “This is going to be fun.”

Maekar pinched the bridge of his nose, shooting her an apologetic glance that said ‘I’m sorry in advance'. “Aerion. Behave.”

Aerion chuckled lowly, as he continued to watch her intently, sending a shiver down her spine, as if she were a small animal and he a carnivore stalking his prey, studying her to determine the right moment to attack and finish her off. “Relax, old man. I said fun, not that it would unleash hell.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving hers. “It’s going to be a pleasure working with you. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

She didn't look away, determined not to be intimidated by him. Although his words had an effect on her, especially the way he'd pronounced that 'fun', which had sounded like a warning but also like a promise.

She didn't know exactly what to expect, she only knew that she should prepare herself, because if the rumors were true, working with Aerion was an emotional rollercoaster and she wasn't too much of a fan of that kind of games at amusement parks.

She had always preferred safety and tranquility, and she was quite sure that tranquility and Aerion did not go hand in hand.

The first few days were almost suspiciously calm.

She followed Aerion through the paddock like a shadow he couldn’t shake, standing near him in every press conference and giving him carefully prepared lines before every microphone. To her disbelief, he actually used most of them. He still delivered his answers with that signature sharp sarcasm, but it stayed just entertaining enough to generate clips instead of crises.

For a brief blissful moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could handle him.

And she started to breathe again.

Until the Thursday before the next race.

They were sitting in the team hospitality tent, sunlight streaming through the open flaps, engineers chatting loudly around them. Aerion was in the middle of telling a chaotic story about an IndyCar crash that involved a tire cart and a very confused marshal when her phone buzzed violently against the table.

She glanced down and her stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Aerion had just quoted a well-known journalist who had criticized his aggressive move in qualifying. The original tweet read: Aerion Targaryen driving like he’s got a death wish again. FIA needs to do something before he kills someone.

His reply, posted for the entire world to see just thirty seconds earlier, was short but long enough to almost give her a heart attack: Suck my dick.

She looked up slowly, eyes wide with horror.

Aerion sat right across from her, phone still casually in his hand, wearing the most innocent smile she had ever seen. It looked disturbingly like a cat who had just knocked an entire vase off the shelf and was proud of the mess.

“You didn’t,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Oh, yes I did.”

For half a second, she just stared at him and then survival instinct kicked in. She lunged across the table, snatched the phone from his hand and deleted the tweet in record time. Her fingers flew over the screen as she began drafting damage-control statements, heart hammering against her ribs. And Aerion watched her the entire time, chin resting on his fist, eyes bright with pure, unfiltered delight.

"You're not afraid of me," he murmured, raising an eyebrow. "That's new, refreshing."

She didn't even look up from his phone screen to reply. "And I'm not about to let your filthy mouth get us into trouble either, so I'd appreciate it if you stopped tweeting crap like this. If you're so keen to write, get a notebook or vent in your phone's notes app, anything that doesn't involve swearing at people online."

“Feisty,” he said under his breath, the word rolling off his tongue like he was tasting it.

I like it, quite a lot. That's what went through his mind, but he said nothing, simply observing her with a different gleam in his eyes.

Unfortunately for her sanity, that was only the beginning.

Two days later, she was standing next to him while he was being interviewed in the press pen alongside other drivers after the qualifying session at Suzuka. The journalist posed a question to him that had already been asked of several drivers over the weekend, regarding the changes made to the new regulations in an attempt to improve the performance of the new cars by combining combustion engines and electric power. Simple questions: what did he think about it? What were his thoughts on the changes?

And she, knowing that it was something he was going to be ask about quite a bit, had already put together and reviewed with him some possible answer options he could give.

Aerion leaned toward the microphone, smiling like trouble itself.

“I think they’re shit.”

That was not one of the answers they had agreed upon.

The journalists in front of him stared at him, frozen for half a second before they understood what he had said. To his right, Oscar Piastri was trying to contain his laughter while giving his own interview, and a few steps behind him was Pierre Gasly, laughing at Aerion's response and his attitude alongside Isack Hadjar and Max Verstappen.

“Aerion,” she hissed under her breath, gripping her notebook and cellphone so tightly her knuckles turned white.

But Aerion pretended not to hear her speak and continued with his response. “I mean, seriously,” he continued, gesturing lazily with one hand. “Whoever came up with these regulations should retire immediately. Because they're doing a terrible job, Formula 1 has lost its entire meaning. How can they call it Formula 1 racing, the fastest category, if we can no longer push the cars to the limit because of the regulations and this shitty system? Formula 2 cars seem to go faster than us, what a joke.”

She stared at Aerion in disbelief. He looked absolutely delighted, eyes sparkling with mischief every time he glanced sideways at her.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath.

"And I think you love that," he whispered back without missing a beat while another journalist prepared a new question, that infuriating smirk still firmly in place.

Her eye twitched.

Twenty minutes later, she had him cornered just outside the garage, away from prying eyes and microphones.

“You cannot say things like that in public,” she snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“Why not? It’s true,” he shrugged.

“That’s not the point Aerion!”

“It should be,” he shot back, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

"One doesn't always have to go around saying everything one thinks, for God's sake," she grabbed the sleeve of his race suit before he could walk away. “You are going to clarify those comments before the media turns this into another FIA war. I already have three drafts ready, all you have to do is pick one and stick to it.”

Aerion looked down at her hand gripping his sleeve, then back up at her flushed, furious face. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips.

“You’re ordering me around again.”

“Aerion.”

“You get really bossy when you’re angry,” he blurted out without taking his eyes off her. “It’s cute.”

“Aerion, I swear to God—”

“Alright, alright,” he sighed dramatically, raising his hands in mock surrender. “What do you want me to say, boss?”

“Basically, you respect the FIA ​​and, despite not agreeing with everything they do, you understand that they are working to improve and that takes time.”

His face twisted in genuine disgust. “No,” he complained like a little boy. “That's disgusting.”

She smiled almost mockingly, and something bubbled in his chest. "Oh, what a shame, you're going to say it anyway."

“You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little… But you deserve it.”

He stared at her for a long second, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he grinned as if she had given him what he had been waiting for. “There she is.”

“What the hell does that even mean, Aerion?” she demanded.

“You’re much prettier when you’re threatening me.”

She looked genuinely horrified, approaching him and almost covering his mouth with her hand. “You cannot say things like that either!”

“That one wasn’t even public,” he pointed out, as if it made perfect sense, a mischievous smile adorning his lips. "Okay, I'll try to behave... a little."

"Well, you have to start somewhere," she muttered, running a hand over her face.

He was going to drive her crazy, and the worst part was that Aerion seemed to enjoy seeing her like this, slowly descending into madness because of his actions. And the worst part of all was that deep down she knew that she also enjoyed Aerion's silly antics a little, and knowing that was probably driving her crazier than Aerion's antics themselves.

"Do you want something to eat?" he said, starting to walk toward the exit. "It's my treat."

She rolled her eyes as Aerion opened the door for her. "Mhm, as if everything in this place wasn't already paid for by your family."

"That's why I'm inviting, I'll even let you choose a dessert,” he said with amusement bowing deeply, feeling a tingle inside when he saw the small smile that formed on her lips.

How he loved to drive her crazy and listen to her scold him. He could live peacefully like that.

To everyone's surprise, Aerion apologized. In his own way, but he did.

“I may have expressed myself… passionately,” he told later that afternoon in front of the camera that one of the content team members was holding, visibly fighting a smile. “But I respect the FIA’s effort. I understand they are looking for solutions, although it seems they are taking their time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aerion could see her standing a few steps away. She pointed threateningly at him when his mouth twitched again, so he had to looked away immediately to hide his grin.

He was a bastard, and that was something he couldn't and didn't want to deny. He knew it, but he couldn't fight it. Something inside him compelled him to keep teasing her like that, to see her reactions, her gestures, the way she scolded him. He loved it.

All that dynamic ended up becoming a routine, a constant tug-of-war full of damage control, threats and shenanigans, him provoking the journalists and her dragging him away before the situation could escalate.

Like the time a reporter asked if he thought he deserved the Formula One seat over more experienced reserve drivers.

Aerion smiled directly into the camera. "I think that speaks for itself, with results and performance. But just to be clear, yes, I do believe that. There are several drivers who are just warming their seats or occupying them because of what they once were. It's time to let go, to let a new, much better generation take the reins."

And since the journalists knew that Aerion doesn't mince words, of course they took the opportunity to ask for names, and he, of course, to her misfortune, began to name those drivers who, according to him, were taking up space for nothing.

This resulted in another video of an apology at gunpoint, along with an invitation to lunch with a gift for her as an apology from Aerion to her.

Or the time that another journalist asked whether he planned on ‘maturing’ now that he was representing Targaryen Racing full-time.

“No,” Aerion answered instantly.

The press pen burst into laughter, while a groan escaped her lips. “Aerion,” she hissed under her breath.

“What?” he whispered back innocently, Ignoring the journalists and cameras completely, he looked at her as she recorded his answers beside him. “It was an honest answer.”

"When you're finished here, we're going to talk alone," she said, frowning.

Aerion couldn't help but smile. "Oh, I look forward to that, boss."

But for Aerion, it wasn't enough to drive her crazy at work, in press conferences and interviews. Because he also started looking for her outside of those settings.

At first, she thought it was a coincidence. Then she realized it absolutely was not.

Every lunch break, somehow, Aerion ended up sitting across from her. Every debrief, he found an excuse to linger near her chair. Every paddock-walk somehow turned into him matching her pace exactly. He was everywhere. If you wanted to find him, you probably just had to know where she was and you would be able to find him.

And everyone noticed it, of course they noticed it.

She started catching the mechanics watching them. Not with suspicion or with concern, they looked just… amused.

Like they were all witnessing some slow-motion trainwreck that everyone except her could see coming from miles away. A few of them would exchange knowing glances when Aerion lingered near her station after a briefing, or when she marched across the garage to yank him away from yet another dangerous conversation with the press. One older mechanic even shook his head with a quiet chuckle once, muttering something in Italian that sounded suspiciously like ‘finally’.

Because Aerion had changed around her.

Not softer, God, never softer. That wasn’t in his nature. The sharp edges, the wicked tongue, the constant need to push and provoke were all still very much present, but something else had shifted.

He was focused, attentive in a way that unsettled her. He listened when she spoke, even when he pretended he wasn’t. She’d catch him watching her from across the garage while she was talking to an engineer, his eyes tracking every movement, every gesture, every frustrated sigh. During strategy meetings, when she quietly suggested how he should frame a difficult answer, he’d roll his eyes dramatically… but later, in front of the microphones, he’d use almost the exact words she’d given him.

And worst of all, he obeyed. Not immediately, of course, because with Aerion nothing was ever easy. He would argue, smirk, push back and make her repeat herself just to watch the fire spark in her eyes. But eventually… he would do what she asked. He would tone down the most explosive comments, he would sit through extra media training sessions without storming out, he would even, on rare miraculous occasions, apologize in his own twisted, half-sarcastic way.

All because he enjoyed the back-and-forth far too much to stop. He liked the way she got right in his face when she was angry. He liked the flush that crept up her neck when he deliberately said something outrageous just to watch her reaction. He liked the way she refused to back down, refused to quit, refused to treat him like the untouchable Targaryen prince everyone else tiptoed around. She challenged him like nobody else did. And for a man who had spent years burning through people who either feared him or tried to control him, that challenge had become dangerously addictive.

But it wasn’t just the challenge anymore, because he was becoming addicted to her.

To the way she stormed across the garage with fire in her eyes whenever he said something outrageous. To the sharp tone she used when she scolded him, never backing down even when her voice trembled with frustration. To the way she smelled like vanilla and faint frustration after a long day of cleaning up his messes. To the rare, fleeting moments when she smiled at something he said, not the polite PR smile she gave everyone else, but the real one, small and reluctant, like she hated that he could make her laugh.

He craved her attention. Her proximity. The way she got right in his face and told him exactly what she thought of him. He found excuses to be near her constantly, stealing food from her plate, lingering after meetings, walking beside her in the paddock even when he had nowhere to go. Every sharp comeback, every furious glare, every time she grabbed his sleeve to drag him away from trouble only pulled him in deeper.

And she had no idea.

She still thought it was all a game to him. That he was just bored, stirring chaos for entertainment, using her as his favorite new toy. She didn’t see the way his eyes followed her when she wasn’t looking. She didn’t notice how his usual restlessness calmed the second she entered the room. She didn’t realize that the more she pushed him away, the more obsessed he became.

It all came to a head on a warm Saturday afternoon in the paddock.

Aerion was walking back from a sponsor appearance when he saw her. She was standing near the McLaren hospitality, talking to one of their drivers, Lando Norris, a charming, easy-going Brit who was laughing at something she said. She was smiling, really smiling, the kind of relaxed, bright smile she never gave Aerion. She even touched the driver’s arm lightly while replying to whatever joke he’d made.

That was enough to make something horrible churn inside Aerion.

By the time qualifying started, he was vibrating with barely contained tension. On track, he was aggressive, too aggressive. He went wheel-to-wheel with the same McLaren driver in Q2, refusing to back out of the corner and the inevitable happened. The contact was hard, both cars spun, both drivers were out of qualifying early.

In the media pen afterward, Aerion didn’t even wait for the first question to start talking. “That fucking idiot has no business being on the grid if he can’t hold a fucking line,” he said, voice sharp and venomous. “He drives like a scared little princess, such a pussy. If he wants to race, he should learn how first.”

Of course, the journalists went feral.

So, she cut the interview off mid-sentence, grabbed his wrist and dragged him straight to his driver’s room, slamming the door behind them.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she exploded. “Are you trying to get yourself a penalty? A suspension? What the fuck was that?”

Aerion leaned back against the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes were dark, turbulent, as if a storm had broken out inside them. “Why don’t you go work for him if you like him so much? You two seemed real cozy out there.”

“Are you serious right now?” she stared at him, incredulous. “Where is all this coming from? What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he snapped. “Mind your own business.”

“Unfortunately for both of us, your business is my business,” she shot back, stepping closer. “Every stupid thing that comes out of that mouth of yours can cost me my job. So, tell me, what the fuck is your problem today?”

Aerion stood still, simply watching her, remaining silent, his stormy gaze fixed on her. It wasn't common for him to remain silent, which only served to further agitate her.

"What? What's wrong with you now? Why are you so quiet?" she asked, frowning. "Are you already thinking about what you're going to say at the next press conference to make my life even more difficult with that mouth of yours?"

"No," he finally blurted out, then he pushed off the table and closed the distance until they were only inches apart.  "I'm thinking about what I want to do with my mouth next."

“Uh?” she said almost in a whisper.

Aerion took another step towards her, closing the distance between them even further and forcing him to back away slightly in an attempt to maintain the distance. “I don’t only use it to talk shit, you know,” she could feel a warmth rising up her neck and face. "Don't you want to know what I want to use it for? Since everything that involves me also involves you, if you were so worried about what I might do."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, trying to quickly organize her thoughts, trying to get her brain working again, which seemed to have melted from the intensity of Aerion's gaze, his words, and his closeness. "How likely is it that what you're planning to do will cause me problems?”

"Well, that depends on..." he began, closing the distance between them. "How problematic would it be if I kissed you right here and now?"

Her breath caught in her throat, her mind trying to register Aerion's words, noticing the warmth of his nearness, the presence of his fingers in the area of ​​her waist without making contact, as if he were waiting for her to give him the signal that he could, respecting her space even when all he wanted was to destroy the distance between them.

"Very,” she whispered, almost breathless. “That would be very problematic.”

A smile slowly blossomed on Aerion's lips as he took another small step towards her, their breasts almost touching with each breath they took. "That's good to hear, because you know how much I enjoy causing you trouble, giving you headaches."

And then, he decided to take the initiative.

Aerion cupped the back of her neck with one hand and crashed his mouth against hers.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was desperate, raw and consuming, months of frustration, arguments, stolen glances and biting comments exploding all at once. He kissed her like he’d been starving for it, like every sharp word she’d thrown at him and every time she’d dragged him away by the sleeve had only made him want her more. His lips moved against hers with bruising intensity, tilting his head to deepen the kiss almost immediately, demanding entrance.

She gasped into his mouth and he took full advantage, sliding his tongue against hers with a low, satisfied groan that vibrated through his chest. The sound sent heat rushing through her entire body. Her hands flew up instinctively, one fisting the front of his team polo and the other sliding into his hair, tugging hard. The sharp pull made him growl against her lips, the sound feral and pleased.

All of it poured out in that kiss.

Every time he’d deliberately said something outrageous just to watch her lose her temper. Every smug smirk when she scolded him. Every time he’d stolen her food or lingered too close or whispered little comments meant only for her ears. Every frustrated night she’d spent writing damage-control statements because of his big mouth. Every moment she’d wanted to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.

It was all there, messy, chaotic and burning. Just like them.

Aerion pressed her back against the wall, one hand still gripping her neck while the other finally slid to her waist, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her flush against him. There was no space left between them. He kissed her harder, deeper, like he wanted to devour every sound she made. When she bit his bottom lip in retaliation, a rough moan tore from his throat and he shuddered against her, pressing his hips into hers.

“Fuck,” he rasped against her mouth, barely pulling back enough to speak. “Do that again, please.”

Aerion didn't beg, he didn't ask for things politely, but he was willing to ask her on his knees if necessary.

And she did it, she didn't take long to do it, and that was all he needed to lose whatever was left of his restraint.

The kiss turned even more desperate, wet, messy and completely unrestrained. Their breathing grew ragged, mixing between frantic kisses as hands roamed. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling until it hurt. His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, palm hot against the skin of her lower back, holding her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

They poured everything into it. All the tension. All the fighting. All the long looks when they thought the other wasn’t watching. Every ’you’re impossible’ and every ‘you’re prettier when you’re angry’. It all burned away in the heat of his mouth on hers.

When they finally broke apart, it was only because they needed air. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, noses brushing, both of them breathing hard. Aerion’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips slightly swollen. He looked wrecked in the best possible way.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long,” he breathed, voice hoarse. "And I want more, I want to give you more headaches like that... And in other ways too."

It was then, amidst labored breathing, swollen lips, and blurred vision, that her mind cleared slightly and she was able to understand what she was doing, what had happened, and the gravity of their actions.

It was then, amidst the labored breathing, the swollen lips, and the dizzy haze clouding her mind, that reality crashed back into her like a high-speed impact.

She pushed against his chest with both hands, not hard enough to truly move him, but enough to create a sliver of space between their bodies. Her eyes were wide, panicked, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.

“Aerion… no. We can’t, we can’t do this,” she rushed out, the words tumbling over each other. “This cannot happen. I need this job, I need it. If anyone finds out, if HR gets even a whisper of this, they’ll eat me alive. Your father and your uncles will fire me on the spot. I’ll be blacklisted from every team on the grid before I even make it to the car park. This is completely unethical, I’m your PR handler, for fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to protect your image, not— not make out with you in your driver’s room like some reckless idiot!” The words spilled faster and faster, her hands still fisted in his shirt as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. “I’ve worked too hard for this. I’ve spent months cleaning up your messes, writing statements at three in the morning, defending your chaotic ass to the world, and now I’m just going to throw it all away because you decided to kiss me? I can’t, I literally cannot afford to lose this job over whatever this is—” she was spiraling, barely breathing between sentences, her voice a mix of panic and lingering desire.

Aerion didn’t stop her, he just… watched her.

A slow, stupid, completely smitten smile spread across his face as he listened to her ramble. His eyes were soft and hazy, utterly enchanted by the way she was falling apart right in front of him. The more she panicked and listed all the very valid reasons why this was a terrible idea, the wider his smile grew. He looked dazed, lovestruck, like her anxious word-vomit was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

Suddenly, he cupped her face with both hands and kissed her again, deep, hungry and effectively shutting her up mid-sentence. She made a muffled sound of protest that quickly melted into a sigh against his mouth. When he finally pulled back, she was breathless all over again.

“What part of everything I just said did you not understand?” she demanded, though her voice was noticeably weaker.

Aerion rested his forehead against hers, still smiling like an idiot, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “The truth?” he murmured, voice rough and warm. “I didn’t hear a single word. I was too busy thinking about how badly I wanted to kiss you again. And again. And again.”

“Aerion, no,” she whispered, though it sounded dangerously close to a plea.

“Aerion, yes,” he replied immediately, leaning in once more.

She turned her head at the last second, so his lips landed on her cheek instead. He didn’t seem discouraged. He simply trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands still fisted in his shirt, breathing uneven. “You don’t understand the position I’m in, Aerion,” she said, voice shaky but serious. “This isn’t just some fling for me. This is my career, my reputation. If this gets out—”

“I do understand,” he cut in gently, resting his forehead against hers again. His thumbs stroked her cheeks with surprising tenderness. “I know how important this job is to you. I’ve seen how hard you work, how much you’ve sacrificed to get here. And I’m not going to let you lose it. I’ll behave. I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.” He exhaled a soft laugh, brushing his nose against hers. “Ethics and HR can go fuck themselves, though. In one week, my brother is back and you won’t be my PR handler anymore. You’ll be free. That means we can do whatever the hell we want.”

She hesitated, doubt flickering across her face even as her body stayed pressed against his. Aerion felt it, so he leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, coaxing. Then another kiss at the corner of her mouth and another on her jaw. Each one softer, more persuasive, like he was trying to melt her resistance kiss by kiss.

“You’re using your stupid charm to persuade me,” she muttered between kisses, eyes half-closed.

Aerion pulled back just enough to grin at her, that crooked, dangerous smile that always spelled trouble.

“You think I have charm?” he laughed lowly, trying to kiss her again, but she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“I’m serious, Aerion,” she said, though her voice had lost most of its strength. “Someone could see us. If that happens, everything I’ve worked for falls apart.”

He sighed, long and heavy, resting his forehead against hers once more. For a moment he was quiet, eyes closed, clearly fighting with himself.

“Fine,” he murmured eventually. “If it makes you feel better and keeps that pretty head of yours from spiraling… I won’t kiss you again. I won’t touch you, I won’t even look at you more than necessary until Daeron is back and you’re no longer my PR. Not even if I’m dying to drag you into my hotel room and lock the door for an entire weekend.”

She raised an eyebrow, studying his face. “You? Behaving? For once in your life?”

Aerion gave her a slow, almost boyish smile, the kind that made him look younger than his years. “For you?” he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, careful not to let his fingers linger. “Yeah, I’ll try. Because if that’s what it takes to have you after all this… then I can wait one fucking week.” He paused, his eyes locking onto hers with startling honesty. “I’ve been hooked on you since the exact moment you snatched my phone out of my hands and told me off like I was a misbehaving child,” he confessed, voice low and rough. “No one’s ever done that. No one’s ever looked me in the eye and refused to take my shit. And instead of getting angry… I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I still can’t. Somewhere between all the arguments and the scolding and you refusing to quit on me… I fell in love with you.”

Her breath hitched. The words hit her straight in the chest, melting every last bit of resistance she had left.

She stared at him, eyes soft and wide, heart pounding. “One week,” she whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “One week… and I’m all yours.”

Aerion’s expression shifted into something fierce and tender all at once. He let out a shaky breath, like those words were everything he’d been waiting for.

“Yeah?” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah.”

But he couldn’t help himself. So, before she could say another word, he cupped her face with both hands and kissed her again, deep, slow and full of promise. The kind of kiss that stole the air from her lungs and made her knees weak. She melted into it instantly, gripping his shirt as if he were the only solid thing in the world.

When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless. "One week starting from now," he said, smiling innocently, "Sorry, I couldn't resist. You looked at me like that, and I had to kiss you."

“Are you really going to be able to do nothing until the race is over on Sunday?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him with clear suspicion.

Aerion raised his hands in mock innocence, though the smirk on his face completely ruined the effect. “Promise of a Boy Scout,” he said solemnly.

She let out a disbelieving laugh. “Aerion, what the fuck are you talking about? You were never a Boy Scout.”

He grinned, leaning back against the wall with that infuriatingly charming expression. “My father tried to make me one when I was ten. Lasted exactly three days before I got kicked out for setting a small fire during a camping trip.” He shrugged. “Still counts, though. The promise is sacred.” She crossed her arms, fighting the smile threatening to break through. Aerion paused for a second, his playful expression softening into something warmer, more dangerous. He stepped just a little closer again, eyes locked on hers. “Although… there might be one or two slip-ups,” he admitted, voice dropping. “I’m weak when it comes to you.”

Her eyebrow shot up, trying to look stern even as her pulse quickened. “You’d better not be weak, Targaryen. I don’t like weak men.”

Aerion’s grin turned slow and wicked. He tilted his head, looking at her like she was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen. “Oh, I know,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “That's exactly why you like me, weak isn't in my vocabulary.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. The way he was looking at her, half playful, half completely smitten, made it impossible to think straight. Aerion chuckled softly at her silence, clearly pleased with himself.

“One week,” he reminded her, almost like a vow. “I’ll try to behave… but I make no guarantees if you keep looking at me like that.”

She groaned, covering her face with both hands. “You’re going to make this week hell, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he said cheerfully and then he added gently, “But it’ll be worth it in the end.”

[foolishleclerc]

jealous type - zuko

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.

Jealous or not, she was his and that was enough.

[foolishleclerc]

i just saw this reached 3,000 notes ???? omg, thank you so so so much 😭💕💕

[foolishleclerc]

la envidia que estoy sintiendo por todos los que pudieron ir al roadshow de franco aaaa me consume dios, yo también quiero verlo la puta madre que ganas de estar ahí, el fomo es total

[foolishleclerc]

Aang would be the first so sense that his girlfriend(zuko’s sister is pregnant) he wouldn’t know it at first but he would feel it and toph would definitely confirm it

And Zuko will probably have tears in his eyes cause his baby sister is gonna be a mom

OMG YES, I think Aang would sense there's something strange about her, something he can't quite describe or identify, but it's not something he dislikes, on the contrary, it makes him want to be closer to her. When Toph tells him, she'd probably tease him for not noticing sooner, especially considering how much time he spends glued to her.

And Zuko, oh my god, Zuko would initially freeze, thinking he misheard or that he's delirious, until it hits him that he's really going to be an uncle and his little sister is going to be a mom. I can see him hugging her without saying a word for a long time until he whispers that he's very proud and happy for the two of them, and that he can't wait to meet his future niece (girldad Aang >>>>)

[foolishleclerc]

jealous type - zuko

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.

Jealous or not, she was his and that was enough.

[foolishleclerc]

embracing the light - aang

pairing: age-up aang x fem! zuko's sister! reader summary: months of heated kisses and sudden retreats have left her questioning everything. one vulnerable conversation with aang reveals the secret behind his restraint: the glowing avatar state that consumes him when he’s lost in her. warnings: age-up characters (the legend of aang: the last airbender characters), emotional vulnerability, established relationship, relationship insecurity and a bit of angst, use of 'firefly' as a petname, 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: wall sex, fingering, biting, scratching and marking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, kind of possessive aang and reader, glowing marks and eyes during sex, slight semi-public setting, let me know if I forgot anything. word count: 6.6k a/n: everyone was doing it and i wanted to write about aang's marks lighting up while he's having sex too. i saw images and gifs from the leaked movie (i haven't seen the movie yet) and oh my god, i'm still just as in love with zuko as when i was a kid, and now i'm in love with adult aang too. the inspiration struck and didn't want to miss it., i'm going to see if i can do something with zuko as well!!

The palace gates opened with a clang that echoed across the courtyard, alerting those outside, as the heavy ironwork moved with a slowness that was almost unnerving as the excitement of seeing her friends once more bubbled within her. She barely had time to take in the scene outside, the familiar architecture of the Fire Nation Royal Palace steps, with flickering torches casting warm shadows on the polished stone and guards stepping aside with firm bows, before a gust of wind shattered the still night air.

“¡Aang!” she let out a stifled sigh, feeling relief the moment the warmth emanating from his body was felt by her own skin even beneath her clothes.

He reached her in seconds, gliding on a current of air that stirred the hem of her scarlet robes. The momentum carried him forward as his arms wrapped around her, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. He spun her once, laughter spilling from him, bright and unrestrained, the same sound that had once echoed across battlefields and campfires when everything had felt simpler, younger.

“I missed you,” he said breathless, burying his face briefly against the curve of her shoulder. The scent of him, wind-swept and faintly spiced with temple incense, flooded her senses, and something deep in her chest twisted with longing. Her arms tightened around his neck, holding him just as fiercely.

They had only been separated for three days because she had returned early to spend time alone with her brother before the group meeting, but it felt like an eternity away from Aang, as if she could finally breathe again after holding her breath for three days.

 “It’s been three days,” she murmured aloud, though her voice was softer than she meant it to be, laced with the ache of missing him.

“Three very long days,” he answered, inhaling slowly, allowing his lungs to fill again with the floral scent she used to wear and that he loved so much, then he moved back just a little, enough to see her face.

His gray eyes softened immediately, drinking her in like he always did, like he needed to memorize every detail to make sure she was still real, still his. His eyes reflected the love and devotion he felt for her, everything that his lips, his words, were not saying at that moment.

She couldn't help but smile, tracing soft caresses with her fingers along his neck, sending a slight shiver through him. "It wasn't too long, I think we've been apart longer before."

"But it felt different. I almost came much earlier, but I held back because I knew you and Zuko deserved some quality time alone and I didn't want to get in the way,” his thumb brushed her cheek, and for a heartbeat the world narrowed to just them.

“You could never get in our way and you know Zuko adores you, even if he tries to act like the tough, overprotective brother,” she assured him, letting out a giggle that caused a tingle inside him, but he didn't have too much time to enjoy it, because before he knew it she was already kissing him.

It wasn’t planned, none of it ever was. Just instinct, just the quiet, magnetic pull that had existed between them for years, unspoken through wars and travels and stolen glances, until it had finally cracked open a few months ago.

At first the kiss was gentle, a simple press of lips, warm and familiar. But it deepened almost immediately, naturally, as if neither of them knew how to stop once they started. His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing lightly against her skin as he tilted his head, pulling her closer. Heat bloomed low in her belly, the familiar spark of want that always flared when he kissed her like that, hungry, reverent, like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. The palace, the guards, the years of friendship that had quietly shifted into something deeper. There was only Aang, and the way his breath hitched against her mouth and the way he clung to her as if she were the most precious thing on earth to him, as if she was the one who allowed life to continue flowing through him, as if her very existence was a miracle in his life.

“¡Oh, come on! Already?”

They broke apart instantly.

She inhaled sharply, heat rushing to her face as she turned toward the voice. Sokka stood a few steps away, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Toph stood beside him, a smirk tugging at her lips like she’d been waiting for this exact moment, her sightless eyes somehow still managing to convey pure amusement through earthbending vibrations alone.

“I give it five minutes before they forget we’re here again,” Toph added casually, kicking a pebble across the courtyard with a metallic clink.

Katara shot them both a look, though her lips twitched with barely suppressed laughter. “Can you not?”

“What?” Sokka said, grinning wider. “I’m just appreciating the reunion. It’s very… passionate. Very fiery, I wouldn't expect less from the Fire Lord's sister.”

“Sokka,” Katara warned, but there was no real bite in her tone.

"I would appreciate it if it were less... all that," Zuko blurted out, observing them both, causing them to turn completely red as she tried to hide her face in Aang's chest. Behind Sokka and Toph, Zuko stepped forward, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His scar pulled slightly with the faint edge of exasperation on his face, one she knew well from a lifetime of being his younger sister. “It would be good if they remembered where they are,” he said, his golden eyes settling on Aang, enjoying a little, a lot, the air bender’s reaction to his words and his sister's embarrassed groan. “This is still the palace, a little decorum wouldn't hurt you.”

Aang straightened slightly, his hand dropping from her face as he rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushing pink. “Right, yeah. Sorry, Fire Lord Zuko, sir,” he blurted out nervously, making Zuko smile with amusement.

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her, warm and genuine, cutting through the embarrassment. Zuko’s gaze flicked to her then, softening in the way it always did for his sister. “At least now that you're here she'll leave me alone, I'd forgotten how fussy she gets when she's bored at council meetings,” Zuko said mischievously, causing his sister to look at him indignantly and the others to laugh.

"As if it wasn't you who begged me to come visit you because you missed me," she complained, frowning.

"And I regretted it two minutes later," he replied, shrugging, letting out a low laugh when she tried to approach but couldn't because Aang stopped her by gently holding her by the waist.

"Hold on, firefly," Aang said, pulling her close to his chest. "You know he likes to tease you. He'd die if you decided to leave him," he added, gently pressing a kiss to her hair as Zuko watched them with a small, amused smile.

They weren't going to hear him admit it out loud, but he was happy that his sister had found happiness and love with someone like Aang, someone he knew he could trust and entrust with her safety.

"Just like old times," Sokka muttered. "I've missed this, but if you're going to keep fighting, you could at least do it during dinner, where all the delicious food is waiting for us."

Dinner felt like stepping into the past, the long banquet hall alive with the same chaotic energy that had carried them through the war. Sokka dominated most of the conversation, loudly recounting a recent mission with far more dramatics than accuracy, gesturing wildly with a roasted duck leg. Toph interrupted him whenever she felt like it, which was often, calling out exaggerations with sharp, amused precision that made everyone laugh. Katara tried to keep things grounded, though she was smiling more than she was scolding, her waterbender grace evident even in the way she passed the rice bowls. And Zuko watched it all, feeling a warmth in his chest, enjoying having his friends and family at home as his honored guests, enjoying the feeling, even if only for a few days since his sister's arrival, of the weight on his shoulders lightening and of once again feeling that calm that only they could provide.

And Aang… Aang sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed occasionally, their knees touching under the table. Every so often his hand would find hers beneath the embroidered cloth, brief squeezes, absentminded but grounding, like he needed the contact as much as she did. She returned every one of them, her thumb tracing the lines of his palm, feeling the calluses from his glider staff, enjoying the warmth that emanated from him, simply enjoying his touch, the one that managed to ignite her at the slightest contact. It was then that her mind traveled to those more intimate moments, where they were both alone, where the kisses and furtive, burning touches were present, her brow furrowing as she remembered how each of those moments had ended.

It was a pattern that hadn't yet changed and she didn't know how much longer she could cope with the worry, insecurity and uncertainty it caused. She was even starting to feel guilty for thinking about it. Perhaps she was rushing things, perhaps she was exaggerating, perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Her gaze traveled to Katara and Toph. She needed to talk to them, to hear their opinions, she needed advice from her friends.

Later, when the group began to drift apart for the night, she slipped away with Katara and Toph. The room they settled into was quiet, softly lit by a single lantern that cast gentle shadows across silk cushions and low tables. It reminded her of nights spent traveling together, whispered conversations under the stars, shared exhaustion, the kind of closeness that came from surviving things side by side.

Toph was the first to speak, flopping onto a cushion with her usual lack of ceremony. “You’ve been off all night,” she said bluntly. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because the ground doesn’t lie.”

She hesitated, sinking onto the edge of the bed, her hands folding loosely in her lap as she searched for the right words. Her fire felt dim inside her, banked by nerves.

Katara’s expression softened almost immediately, moving to sit beside her. “Hey… you can tell us. Whatever it is.”

“It’s about Aang,” she said quietly, her voice was almost inaudible, muffled by the emotions that were consuming her.

That was enough to get their full attention. Toph tilted her head slightly, her senses attuned. "What did he do now?" the earth ender questioned, her brow furrowing and her shoulders tensing, as if she were preparing to go out and find the aforementioned person to make him pay for something she didn't even know what it was yet. "Did he do anything to you?" Toph knew Aang and what an amazing person he was, and she trusted that he wouldn't do anything to her, but that didn't mean she wouldn't deal with him if he had.

"No, nothing like that!" she exclaimed quickly to stop Toph from doing anything, standing between her two friends. "And I think that's kind of the problem," she added quietly, running her hands over her face in frustration, overwhelmed by not knowing how to express what she felt. Katara watched her, tilting her head slightly, her eyes filled with compassion, waiting for her to continue speaking. "Everything's going well, more than well. He's... God, Aang is perfect, really, he's the... He's the love of my life, I truly love him madly. He's kind, patient and looks at me like I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him. After all these years of dancing around it…” The feelings and love she had for him were more than evident in her voice. “I finally have him, we are finally together, and these months with him have been incredible. Really there are no words to describe what it's like to love and be loved by him, but...” she paused briefly, feeling a warmth begin to rise up her neck and settle in her face and ears. “But we’ve never… gone further.”

Silence settled over the room, thick and understanding. Katara blinked, then nodded gently. “Oh.”

Toph raised an eyebrow. “Huh. So… the Avatar’s holding back?” Toph stifled a laugh, prompting Katara to give her a light kick to shut her up. “I didn't think that would happen, especially knowing how his heart reacts every time he's near you,” she tilted her head slightly. “I thought he would jump on you at the first opportunity he had… Hmm, maybe those meditations really do work and he has more willpower than I thought.”

"Toph, this isn't the time," Katara said, shaking her head.

While she stifled an embarrassed groan, because of course Toph would react that way. A sigh escaped her lips, but she turned to look at her two friends and continued talking, her cheeks burning.

"We kissed, a lot, and God how he kisses me... every time he does it's incredible, it leaves me trembling, it takes my breath away. And it's not that he doesn't love me, I know he does, I can tell. I feel it in the way he pulls me close, in how his hands tremble sometimes, in the way he looks at me and touches me. But every time I feel that it could become something more, that we could move on to something more... he stops,” she explained, gesturing with her hands as she paced the room. "Everything stops, and he moves away as if I burn him, as if he can't stand being near me. And I lie there wondering if I'm doing something wrong, or if maybe he doesn't see me that way and I've actually misinterpreted the situation and am imagining the desire, if I'm just projecting my own feelings onto him and making him uncomfortable."

“That doesn’t make sense,” Toph cut in firmly. “Trust me. That boy is into you. The way the air shifts around him when you’re near? It’s not subtle.”

Despite everything, a small, watery laugh escaped her. Katara squeezed her hand, warm and steady like the water she bent. “She’s right. Aang cares about you deeply, he has for years. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you, there’s probably a reason he’s holding back. But you won’t know unless you ask him.”

“I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Or push him into something he’s not ready for.”

“You won’t,” Katara said softly. “Not if you’re honest. Communication matters more than you think. I learned that the hard way with my own relationships.” She smiled, a little wistful. “And if he’s being weird, at least you’ll know why. You deserve to feel wanted completely.”

Toph nodded, punching her lightly on the arm. “Yeah. And if he messes it up, I’ll bury him in the courtyard myself.”

She exhaled slowly, a fragile resolve settling in her chest. “Yeah, I guess I should just talk to him.”

The palace had quieted by the time she found him again. The halls were dim, the torches burning low, casting long shadows along the walls. Outside, the night air drifted in through open archways, cool and steady, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine from the gardens. Aang walked beside her as she guided him through one of the outer corridors, explaining some of the changes Zuko had made while she’d been away, new training grounds for young firebenders, a peaceful meditation pavilion overlooking the cliffs. But her thoughts weren’t on the palace. They hadn’t been for hours.

He slowed down until he stopped in a secluded alcove, far from the main halls, where the stone walls curved gently and the only light came from a single flickering lantern and the stars and moon that entered through the window.

“Aang.”

He turned immediately, his expression shifting at once, concern softening his features, those gray eyes searching hers like he could read the wind in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

Her heart tightened, pounding against her ribs. Just say it. You’ve faced worse than this. “I need to ask you something.”

“Of course,” he stepped closer to her, always closer, his hand hovering like he wanted to touch her but sensed the fragility in the air.

She hesitated, then forced herself to meet his eyes, voice trembling despite her efforts. “Do you still want this? Us?”

Confusion flickered across his face, genuine and immediate, his lips parted slightly, unsure what to say. “What?”

“This,” she said, her voice quieter now, raw, looking away from his gaze. “Us. If something’s wrong, you can tell me. If you don’t feel the same anymore or if there’s something I’m doing, or not doing, that makes you pull away… just say it, please. I can accept it, even if it hurts, but I don’t want to keep making you uncomfortable.”

“Hey, firefly” He stepped closer, frowning deeply, raising his hands to gently take her face in his hands and make her look at him. “Where is this coming from? Of course I want this, you. I’ve wanted you for years. You know that.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “Every time things start to go further,” she said, her voice tightening, “you stop. You pull away like I’m something you shouldn’t touch, like I burn you in the wrong way and I just want to understand. If you’re not interested in that part of it, or if it’s just with me, or if I’m the problem…”

“No, you’re not the problem,” the certainty in his voice stopped her cold, his gray eyes showed the sincerity in his words. “You’re not the problem, love” he repeated, softer now, almost as if it hurt him that she thought that. “Not even a little. You’re perfect, you’re everything and more for me.”

“Then what is it?” she whispered, the question hanging between them, her mind clouded by confusion. "Is it because you don't like it? You're not interested in that part? I swear I'll understand if that's the case, Aang. I won't force you to do anything, but I just want to... understand."

"No, it's not that, believe me, it's not that, there's nothing I want more," he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing away into the shadows. For the first time, he looked… embarrassed. Vulnerable in a way that made her chest ache. “It’s just… it’s hard to explain without sounding ridiculous.” She waited in silence, giving him the time he needed to feel ready to let it out. He exhaled slowly, then muttered, almost under his breath, cheeks flushing deeper. “I glow.”

She blinked, observing him in silence, unsure if she had heard his words correctly. “Uh?”

He looked back at her, the faint blue of his arrow marks seeming to mock him. “I glow. When things get… intense my marks, my eyes, they light up. Like the Avatar State,” he rushed on before she could respond. “It’s not the same, because I’m still in control, I’m still me. It just… happens. Like everything gets stronger and sharper, my senses, the connection to the spirits. The pleasure pulls me into that spiritual place, even while I’m right here with you on the physical plane, I can feel absolutely everything and in a much more intense and profound way, and I don't know how to make it stop. It's not something I can control, it just happens… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or scare you. Or make you think I’m some kind of freak who can’t even…”

“Why would that be a bad thing?” she interrupted gently, stepping closer.

He parted his lips in astonishment. “It’s not bad,” he said, voice small. “It’s just… a lot. I thought maybe you wouldn’t like it, that it would ruin the moment. That you’d see me glowing like some glowing spirit and it would be too much, even for you, who were already used to seeing me that way at other times. I’ve been so scared of losing you over something I can’t control.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, the words sinking in, not with disgust, but with a rush of affection so fierce it nearly stole her breath. Then she closed the distance, gently cupping his face in her hands, guiding his gaze back to hers. His skin was warm under her palms, the faint stubble of his jaw brushing her fingers.

“Aang,” she said softly, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheeks. “Love, there is nothing about you that could ever disgust me. Nothing, really. And that? The way your marks light up?” A small, genuine smile formed on her lips, warm as her fire. “I really like seeing you like that. Every time I’ve seen your markings glow in battle or meditation, I’ve thought it was the most beautiful, powerful thing. And if it happens because of me… because of how much you want me… I think that’s the hottest thing I can imagine.”

Aang searched her face, looking for any flicker of doubt or pity, but he didn’t find any. Slowly, he leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering half-closed as a shaky breath escaped him. The tension in his shoulders melted away like ice under spring sun, in the same way that he seemed to melt every time she touched him.

“…I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered, voice thick with relief and lingering shame.

“Maybe,” she said gently, her fingers tracing the edge of the arrow mark on his forehead with feather-light reverence, which gave him chills.  “But you’re telling me now. And that’s what matters.”

His eyes met hers again, gratitude and love shining brighter than any glow could. “Thank you.”

"I don't think you should thank me, if anything I'm the one who should say thank you for being honest with me," she said gently, her eyes full of affection, of love too, the knot in her chest finally loosening. Then, after a small pause, a hint of teasing crept into her tone. “So… all those times you pulled away like I was the plague…” she tilted her head slightly. “That was why? You were about to glow and ran off to the nearest bathroom to handle it alone?”

He flushed deeper, wincing slightly at how it sounded aloud. “I knew it was about to happen, I’d feel it building, the spark, the pull, and I’d leave to go deal with it on my own. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want to. Spirits, love, you make me feel too much, you turn me inside out. I’ve wanted you for so long it hurts sometimes. But I just didn’t want to overwhelm you with all that.”

Her brows lifted just slightly, but this time the spark in her eyes didn’t fade, it deepened, slow and deliberate, like something finally being allowed to burn. “At least now,” she murmured, closing the last inch of space between them until their bodies fit together as if they had always been meant to, “you know you don’t have to run from it anymore… quite the opposite.”

His breath hitched, sharp and unsteady, his gaze dropping to her lips before finding her eyes again, darker now. “What do you mean?” he asked, though the way his voice lowered betrayed that he already felt it, whatever she was about to say.

She didn’t look away. Not for a second. Instead, she leaned in just enough for her words to ghost over his skin, her voice soft, but threaded with something that made his pulse spike. “I mean…” Her fingers curled slightly against him, grounding herself in his warmth. “I want to see it. All of it… all of you.” A breath escaped her, shaky but certain. “I’ve spent weeks wanting you so badly it’s driving me insane, Aang. I don’t just want pieces of you, I want you. Completely.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, like the world had tilted under his feet. “Are you serious?” he asked, but now his voice was rough, almost hoarse, something deeper breaking through. The air around them stirred faintly, responding to him before he could even think to control it.

“I’ve never been more serious,” she whispered, and this time her hands slid up, slow and deliberate, resting over his chest, right over the frantic rhythm of his heart. Her touch softened, but her gaze didn’t. “I’m yours,” she added, quieter now, more intimate. “Let me see you like that… Let me see what I do to you, the way your body reacts instinctively.”

Something ignited in his expression, dark and wanting. “Then I guess,” he murmured, stepping even closer, his voice brushing against her lips like a promise, “we should fix that. What kind of partner would I be if I left you like this again?”

That did it.

Something in his expression shifted, something warmer, darker, something that made him step into her space like he finally understood exactly what she was offering. His hand found her waist, steady but possessive, pulling her just a little closer.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and almost teasing now, though the intensity in his eyes gave him away completely. “You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to stay calm.” His thumb brushed lightly against her side, absentminded, but charged. “Weeks, huh?” he added, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I’ve been suffering alone for nothing.”

"Aang," the name sprang from her lips like a prayer.

He leaned in, just enough for his breath to mingle with hers, his voice dropping into something softer, more intimate, like a promise meant only for her.

“Then I think,” he whispered, his lips barely a breath away from hers, “it’s about time I stop holding back.” A pause, charged and deliberate. “What kind of partner would I be,” he added, softer now, almost coaxing, “if I kept denying you… when I want you just as much?”

And when he kissed her this time, there was nothing hesitant about it.

His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that had been leashed for months, tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees weak. She moaned softly into the kiss, her fingers brushed against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine as she pressed herself closer, bodies aligning perfectly. His hands roamed, down her back and over the curve of her hips, pulling her flush against him until she could feel exactly how much he wanted her, hard and insistent through their robes.

They stumbled backward together into the deeper shadows of the alcove, the stone wall cool against her back as he caged her there, never breaking the kiss. His hands gripped her hips like he was afraid she might vanish, and hers fisted desperately in the front of his tunic, tugging him impossibly closer. The air around them stirred with uncontrolled currents, his bending reacting to the storm building inside him, while her own heat flared hotter, flames of pure want licking at the edges of her control.

“Love,” he breathed against her mouth, voice reverent and wrecked, barely more than a growl. “Are you sure? We can go slow. I don’t want to…”

She cut him off with a frantic, needy sound, half-moan, half-plea, her fingers sliding up to clutch the sides of his face as if she could pull him inside her very soul. Weeks of frustration, of every almost and every abrupt retreat, poured out of her in a desperate rush.

“No, don’t you dare go slow,” she gasped, voice trembling with raw hunger, lips brushing his with every word. “I don’t want slow, Aang. I’ve waited months for this. I want everything, all of you, right now. I don’t need gentle or careful or anything else, just you, only you,” the need was visible in her eyes, burning like fire inside her, wanting to burn everything in her path. “I’m losing my mind, I need you so badly it hurts,” her words shattered what little remained of his restraint.

Aang groaned like he’d been punched, the sound low and broken and utterly desperate as his hands tightened almost bruisingly on her waist. The blue glow of his marks flickered to life across his skin, faint at first but brightening fast. He kissed her again, harder, deeper, all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing, pressing her harder against the wall as if he could fuse them together. One of his hands slid down her thigh, hiking her leg around his hip with urgent strength, while the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could devour the line of her throat.

“Spirits, love” he rasped against her pulse, voice hoarse with the same desperation that made her tremble. “You have no idea what you do to me. I’ve been dying for you, burning for you. If you want all of me… then take me. I’m yours.”

The words snapped the last thread of her patience. Her answer was a broken, needy moan as she yanked him back into a kiss that was all teeth and hunger, her tongue sliding against his like she could devour the months of waiting right out of him. Her hands shoved at his tunic, clumsy with urgency, until the fabric ripped open and she shoved it down his shoulders. She clung to him tightly, eliminating any space between them, pressing and rubbing her pelvis against his, the friction stealing gasps from them, as she dragged her nails down the lean, muscled planes of his back, hard enough to leave red lines that made him hiss into her mouth, the sound vibrating straight through her.

Aang groaned, deep and guttural, the air around them swirling in restless eddies as his bending reacted to the sharp pleasure-pain. He didn’t give her time to think, one strong hand gripped the back of her thigh, hiking it higher around his hip while the other tugged at the ties of her robes with frantic fingers. Cloth whispered and tore, the cool night air kissed her heated skin as her robes fell open. His palm skimmed up her ribs, calloused and reverent, until he cupped her breast, thumb brushing over the tight peak of her nipple. She couldn't help but arch her back with a sharp cry, head falling back against the stone wall, and he took the invitation instantly, mouth latching onto the side of her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a blooming bruise.

“Aang, yes…” she gasped, the word fracturing into a moan when he rolled her nipple between his fingers and bit down on the tender skin just below her ear. The sting bloomed into liquid heat that pooled low in her belly, slick and aching. She could feel him hard against her thigh, straining through the last layers of fabric, and she rocked into him shamelessly, desperate for friction.

He growled against her collarbone, the sound raw and unrestrained, then dragged his mouth lower. Another bite, sharp and possessive, right above the swell of her breast, followed by a soothing swipe of his tongue that made her whimper. “Mine,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re finally mine… Spirits, I've been dreaming about this for years, about how you’d sound, how you’d feel.”

Her nails dug deeper into his back, scoring fresh lines down his spine as she pulled him impossibly closer. “Then stop talking and give it to me,” she panted, voice trembling with the same frantic need that made her thighs shake. “I need you, Aang. Now. Please, please, please,” she blurted out, almost as a prayer.

The plea shattered what was left of his control. With a broken sound that was half-laugh, half-groan, he shoved the rest of their clothing aside. One moment she was empty and aching; the next he was lifting her fully, airbending curling gently beneath her to help support her weight so her back stayed pressed to the wall. The blunt head of his cock nudged against her entrance, slick with her arousal, and then he thrust in, deep, relentless and filling her in one smooth stroke that stole the breath from both their lungs.

She cried out, loud and unrestrained, nails raking down his back and shoulders again as her walls clenched around the sudden, perfect stretch. He was thick and hot and hers, and the feeling of him buried to the hilt made stars explode behind her eyelids. “Oh spirits, Aang…”

He buried his face in her neck with a guttural moan, hips stuttering once before he found a rhythm, deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her. The stone wall was cool and unforgiving at her back while his body was fire and wind and desperation against her front. Every snap of his hips drove a fresh gasp from her throat, every drag of his cock pulled a broken moan from both of them. Their breaths mingled in hot, panting bursts.

“Spirits, you’re so tight, so warm,” he groaned, voice hoarse against her skin. He bit down on the curve of her breast again, harder this time, leaving a vivid mark that would linger for days. The sting only made her wetter, made her rock down onto him faster, chasing the pleasure that was already coiling impossibly tight in her core. Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him deeper, harder.

Even then, the first faint shimmer had already begun. From the moment their frantic kisses had turned desperate against the alcove wall, the blue arrows marked across Aang’s skin had started to glow, soft at first, barely more than a gentle pulse of light, like moonlight filtered through water. The arrow on his forehead and the ones tracing down his arms and back gave off a subtle, ethereal blue that painted faint shadows across her flushed skin. It had been there since the first hungry clash of tongues, growing warmer and brighter with every moan he swallowed from her lips, every roll of his hips.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she sobbed, head thrown back, firebender heat flaring so intensely that little sparks danced harmlessly along her fingertips where they clutched his shoulders. “You feel so good, so fucking good, and I’ve wanted this for so long…”

Aang’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, hips snapping forward with renewed desperation. Sweat slicked their skin, the wet sound of their bodies meeting echoed softly in the shadowed alcove. The glow on his marks had deepened now, no longer faint but steadily brightening with each thrust, spreading across the lines on his back and the ones curving over his shoulders, illuminating the fresh red scratches her nails had left behind. His eyes, still gray but rimmed with that rising inner light, locked onto hers as he kissed her again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding as he drove into her over and over. One hand slipped between them, thumb finding her clit and circling in tight, perfect strokes that made her tremble and clench around him.

The pressure built fast, relentless, overwhelming. Her moans turned into high, needy whimpers, her nails digging deeper crescent marks into his back as she teetered right on the edge. Aang’s breaths came in ragged gasps against her throat, his forehead pressed to hers. The light on his skin grew stronger with every snap of his hips, the soft blue now a vivid, pulsing glow that bathed the alcove in shifting cerulean hues, making the cool stone wall behind her seem to shimmer. His eyes began to brighten too, the gray slowly overtaken by luminous blue as the spiritual pull intensified.

“I’m, spirits, I’m so close,” he panted, voice cracking. “Love, look at me.”

And she did.

His thrusts grew erratic, deep and desperate, chasing his own release. The coil inside her snapped first, pleasure crashing through her in white-hot waves as she came with a broken cry of his name, walls fluttering and pulsing around him. The sensation dragged him over the edge right after her.

Aang’s entire body tensed, hips jerking forward one last time as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a raw, shattered groan that vibrated through both of them. And then, the glow exploded.

It flared to its full, breathtaking intensity in that exact moment, every blue arrow mark on his skin igniting with radiant, ethereal light like he had stepped fully into the Avatar State. The markings across his forehead, arms and down his back, where her nails had scored possessive lines, blazed brighter than she had ever seen them, pulsing in perfect time with every thick throb of his release as he spilled deep inside her, pulse after pulse, filling her completely. His eyes blazed open at the same instant, pure luminous blue, glowing like twin lanterns in the darkness of the alcove, illuminating her face, her parted lips, the love-drunk expression in her own eyes with an otherworldly radiance. The light throbbed with the rhythm of his orgasm, bathing them both in soft, spiritual brilliance that made the entire shadowed corner of the palace feel alive with sacred energy.

She moaned at the sight, another smaller wave of pleasure rippling through her at how devastatingly beautiful he looked, lost in ecstasy, glowing because of her, because of how much he wanted her, the light reaching its absolute peak exactly as he came undone inside her. She cupped his face with trembling hands, thumbs brushing over the blazing arrows on his cheeks as he shuddered through the last tremors of his orgasm.

“Aang…” she whispered, voice soft and awed even as her body still clenched around him. “Look at you… so beautiful, so mine.”

He leaned into her touch, eyes still glowing with that full, radiant light, chest heaving with ragged breaths. Only then did the brilliance begin to fade slowly, receding like the tide as the spiritual haze ebbed, first dimming in his eyes, then softening across the arrows on his skin until only a faint, lingering shimmer remained. It left behind only the man she loved, sweaty, trembling, and looking at her like she had just remade his entire world.

For a long moment they simply stayed there, still joined, foreheads pressed together, hearts hammering in sync against the cool palace wall. His arms held her close, protective and reverent, while her fingers traced lazy, soothing patterns over the fresh scratches on his back.

“I love you,” he breathed against her lips, voice hoarse and full of wonder. “I’ve loved you for so long… and now I never have to hide any part of me again.”

She smiled, soft and sated and incandescently happy, pressing a gentle kiss to his glowing-faded forehead. “Good, because I want every single part of you Aang. Glow and all.”

In that moment, as she held him close, she was truly embracing the light, the sacred, radiant light he had once tried to hide from her, now shining freely between them like a promise finally kept. She wrapped her arms tighter around him, letting it wash over her skin and soul without reservation, as if she could pull every glowing trace of it into her own heart and keep it safe forever.

They stayed tangled together against the wall a little longer, trading lazy kisses and whispered promises, the night air cool on their heated skin and the distant sounds of the palace forgotten entirely. For the first time in months, there was no pulling away, only the warm, glowing certainty of finally being completely, perfectly together, wrapped in the light they had both come to cherish.

[foolishleclerc]

please i beg someone to write a fanfic x reader with zuko AND shoto... i clearly have a type

[foolishleclerc]

i saw several pictures, gifs and videos of zuko on twitter and i'm amazed, oh my god i can't stop watching them. when i watched the series as a little girl i was so in love with him, and NOW I FEEL THE SAME, GOD. zuko was never just a phase.

[foolishleclerc]

okay, so... my phone broke. i accidentally dropped it and since the screen was already loose… it literally detached and broke in two. part of what i write and my ideas were on it, so it will probably take me a little longer than usual to start writing again. and it's going to take me a while to get another one, so i just ask for your patience :(

[foolishleclerc]

Hii, I just read your nurse AU fics and I really loved all of them! Especially hockey player! Valarr was so good and it really fits him. I wanted to ask if you maybe could write more for hockey player!, maybe with figure skater! reader? I don't know if you even take requests but this one really tickles something in my brain. Anyway feel free to ignore this if you are not interested! ♥️🫶🏻

Hi!! I'm glad you liked it and sorry for the delay in replying! God, I love the idea of ​​Valarr as a hockey player and I think it would be really interesting to see him in more stories. I'm going to see what I can come up with for him as a figure skater! reader, I absolutely love that trope. Every time I think about figure skating, the first thing that comes to mind is the movie "Ice Princess", even if there weren't any hockey players in it, I think I'd like to experiment with that a bit.

[foolishleclerc]

Hiiiii

So I am in love with your akotsk x pitt stories. Both shows are my current hyperfixation so I am really loving your fics you are so good person for giving us this perfection.

I wanted to ask if you could write in the same au how the men reacts when their hear about pitt fest shooting. Like maybe their loved one is called to work when they were with them or something like that.

I need more of this au. Even if you decided not to write just know I wish you only the best and a cold pillow

Hi!!! I'm so sorry for the delay, I'm so, so happy you liked it! I'll have to start thinking about how I'd like to develop that and the different versions for each person, but I think it's a really cool idea. I'm not promising anything, but I'll try to think about it and see what comes out, and if I like it, I'll upload it!

Thank you so much anyway for taking the time to write!! :))

[foolishleclerc]

i am weak and quite easily influenced, so i'm already thinking about what stories i can put together for the valarr and aerion one-shots as F1 drivers and make a mini-serie with daeron

[foolishleclerc]

off the record - daeron targaryen modern!au

pairing: f1 driver! daeron targaryen x fem!reader summary: it was supposed to be just another interview. but the way he looks at her even when the cameras stop rolling says otherwise. warnings: formula one setting, the targaryens have a racing team, no use of Y/N, third person narration. english is not my first language, i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. word count: 10.4k a/n: so… i think it's obvious who one of my favorite targaryens is. i swear i try to think of ideas for everyone equally, but daeron's just flow much more easily, and i'm not going to deny that, i'm just a girl in love with a blondie. could i have used this idea with a real driver? yes, but it was more fun to do it this way. i hope you enjoy it and like it as much as i did!

The Targaryen name had been in Formula One longer than many of the circuits on the current calendar. It wasn't just another team, but a legacy, a dynasty, a fire rooted in carbon fiber.

From the outside, Targaryen Racing inspired the same reverence as Ferrari or Williams, a historic and dramatic team, impossible to ignore. Inside, it was a family business transformed into something dangerously efficient. Everyone participated in one way or another, to a greater or lesser degree, knowing that the family's image could not be tarnished and that they had to proudly wear the dragon crest that had represented them for decades.

Baelor Targaryen, the CEO, was currently responsible for the team's image, marketing, sponsorship and commercial performance. A retired driver for the dragon team, he had several victories to his name years ago, including two championships. Until he decided to focus on the business side. He was the public face, measured, charismatic, always composed. He seemed born to be in charge.

While Aerys and Rhaegel worked as engineers in the factory, ensuring that the design and production of the car parts went well, Maekar worked inside the paddock, being the team director. He was everything you look for in a team director, coolness, strategy, calmness, knowing that his hand wouldn't tremble when making a decision in the middle of a race that would make anyone else's hair stand on end.

And then there were the drivers, family members who were old enough to participate actively.

Valarr Targaryen, the kind of driver everyone adored, with his sweet smile, his elegant and well-thought-out answers, the driver you'd want if you had the chance, the PR team's lifeline whenever there was an issue to address. He was calm and confident personified, a driver with both cunning and decorum. The complete opposite of Aerion Targaryen, brilliant but volatile, unpredictable, never knowing what he might do next, what his next move might be both on and off the track. He split his time between being a reserve driver for the Formula One team and the team's lead driver in the IndyCar series.

And then there was Daeron Targaryen.

Considered by many to be one of the best drivers of the moment, endowed with a natural talent that couldn't be taught, fast, intelligent, always focused on achieving the best result. But that wasn't what people focused on when they talked about him, nor his incredible results, his podium finishes, or his performance. Rather, it was the fact that he was one of the most distant and reserved drivers in the paddock, with his curt answers, his polite disinterest and the way media days seemed to drain the life out of him.

He hated attending press conferences, avoiding them whenever possible. He hated the journalists' questions, which always focused on the same two or three topics. He hated the expectant stares directed at him, as if what he did on the track wasn't enough and he had to prove himself off it as well. He was a headache for the PR team every time he ignored, intentionally or unintentionally, the journalists' questions, leaving awkward silences and accusatory looks upon him, looks he no longer cared about.

He hated being asked questions there, having to think about the answer people would like to hear, the one the team would approve of, the one his father and uncles would expect, instead of what he would like to say. He couldn't even be like his brother, Aerion, who already had a reputation for answering with the first thing that came to mind. Because it seemed that people were only entertained when Aerion was the one doing it, but if he said something they didn't like, something that didn't fit with the image they'd created of him, then he was wrong. And that's why he disliked questions, journalists, and interviews so much, and he ran away from them whenever he could.

And that was the main reason why she didn't expect to receive a response from his team accepting the invitation to her podcast.

She had sent it without much hope, trying her luck, even though she knew the chances of Daeron Targaryen agreeing to appear on an episode were minuscule, almost nonexistent. She knew of other Formula One podcasters, much more well-known than her, who had tried to invite him and had been rejected every time, so she thought she was just going to be another one of the bunch. She was greatly surprised when she received that email accepting the invitation, several days later than expected, when the hope of even receiving a simple email saying 'no, he'll pass' had already vanished. Instead, she received an email asking for details of the meeting so they could coordinate everything.

She had read the email three times before fully understanding it. Not because it was too long, but because she still didn't believe it was real, she even had to double-check that the email address was correct and that she wasn't falling for some kind of scam.

Daeron Targaryen had agreed to be on her podcast, he really had, and she was about to start jumping and dancing with excitement.

She had to do well, she couldn't fail. She couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

The days leading up to the recording passed in a strange mix of excitement and quiet, contained panic. The kind of panic that made her check the cables at midnight, rewatch her own episodes with a critical eye, looking for something she could tweak for this occasion or improve, and adjust the light boxes until the light settled on the chairs like warm honey instead of a clinical white.

Her studio was small and intimate. A spare room converted in the apartment she shared with only her notes and her collection of miniature helmets. Walls in a soft and welcoming color, a low shelf filled with signed gloves and faded racing posters, a couple of miniature cars among technical manuals, alongside more casual books of fantasy, science fiction and romance, plus a few photographs of her with friends and her pet. Nothing ostentatious, and everything with a purpose, to make it a warm, welcoming place that offered a sense of tranquility, a place you wanted to be.

The main camera was on a sturdy tripod, its lens perfectly framed for the two-person setup, next to a second camera slightly tilted for close-up shots and reactions. The microphones were already attached and tested, their levels perfectly adjusted. She had learned everything through trial and error: late-night lighting design classes, hours of experimenting with white balance, framing tutorials that made her cross-eyed, dozens of video tutorials and courses to see how she could improve audio, image, lighting, even the way she addressed interviewees. It was a mix of many different things fitted together, like a collage, but it worked. The room felt like a space for conversation, not a stage, a place to chat as if she were having coffee with a friend.

And yet, she was nervous. Because this was Daeron Targaryen.

It wasn't just his presence that made her nervous, but rather the possibility that he wouldn't like anything she'd prepared.

That he would come in, sit down, answer politely, and leave.

That it would just be another interview, another box checked.

He arrived exactly on time.

No entourage. No PR handler hovering at his shoulder with a clipboard and a forced smile. He stood alone in the doorway, wearing a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans, a worn cap perched on his head, his hands loosely in his pockets. Nothing about him screamed that he was a famous person, one of the top 20 drivers in one of the most important categories of motorsport, instead he looked casual, like any other boy his age.

When she opened the door, he looked up, and for a moment the world shrank to the calm gaze of his blue eyes, which contrasted sharply with everything around him. Up close, in person, they were so much more beautiful than in the interviews and photos she had seen.

“Hi,” she said introducing herself by name, a smile breaking through before nerves could swallow it, her eyes sparkled warmly, which was refreshing to him.

“Hi.” his voice was lower in person, softer around the edges than the clipped press-conference clips she’d studied. “You’re… her.”

She laughed under her breath. “Yeah. It's a pleasure to meet you, come in.”

He stepped inside slowly, gaze sweeping over the setup, the cameras, the diffused lights, the small table with two glasses of water and a notebook she’d barely touched. He paused in front of the main camera, tilting his head like he was reading the specs on the lens.

“This is all you?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Every cable, every light, every course I failed and retook,” she answered, closing the door behind him. The click sounded louder than it should have in the quiet room. “I wanted control over how it looked and sounded. No one else editing my questions or cutting the best parts.”

Daeron nodded once, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Smart.”

She led him to the chair that was his, approaching to adjust the microphone in front of him to his height, able to smell the scent of the perfume he was wearing, one so delicious that it made her want to inhale deeply just to capture more of the aroma, but she wasn't going to do it, she couldn't do it, it was too strange at that moment and with that closeness. As she adjusted the microphone, his gaze fell upon her profile, appreciating more closely what he had already seen before, perhaps looking at her for longer than was prudent.

"Would you like anything in particular to drink?" she asked, taking a step back and observing him with a small, gentle smile. "I brought water just in case, because I wasn't sure if you'd prefer anything specific. I can offer you tea, coffee, or even a cold drink like juice or soda, it's up to you."

Daeron watched her for a few seconds considering her options, until he finally nodded. "A soda would be fine, any you have."

She nodded, walking over to a small refrigerator in the corner of the room and taking out two cans of different flavored soda, placing them in front of him. "Whichever you want, it's on the house," she said, making him smile. Making him smile was a complete victory in her book. He took the one on the right while she sat down opposite him, then she took the one he had left untouched.

“Okay, I don't know exactly what your agent told you about our email conversation regarding this," she began. "But it's just a conversation, not a script. If you hate a question or topic, we move on. If you want to stop, we stop.”

He watched her carefully. “You don’t script it?”

“Not even the order of the topics,” she tapped gently on the cover of her notebook. “I have some ideas jotted down, but I don’t really stick to them. I much prefer the conversation to flow in the moment, I prefer that the guest feels comfortable and not interrogated as if they had committed a heinous crime.”

There was a brief silence as he watched her with a small smile on his lips, until he finally spoke. "That's why I said yes,” she looked up, surprised by his words. "I watched some of your previous episodes," he added calmly, as if those words were no big deal. "The episode with the Alpine mechanic who'd been working there for several years, the episode with Bortoleto when he was still in F2, the episode with the first female race engineer, Laura Müller, and even the episode with Hannah Schmitz, which was really good, to be honest I enjoyed them all,” he gave her a soft smile. “You let people talk, you're not chasing headlines or things that will get you easy views.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words and the way he was looking at her, his blue eyes studying her intently. "I try."

"Good, I like it," he murmured, giving her one last look before opening the can of soda and taking a small sip. "Whenever you want, I'm more than ready."

"Okay, let's do it."

The red light on the main camera blinked on with a soft click and for the first few seconds the studio felt smaller than it had during all her setup checks. The diffused lights cast a warm, even glow across the two chairs, catching the faint sheen on the miniature helmets behind her. He sat straight-backed at first, the way he did in every press conference, polite, composed and his blue eyes flicked once to the lens, then settled on her face, waiting.

She didn’t launch into the usual opener. No ‘How’s the season going’ or ‘Tell us about the car’. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her notebook balanced on her knee more for comfort than reference, and smiled.

“Most people think being a Formula One driver is all about the speed,” she began, voice calm and curious. “But what’s one thing about the day-to-day of it that still surprises even you, something that has nothing to do with lap times or podiums?”

Daeron blinked, the question clearly not what he had braced for. He took a moment, he actually took it, his gaze drifting down to the table as he turned the words over. His fingers rested lightly on the arm of the chair, no longer gripping. When he answered, his voice was measured, but there was already a thread of honesty in it.

“I think… I think it’s the quiet,” he said after a long second. “Between sessions. Everyone assumes the garage is nonstop chaos, but there are these pockets of… nothing. You’re just sitting there in the car, helmet off, listening to the team talk about tire wear like it’s the most important conversation in the world. And you realize the car is breathing with you. It’s weirdly intimate.” He paused again, as if testing whether that sounded ridiculous out loud, then gave a small, almost surprised huff. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that before.”

She didn’t jump in to fill the silence, she simply nodded letting it breathe, and the corner of his mouth lift at the space she gave him.

Encouraged by the way he was already leaning forward a fraction, she continued. “What about the moment the lights go out on the grid? Every driver talks about the pressure, the strategy, the lap times. But… What does it actually feel like?”

His brows drew together slightly, thoughtful. “To drive?”

She shook her head gently. “No. To get in the car.”

Silence settled between them, not empty but alive with consideration. “For a race?” he asked.

“For anything,” she said

This time he didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he thought, really thought, the way someone does when they’re not performing an answer. The studio lights caught the faint tension easing from his shoulders.

“It’s different every time,” he began. “But there’s always this moment,” he continued, eyes drifting somewhere just past the cameras now, as if he were seeing the garage in his mind, “Right before you put the helmet on.” His thumb traced slow, absent patterns along the edge of the table. “Everything’s loud, people shouting, engineers calling out numbers, mechanics moving, radios crackling, footsteps everywhere. And then it just… narrows.”

She leaned in a fraction more, drawn by the shift in his tone. “Narrows how?”

He met her eyes again, briefly, like he was deciding whether to let her all the way in. “Like none of that matters anymore, it’s just you and the car. It’s like the world compresses. Your heartbeat is louder than the engines for half a second, then everything snaps into focus and it’s just… the car and the track and this weird, calm certainty that you’ve done this a thousand times in your head already.” Daeron paused briefly before continuing. “And when you sit down,” he added, voice almost reverent, “when they strap you in… it’s almost calm.”

Her expression softened, seeing how his gaze seemed to shine. “Calm?”

He nodded once, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest, most private smile she had seen from him yet. “Yeah. It’s the only place where everything makes sense.”

There was something almost confessional in the way he said it, like the words had slipped out before he could weigh them. She held the moment carefully, letting it linger.

They moved through a few more like that, questions about the strange camaraderie between rival drivers in the cool-down room, about the way the car’s balance changes lap by lap and how he reads it like a conversation instead of data and more things. With each one Daeron’s answers grew longer, less clipped. He took his time, pausing to find the right words, his posture loosening until he was no longer sitting like a man under scrutiny but like someone actually enjoying the exchange. His hands gestured more freely and a real smile, small, but warm, appeared when he described the way the steering wheel vibrates differently in the wet versus the dry, like the car was whispering secrets only he could hear.

And then, gently, the conversation deepened.

“You’ve talked about growing up in this world,” she said, voice still soft but carrying a new weight. “The Targaryen name has been part of Formula One longer than most of the circuits on the calendar. Your family has always been involved in this world, everyone has some kind of participation, that sounds... intense.”

That earned a small huff of laughter. “That’s one word for it.”

She tilted your head, watching him carefully now. “Was it always easy?”

The question lingered, he didn’t answer right away. This time, the silence stretched a little longer, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was a pleasant, understanding silence.

“No,” he said finally in a soft voice.

“You don't have to answer if you don't want to, we can talk about something else,” she said, observing him with a gentle expression, her gaze showing genuine concern.

“No, it's fine, really there's no problem,” he assured her with a small smile. “It’s complicated,” he admitted.

She nodded. “I imagine.”

“When you grow up in it,” he continued, “it stops being just… racing,” his gaze flickered briefly toward the floor. “It’s expectations, legacy and roles you don’t really choose.” The room felt smaller, more intimate. “And everyone thinks,” he added, a faint edge slipping into his tone, “that because it’s this…” he gestured vaguely, meaning the team, the fame, the privilege, “That it’s easy.” Daeron paused again, finally looking back at her. “But it’s not, not always. There were… points where I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep doing it.”

Those words made her still. “Because of the pressure?” she asked softly.

Daeron hesitated, then shook his head just one. “Because of them,” that words landed heavier. “My father,” he clarified. “And my brother… We clashed,” he said, choosing the words carefully. “A lot.” His jaw tightened slightly, not with anger, but with the bitterness of memory. “It gets… exhausting,” he admitted. “When the thing you love is also the thing that keeps breaking things apart.”

Her chest tightened at that. “And did you ever come close to walking away?” she asked.

His eyes flicked to hers, for a second something unguarded passed through them. “Yeah,” he said. “But in the end, I didn’t.”

She held his gaze. “Why?”

Now his voice was softer, almost as if he were confessing it to himself and not just to her.

“Because we fixed it,” he began to explain. “It took time, quite a bit, actually,” he said, unable to suppress a smile. “And it’s not perfect… I don’t think it ever will be, but it’s much better.” He watched her for a few seconds, noticing the way she was looking at him, truly listening, no agenda behind her eyes. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before without expecting a specific answer… The right answer.”

She shrugged lightly, the motion easy and sincere. “I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer. Just the answer you feel you need to give. It’s never wrong if it’s what you truly want to say.”

The words settled between them like a shared secret, the studio lights softening the edges of everything. Daeron’s shoulders had eased further into the chair, the rigid posture from the beginning of the recording now almost entirely gone. He studied her for a long moment, something warm flickering in the blue of his eyes, before she decided to nudge the conversation forward again, gentle but curious.

“So, when you’re not in the car,” she asked, tilting her head slightly, “what do you do to keep Formula One from swallowing you whole? Everyone talks about training and simulators and recovery, but… what actually keeps you from burning out?”

Daeron didn’t answer right away. He took his time, the way he had with every question she’d asked, his thumb brushing once along the edge of the microphone stand as he thought. Then a small, private smile curved his lips, the kind that made the sharp lines of his face look suddenly younger. “Reading,” he said simply. “A lot of reading.”

Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise. She hadn’t expected that, she imagined him responding with something much more physical, some kind of sport to burn off energy or something similar. She didn't expect that hobby at all, but at the same time she felt it made sense, given the way he spoke and how he expressed himself.

“Reading?” she echoed, unable to hide the delighted note in her voice.

He nodded, the smile deepening. “Yeah. Every time we land in a new city for a race weekend, I slip out incognito, hood up, cap low and no team gear. I hunt down the little independent bookstores, the ones tucked down side streets or hidden behind cafés. The kind that smells like old paper and coffee and feel like they’ve been waiting just for you. I’ll spend an hour in there, no schedule, just pulling books off the shelves until something catches me. It’s the only time the noise in my head actually goes quiet.”

She stared at him for a beat, warmth blooming across her face. “I didn’t expect that at all,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “But… I love it. I read too or at least I used to. Right now I’m stuck in this awful reader’s block, I pick up a book, read three pages and then put it down again. It’s been months.”

Daeron's eyes lit up once again, just as they had several times before during their conversation, bright and unguarded in a way the cameras had never caught before. “Really?” he asked, voice warm with genuine interest. “What kind of books do you like?”

She shrugged, smiling back at him, the conversation feeling less like an interview and more like two people who had somehow forgotten the microphones were still rolling. “I’m not picky at all. I’ll read pretty much anything if it grabs me, but fantasy and science fiction are my favorites. The ones that pull you into another world so completely you forget what time it is.”

His grin widened, slow and real, the kind that made the blue of his eyes look almost luminous under the studio lights. He looked… happy. More than happy, he was engaged in a way she had never seen in any press conference clip, any podium interview, any team radio footage. This was Daeron without the weight of the legacy pressing down on him, just a man talking about something he loved to someone who actually wanted to hear it.

“I can recommend some,” he said immediately, enthusiasm threading through every word. “There are a couple of fantasy series that are perfect for breaking a reader’s block, short enough to finish fast but rich enough to make you want to keep going. And a sci-fi novella that’s basically impossible to put down once you start. If you want, I can put together a quick list. Nothing overwhelming. Just… things that might help pull you back in.”

She felt her own smile bloom, bright and unguarded. “I’d love that. Seriously. I’ll take any help I can get right now.”

Daeron held her gaze across the small space between them, the air in the studio feeling warmer, closer. He looked more alive in that moment than he ever had in front of a camera, animated, relaxed, the usual guarded tension nowhere to be found. The blue of his eyes caught the light with a quiet spark, and for a second neither of them spoke, the moment stretching comfortably between them like an unspoken understanding.

Then she leaned forward a fraction, a playful glint returning to her expression as she tilted her head. “Okay,” she said, voice light but laced with mischief. “Since we’re already way off the usual script… I’m going to ask you something completely unfair now.”

Daeron’s eyebrows rose, but the corner of his mouth curved into a slow, intrigued smile, the kind that made the sharp lines of his face soften instantly. “I’m starting to expect that from you. Go on, let's see what you have for me.”

She grinned. “If your car had a personality, like if it could actually talk back to you mid-race, what do you think it would sound like? Sarcastic? Dramatic? Would it roast you for missing an apex?”

He let out a low, surprised laugh, the sound rich and genuine in the quiet room, and leaned back in his chair with one arm draped casually over the backrest. His eyes lit up even brighter, the enthusiasm from their book talk carrying straight into that.

“God, that’s actually a good question,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d gone there. “No one’s ever asked me that. Most people want to know about tire strategy or DRS zones.” He paused, thinking for a beat, then grinned wider. “Alright. My car… it’d be a grumpy old bastard. The kind that mutters under its breath the whole session. ‘You’re late on the throttle again, Daeron. I’m not your therapist.’ But then, right when I nail a perfect corner, it’d go dead silent for half a second and just… approve. Like it’s proud but too stubborn to admit it.”

She laughed, delighted, and he watched her with open interest, his gaze lingering on the way her eyes crinkled at the corners.

“See?” he added, voice dropping just a touch, teasing. “You’re dangerous. You make me actually think about this stuff instead of giving the same three answers I’ve rehearsed a thousand times.”

Encouraged, she didn’t let the energy dip. “Alright, next unfair one. What’s the most ridiculous superstition or ritual you’ve ever seen in the paddock? Not the cute ones everyone knows about. Something properly weird that no one talks about.”

Daeron’s grin widened, boyish and unrestrained, the kind the cameras at the paddock had never captured. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, messing it slightly, and leaned forward, elbows on the table like they were swapping secrets at the back of a garage instead of recording a podcast.

“You’re killing me with these,” he said, laughter still coloring his tone, clearly loving every second. “Okay, there’s this one mechanic, he had been with us for years, who swears the car runs better if he tells it a dad joke right before the formation lap. Every single time, dead serious. Last race he hit me with: ‘What’s a car’s favorite movie genre?... Auto-biography.’ I almost missed my grid spot because I was laughing so hard.” he said, watching her laugh at the stupid joke. “The worst part? We set a personal best that weekend and now half the garage does it. It’s ridiculous and somehow… it works. Or at least we all pretend it does.”

He was smiling the entire time he spoke, animated in a way that made the whole studio feel brighter. When he finished, he tilted his head, eyes locked on hers, a shared spark between them.

“You’ve got a gift for this,” he murmured, low enough that it felt intimate, just for her. “Pulling out questions that actually make me want to answer instead of just survive the next ten minutes. Most interviews feel like pulling teeth. This… this is fun.” The compliment hung in the warm glow of the studio lights, and for a second the only sound was the faint hum of the recording equipment. Daeron didn’t look away, instead he leaned forward a little more.

“So tell me,” he said, voice still carrying that quiet warmth, “how did you start all this? The podcast, the setup, learning the lighting and the mics… why Formula One in the first place?”

She blinked, caught off guard, a small laugh escaping her. “Wait, hold on. You’re the one being interviewed here.”

Daeron’s grin widened, slow and teasing, the kind that made the corners of his blue eyes crinkle. He let out a low chuckle, the sound easy and unrestrained. “Before we started you told me this was more of a conversation.” He raised an eyebrow, playful challenge clear in his tone. “So… conversation goes both ways, right? Come on, I want to know.”

She hesitated for half a second, cheeks still faintly warm, but the sincerity in his gaze made it impossible to dodge. She tucked one leg beneath her in the chair, mirroring his relaxed posture without realizing it and shrugged lightly. “It started with my grandfather, my mother’s father,” she said, voice softening at the memory. “He was obsessed with Formula One. Used to record every race on VHS tapes when I was little, and we’d watch them together on weekends. He’d point out the lines through the corners, explain why a certain driver braked so late, and I just… fell in love with it. The noise, the strategy, the way the cars looked like they were barely holding on to the track. When he passed away, I wanted something that kept that feeling alive, something that would help me keep it present in my life. The podcast started as a way to talk about it with other people who got it, just like I did with my grandfather. Then it turned into this whole thing, learning the tech, building the studio, making it feel like a real conversation between people who share the same passion instead of another press conference.” She gave a small, self-conscious smile. “Guess I’m still chasing that feeling from the couch with him.”

Daeron listened without interrupting, his eyes never leaving her face. The way he watched her, head slightly tilted, expression open and attentive, and a small, gentle smile adorning his lips, made her feel a little tingling inside, a warmth that spread through her chest and to the rest of her body. When she finished, he was quiet for a beat and then asked, softer now, “Have you ever been to a race in person? Not just on TV?”

She nodded, a wistful little smile tugging at her lips. “Once. When I was a kid, it was Monza with my grandfather. I still remember the sound of the engines hitting the straight, the way the ground shook under my feet. It was magic.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Never managed to make it back as an adult, though.”

Daeron’s brow furrowed slightly, genuine curiosity mixing with something gentler. “Why not?”

She let out a quiet laugh, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Because the universe apparently has a personal vendetta against my race weekend plans. I’m studying mechanical engineering at university so between lectures, assignments, and keeping the podcast running, my schedule is chaos and I don't have enough free time that lines up for a whole race weekend somewhere else. Every time I finally clear a weekend and buy tickets, something happens. I was supposed to go to Imola two years ago… then the floods hit and the whole GP got canceled. Booked Brazil last season and woke up the week before with emergency appendicitis, I ended up selling my pass from a hospital bed. There was Spa the year before that, but my flight got canceled due to a strike and I couldn’t get another one in time. It’s become a running joke with my friends at this point. The paddock curse, they call it.”

Daeron didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at her, blue eyes steady and thoughtful, letting the silence stretch for several long seconds as he registered every word. The story, the quiet resignation wrapped in humor, the way her fingers fidgeted lightly with the edge of her notebook. Something in his gaze shifted, a spark igniting behind those sharp eyes like an idea had just landed fully formed in his mind. But he didn’t voice it. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted into a slow, soft smile, warm and almost private.

“That’s… a truly impressive amount of bad luck,” he said, voice low and gentle, the amusement in it soft rather than mocking. “The paddock curse, huh?”

She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah, I’m used to it at this point. I’ve always been the kind of person who’s a little unlucky. Some people just have that energy, I guess.”

"You remind me a lot of Charles... Leclerc, with his famous bad luck," he said, making her laugh. Daeron tilted his head slightly, watching her with that same quiet intensity. His smile deepened, something warmer threading through it now. “But there is a thing about luck,” he murmured, the words low and smooth, almost like a promise. “It can change at any moment. Usually when you least expect it.”

The statement lingered between them, heavier than the casual tone suggested, the studio lights casting gentle shadows across his face as he held her gaze a beat longer than necessary. She felt a flutter low in her chest, but before she could respond, he leaned back in his chair with an easy shift of posture, the playful spark returning to his eyes like he was inviting her to keep the conversation rolling.

“I have one more question for you,” he said after a beat, voice low and playful, the corner of his mouth twitching with mischief. “And I want an honest answer.”

She raised an eyebrow, already sensing the trap. “I’m listening.”

“Who’s your favorite driver on the grid right now?”

The question landed between them with a spark. She let out a soft, surprised laugh and shook her head quickly, cheeks warming all over again.

“Oh no. Absolutely not,” she said, biting her lip to hold back a grin. “I’m not answering that.”

Daeron’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise, but his smile only grew wider, charming and relentless. “Why not?”

“Because it would look incredibly unprofessional,” she replied, fighting the laugh bubbling up in her chest. “Especially now, with you sitting right here. People have asked me that exact question on other episodes and I’ve always dodged it. I can’t suddenly have a favorite when one of you is across the table from me. It would be… biased. Obvious.”

He tilted his head, violet eyes sparkling with amusement and something more insistent. He leaned forward slightly, appreciating how she tried to avoid his gaze. “Come on,” he coaxed, voice smooth and teasing, warm enough to make the air between them feel closer. “It’s just us. The camera’s still rolling but I promise I won’t tell a soul. You made me answer all kinds of personal stuff tonight about family, pressure, the whole legacy thing. It’s only fair.” His grin turned boyish, devastatingly effective. “You can trust me, I assure you that I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

She laughed softly, flustered, covering her face with one hand for half a second before peeking at him between her fingers. “You’re terrible. You’re really going to push until I say something, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he admitted without shame, leaning in a fraction more, eyes locked on hers. “I’m curious now. You can’t build all this tension and then leave me hanging. Just one name. Or… a hint. I’ll take anything.”

The silence stretched for a long moment, charged and easy all at once. She studied him, the way the soft lights softened the sharp lines of his jaw, the genuine spark of interest in his expression, and finally exhaled a small sigh, the corners of her mouth curving into a faint, almost secretive smile.

"Alright," she said softly, her tone light and carefree, as if her words carried little weight. "Let's just say... he's someone who used to seem very distant, as if you could only admire him from afar and that was enough. But lately... he's revealed much more than just his on-track persona, and he's even more interesting than I already thought, I already admired him before, but after all that, even more so,” she said, emphasizing ‘lately’.

She didn't say a name, team, or color that could give a concrete clue, but Daeron didn't need to in order to understand her words, he had caught it. He went very still, the playful expression on his face shifting into something deeper, warmer, a slow smile spreading across his lips that reached all the way to his eyes. Recognition flickered there, bright and unmistakable, followed by a quiet satisfaction that made the violet of his gaze glow under the lights.

“Interesting,” he murmured, low and smooth, never breaking eye contact. “Very interesting.”

He didn’t push further. He simply held her gaze across the small space between them, the air suddenly thicker, the chemistry that had been simmering all evening crackling into something sharper, more intentional.

The podcast continued for a while longer after that, the minutes slipping by unnoticed. They drifted through lighter topics, his favorite tracks in the wet, the strangest fan signs he’d ever seen, a ridiculous story about a team radio mix-up that had half the garage in stitches, but the rhythm between them had changed. Daeron answered with more ease than before, throwing questions back at her again and again, the reserved driver from the press conferences nowhere to be found. The red light on the camera stayed on far longer than either of them had planned, the conversation feeling less like content and more like two people who had simply forgotten it was being recorded.

When she finally reached over and killed the recording with a soft click, the sudden quiet felt almost intimate. The red light blinked off, and the studio exhaled.

She exhaled too, a bright, genuine smile breaking across her face as she looked at him. “Daeron… thank you. Seriously. Thank you for accepting the invitation and for being so open. This was incredible, believe it or not, this is the longest episode I've done since I started this, it was... really fun talking to you.”

He watched her for a moment, the soft studio lights catching the faint silver threads in his hair that escaped from under his cap and the subtle curve of his shoulders as he relaxed fully into the chair. Then he smiled, slow, sincere and undeniably pleased. “Thank you for inviting me,” he replied, voice warm and unfiltered. “This was one of the best interviews I’ve ever done. Actually, it might be the best one. I had a really good time.” He paused, then added with a small grin that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, “If anyone is lucky enough to get an invitation from you, I’d definitely tell them to say yes. Without hesitation.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep, immediate red at his words, the color spreading fast and unmistakable across her face. She tried to hide it by glancing down at her notebook, fiddling with the corner of a page, but there was no hiding the way her ears burned or the pleased little smile she couldn’t quite suppress.

Daeron couldn’t help the satisfied grin that tugged at his lips as he watched her blush. There was something deeply pleasing about the way she reacted, genuine, unguarded, and so clearly affected by him. His gaze lingered on her flushed cheeks a second longer than necessary, the subtle spark of interest from earlier now openly warm, almost triumphant. He looked like a man who had just decided something important… and was very much enjoying the decision.

The studio lights still hummed softly overhead but neither of them moved to stand. Daeron stayed seated for another moment, fingers drumming once against the arm of his chair as if weighing his next words. Then he rose slowly and glanced around the small, carefully built space one last time, the cameras, the diffused lights, the miniature helmets on the shelf, before his eyes returned to her.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he told her, voice low and steady. “This was genuinely one of the best interviews I’ve had in a long time. And I don’t say that lightly.” He paused, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “So… let me do something for you in return.”

She blinked, already shaking her head before he could finish. “Daeron, you don’t have to…”

“I can get you a pass,” he continued anyway, cutting gently through her protest. “For any race still left on the calendar, you pick. VIP, paddock access, garage, whatever you want. As my guest. The whole experience.”

The words hung in the quiet room. Her eyes widened, and she let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t have to do that,” she said quickly, cheeks still pink. “Really. That’s… that’s a lot. You should save those passes for sponsors, or important people, or…”

“No,” he interrupted, calm but firm, stepping a half-pace closer. “I don’t reserve them for sponsors. I reserve them for people I actually want there.” His blue eyes held hers, steady and certain. “And I want you there. You’ve never had a proper race weekend in person as an adult. I’d like to fix that.”

She stared at him, caught completely off guard. “Are you sure? I mean… you don’t have to feel obligated or anything. The fact that you even came here tonight was already more than enough.”

“I’m sure,” he said simply, the words carrying the same quiet conviction he used when talking about the car. “I’ll tell my agent tonight. She’ll reach out and coordinate whichever weekend works for you, just let us know which one you choose.”

For a second she didn’t know what to say. Her mouth opened, closed again and finally she managed a soft, stunned “Thank you,” the words came out a little breathless. “I… I don’t even know what to say. That’s incredibly kind.”

Daeron’s smile softened, something almost boyish flashing across his face. “I’m looking forward to hearing from you. And to seeing you in the garage.”

He reached for his phone, which was still on the table, but instead of simply turning toward the door, he moved a little closer, close enough for the scent of his perfume to envelop her again. Then, almost without thinking, he leaned down and placed a soft, light kiss on her cheek.

The gesture surprised them both.

She froze, warmth flooding her face all over again, the spot where his lips had brushed her skin tingling. Daeron pulled back just as quickly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his own features, his eyes widening a fraction, as if the impulse had caught him off guard too. He wasn’t the type to do that. He didn’t invite people into his garage; he liked the quiet there, the focus, the absence of extra noise or eyes. He certainly didn’t kiss near-strangers on the cheek after a single conversation. But something about her energy, the way she listened, the way she made the whole room feel easy, had slipped past every usual defense he kept up.

He cleared his throat, the faintest hint of color touching his own cheeks now. "Have a good day," he murmured in a lower, almost apologetic voice. And then he was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind him, leaving the studio suddenly much quieter than it had been all evening.

That same night, long after the city lights had softened and the apartment had settled into its usual late-hour hush, she sat cross-legged on her couch with her laptop open. The edited episode was finally uploaded, teaser clip posted to Instagram, the video on youtube, full audio live on every platform and a short behind-the-scenes story showing the warm studio lighting and two empty chairs side by side. She captioned the main post simply: Longest episode we’ve ever recorded… and easily one of the best. Thank you to Daeron Targaryen for trusting me with the conversation. Go listen/watch if you want the real version of him.

She hit publish, closed the laptop and didn’t think much more of it. Until her phone lit up twenty minutes later.

@/daerontargaryen started following you.

Then the likes began, on the teaser clip, on the studio photo, on an older post of her at a sim-racing event. Even a comment appeared under the main post: Best conversation I’ve had in ages. Thanks for having me.

And a few minutes later, his story went live: a still frame from the recording, the warm lighting catching both of them mid-laugh, the caption simple and unfiltered: Had a really good time today. Go watch/listen if you want the longest episode yet. Thanks again.

She stared at the notification for a long moment, heart doing something complicated in her chest, before she smiled down at her screen in the dark. God, it didn't feel real for her, it felt like she was in a dream or living in one of her fantasies. But it was real, and there was still more to come.

The Baku City Circuit stretched along the Caspian Sea like a concrete ribbon edged in golden afternoon light, the high walls of the old city looming in the distance and the roar of engines already echoing off the barriers even before the weekend officially began. She had chosen that one, the Azerbaijan Grand Prix, partly because it was the next race after their interview and partly because the idea of seeing Daeron on one of his self-proclaimed “cursed” tracks felt like tempting fate in the best possible way.

When she stepped into the Targaryen garage that afternoon, lanyard heavy against her chest and nerves fluttering low in her stomach, he was already waiting for her. Daeron spotted her instantly. The focused set of his shoulders eased the moment their eyes met, and that slow, private smile she was starting to recognize crossed his face. He crossed the garage floor in a few easy strides, race suit half-zipped, hair slightly messy from the simulation session he’d just left.

“You made it,” he said, voice warm over the low hum of tools and radio chatter. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He gave her the full tour, unhurried, almost boyish in his enthusiasm. He pointed out the telemetry screens flickering with live data, explained how the tight, bumpy streets of Baku punished every mistake in ways most circuits didn’t, gestured toward the tire blankets and the precise angles of the front wing they’d been tweaking all morning. His hand brushed the small of her back once or twice as he guided her around busy mechanics, the touch light but deliberate. Everything he said was casual, technical but never condescending, like he genuinely wanted her to see the garage the way he did, not just a workplace, but as a living, breathing machine.

Halfway through, Valarr Targaryen wandered over from the other side of the garage, helmet tucked under one arm, his easy smile the polar opposite of Daeron’s usual reserve. The older driver’s eyes lit up with open amusement when he saw her.

“So… this is the famous podcaster,” Valarr said, extending a hand with a smile on his face. “Pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Too much, actually. Daeron hasn’t shut up about that episode since he got back.”

Daeron went bright red, actually red, his blue eyes narrowing in immediate embarrassment. “Valarr, shut the hell up,” he muttered, elbowing his cousin hard enough to make Valarr laugh outright. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous no one invites him on decent podcasts.”

Valarr winked at her, utterly unbothered. “He’s not wrong. Welcome to the dragon’s den. Try not to let him bore you with tire talk.”

The weekend unfolded in a blur of noise and color. Free practice was chaotic, Baku’s narrow walls unforgiving, cars brushing barriers and sparks flying, but Daeron was fast, consistent, already looking more at home than the data suggested he usually felt here. Qualifying on Saturday was electric; he fought his way to P4 on the grid, a strong starting position for a track that had never been kind to him. She watched it all from the back of the garage, heart in her throat every time his car screamed past the pit wall, the sheer speed and precision of it hitting differently when you were standing ten meters away instead of behind a screen.

After qualifying, when the garage had quieted and the sun was dipping low over the harbor, Daeron found her again. He was still in his race suit half-zipped, hair damp with sweat, but his eyes were bright.

“Hungry?” he asked, tilting his head toward the team hospitality suite tucked above the pits. “Come eat with me. I need to sit down before I fall over.”

The hospitality area was quiet at that hour, just a few engineers scattered at tables and the low clink of cutlery. They claimed a corner table overlooking the circuit, plates of fresh food between them. Daeron leaned back in his chair, studying her across the small space, something playful yet serious flickering in his expression.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, voice dropping a little. “This track has been my personal nightmare for years. Never won here, barely even podiumed. But tomorrow… if I win from P4, you owe me a date. A real one. Just us, no cameras, no microphones, no pre-planned questions or safe topics. Just dinner, or whatever you want. No Targaryen legacy, no podcast. Just… us,” he said, his gaze meeting hers.

She stared at him, fork paused halfway to her mouth, a surprised laugh escaping. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” his gaze was steady, his blue eyes warm but utterly serious. “I’m very serious.”

She set the fork down, heart picking up speed. “And if you don’t win? What do I get?”

Daeron’s smile turned slow and confident, the kind that made her stomach flip. “You can choose anything you want, just name your prize… But don’t think about it too hard,” he leaned in slightly, voice low, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Because I’m going to win the race… and the bet.”

She raised an eyebrow, observing him silently for a few seconds before speaking again. "Aren't you being a little too confident?"

He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "No, because I know how well I perform when I'm really motivated," he paused briefly, his intense gaze fixed on her, sending a shiver down her spine. "And you, you're an incredible motivation."

She let out a soft breath through her nose, shaking her head slightly as if trying to steady herself, though the faint smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “I didn’t think you were this bold,” she admitted, a hint of amusement threading through her voice. “Or this… persuasive.”

That earned a quiet, almost thoughtful look from him. She was right, it wasn't common to see him that way, it wasn't like him at all, but those were the reactions she stirred in him. Her mere presence there encouraged him to want to try new things, to take risks, to step outside his comfort zone. “Maybe you don’t know all of my sides yet,” Daeron said, tone calmer now, but no less intentional. “There are a few you haven’t seen.”

Her brows lifted just a fraction, intrigued despite herself. “And you plan on showing them all in one weekend?” she teased lightly.

He shook his head, a small exhale of something like a laugh escaping him. “No,” he said. “I’d rather take my time.” There was something in the way he said it, unhurried, certain, that made the air between them feel warmer, heavier. “I’d like to know yours too,” he added after a beat, his gaze steady on hers. “The ones that don’t come with a microphone or a camera.”

Her fingers curled slightly against the table, the weight of his words settling somewhere just beneath her ribs. For a moment, she didn’t answer, didn’t trust herself to. Instead, she studied him, really looked at him, as if trying to figure out whether this was just another layer of charm, another carefully placed move. But there was nothing rehearsed about him now, no PR-approved smile, no measured distance. Just him, waiting for her.

“So,” he prompted gently, tilting his head just a little. “Do you accept the bet?”

Her lips parted, then pressed together again as she let out a small, breathy laugh, more to herself than to him. “You realize,” she said slowly, “that if you lose, I could ask for something very inconvenient.”

His smile returned, slow and unbothered. “I’m counting on it.”

That made her shake her head again, though this time there was no real resistance left in it.

“Alright,” she said finally, a quiet resolve settling into her tone. “You have a deal.” Something flickered in his expression at that, subtle, but unmistakably satisfied.

She extended her hand across the table, a playful formality to the gesture. He looked at it for a fraction of a second before taking it, his grip warm, firm, but lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Careful,” he murmured, eyes holding hers. “You might regret that.”

“I doubt it.”

He huffed a quiet breath, something like amusement slipping through, and then, just before letting go, he gave her the smallest wink. Something quick, deliberate, gone almost as soon as it appeared. But not fast enough for her to miss it and definitely not fast enough for her heart to ignore it.

Sunday morning arrived wrapped in tension and sea breeze. The garage was alive with final preparations, tires stacked, engineers huddled over screens, the car gleaming under the lights. Daeron stood beside it in full race kit, helmet still off, focused but relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen before. She hovered nearby with the small group of guests and team staff allowed in the inner sanctum, trying not to look as nervous as she felt.

Before he climbed in, he turned to her, eyes locking on hers amid the controlled chaos. “Kiss for good luck?” he asked, voice just loud enough for her to hear over the radio chatter.

She glanced at the cameras mounted around the garage, the lenses that never stopped rolling. “Daeron… there are cameras everywhere.”

He shrugged, unconcerned, stepping closer until the heat of his body cut through the cool garage air. “I don’t care.”

She hesitated half a second, then rose on her toes and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek, right where the edge of his balaclava would sit. He pulled back, eyebrows raised in mock disappointment.

“Not there,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Well, you didn’t specify,” she teased, cheeks warm. “You just asked for a kiss.”

Daeron’s grin turned predatory, delighted. “If I win, you’re going to owe me the one I was actually expecting, a new addition to our bet,” he shrugged, smiling. "Terms can always be changed."

“Cheater,” she accused, but there was no heat in it, only laughter and something warmer blooming in her chest.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned in once more, voice low against her ear. “See you from the top step of the podium, then.”

The race itself was pure Baku chaos. From the moment the lights went out, the street circuit lived up to its reputation: early contact between midfield cars, a safety car on lap twelve after a spectacular spin into the wall, another virtual safety car when debris littered the main straight. Strategy calls flew back and forth over the radio, aggressive tire choices, a last-minute switch to softs under the second safety car that most of the field missed. Daeron drove like a man possessed, calm and precise on the radio but ruthless on track, picking off positions one by one through the narrow twisty sections where others faltered.

When he crossed the line first, P4 to P1 in the most unlikely of places, the garage erupted. Cheers, hugs, mechanics slamming each other on the back. She stood among them, hands over her mouth, heart hammering so hard she could barely hear the radio celebration.

The podium ceremony dragged on in the best way, champagne spraying in golden arcs under the setting sun, the silver trophy gleaming in Daeron’s hands, the national anthem echoing off the grandstands. When it finally ended, he disappeared briefly with the team before reappearing in the garage still damp with champagne, race suit half-unzipped, hair wild.

She was chatting with one of the senior mechanics near the back, laughing about a particularly dramatic radio call, when Daeron appeared at her elbow.

“Mind if I steal her for a few minutes?” he asked the mechanic, polite but already reaching for her hand. The older man grinned knowingly and waved them off.

Daeron didn’t speak as he led her through a side door and around the back of the garages, away from the lingering cameras and the post-race bustle. The narrow alley between the temporary structures was quiet, shadowed by the high walls of the circuit, the distant roar of the crowd and engines fading to a low hum. He stopped, turned to face her, and for the first time all weekend the confident driver looked almost boyish, triumphant, breathless, blue eyes bright with euphoria, with the emotion of victory in more ways than one.

“I won,” he said simply, the words carrying the weight of everything that had led there.

Before she could answer, he cupped the side of her face with one hand, gentle, calloused from years of steering wheels, and paused. His thumb brushed once along her cheekbone, slow and deliberate, his blue eyes searching hers in the shadowed quiet of the alley. The question was there without words, Are you sure? He held himself perfectly still, giving her the space to step back, to change her mind, to keep whatever line still existed between them intact.

She didn’t step back. Instead, she gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod, barely a tilt of her chin, more felt than seen, and that was all he needed. It was then that Daeron closed the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, almost careful, like he was still half-convinced she might vanish if he moved too fast. His lips brushed hers softly, warm and tentative, tasting faintly of champagne and the faint salt of the sea air that still clung to his skin. For a heartbeat the world held still, the distant roar of the paddock fading into nothing. Then she leaned into it, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping her as her hands rose to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the damp fabric of his race suit.

Everything shifted.

The kiss deepened, slow and sweet and certain, like something they had both been circling since the night he’d left her studio. His other hand slid to her waist, drawing her closer until the dragon crest on his suit pressed against her, warm from the heat of his body and the afternoon sun. She felt the steady thud of his heart beneath her palm, matching the quick rhythm of her own. Without thinking, she slid one hand up into the strands at the nape of his neck, threading her fingers through his slightly damp hair and tugging gently, enough to draw a low, surprised sound from the back of his throat, something between a sigh and a quiet groan that made her smile against his mouth.

Daeron answered by tilting his head, kissing her a little deeper, a little slower, like he wanted to savor every second. His thumb brushed tenderly along her cheekbone again, the calluses there rough and grounding against her skin. Another soft sigh slipped from her lips as she melted further into him, the taste of victory and champagne and something that was simply him filling her senses. The narrow alley behind the garages disappeared, the noise of mechanics and cameras and the entire chaotic weekend narrowed down to just that, the warmth of his body, the gentle tug of her fingers in his hair, the way he held her like she was something precious he’d been waiting to claim.

When they finally broke apart, it was only by a breath. Their foreheads rested together, noses brushing, both of them breathing a little harder than before. Daeron’s eyes stayed closed for another second, a small, utterly content smile curving his lips as he let out a quiet, happy sigh against her mouth.

“Worth the wait,” he murmured, voice low and rough with feeling, thumb still tracing lazy circles on her cheek.

She laughed, a little dazed, fingers still curled in the fabric of his race suit. “You really are a cheater.”

“Only when the prize is this good,” he replied, stealing one quicker kiss before the noise of the paddock started to creep back in around them.

Daeron kept his forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real. The distant cheers and engine roars felt miles away. For once, there were no microphones, no cameras, no carefully chosen words. Everything between them had happened off the record and somehow, that made it feel more honest than anything either of them had ever said on camera.

She smiled against his lips, fingers still lightly tangled in his hair.

They had started with an interview.

They had ended with something neither of them had planned to find.

And neither of them planned on letting it end here.