☆ QUERENCIA
ㅤㅤhybrid! ot7 x hybrid! male! reader // college au, hybrid au
ㅤㅤㅤ🪐 you, a rabbit hybrid away from home to study, run into a group of ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ surprisingly friendly and calm (also very attractive) predators who are a ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpack and live together suddenly run into your life like a bulldozer. the ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ dull days of your life may turn into days of joy and laughter, or will the ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ days turn into gloom and a sad everafter?
ONESHOTS
coming soon!
UP AND COMING
SERIES
☆ MAP OF THE KINKS: bangtan's 7
ㅤㅤbts x reader // smut oneshot collection
ㅤㅤㅤ🪐 welcome to map of the kinks: bangtan's 7! today we will be navigating ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ out way through the inner desires of the boys. Just how are they in bed? ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤIs Jimin as nasty and sexy as his stage presence? Is Jungkook really as ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpure and innocent as his eyes make him to be? Let's see as we dive into ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthis map.
☆ always and forever more yours
ㅤㅤot7 x idol! female! reader // idol au
ㅤㅤㅤ🪐 you were supposed to be just a shadow member of BTS, the one ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ maknaes leaned on and the hyungs relied on. Years together and ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ starting together from sticks and stones. It just seems that it's tough ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ being the only female and shadow member of the big and bold BTS.
Can I make a request? Homelander falling for a reader who is completely unaware of it. Not because he's good at hiding it but because, they genuinely can't fathom the thought of someone being that intense with their feelings about THEM of all people👀 but their the only person who's genuinely kind to him.
I'm sooooo sorry this took so long
Love and Devotion
pairing | homelander x supe!reader
word count | 5.8k words
summary | homelander becomes increasingly obsessed with the new kind and unsuspecting supe, and fixates on her as his perfect match, believing she belongs to him. his possessiveness reaches new heights after discovering intimate details about her powers, pushing him to claim her as his own, regardless of her obliviousness to his feelings.
tags | canon homelander??? obsession, possessiveness, season 4 timeline, major fluff, tell me if you think it ooc homelander, lactating kink
a/n | first homelander fic, this was sooooo fun to write and yes I did rewatch season 4 for this
likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
You were perfect from the moment he laid eyes on you.
"Her?"
Homelander’s voice dripped with disdain as he watched Firecracker spewing her rant about family values and patriotism, all while waving her hands around. She reminded him of a third-rate talk show host. He grimaced, turning to Sage.
"Yeah," Sage responded, standing at his side.
"Really?" he sneered, barely able to mask his disgust.
"Mhm," Sage hummed in affirmation.
"Seems like she fell off her Jet Ski one too many times," Homelander muttered, his lip curling.
Sage, unbothered by his sarcasm, simply shook her head. "No, now that Starlight’s back leading the Starlighters, we need someone like her."
Homelander raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Mm. And that’s gonna shut them up?" He knew exactly what "them" meant: the endless critics, social media commentators, all the noise that clawed at his mind.
"No," Sage replied, her voice low and cryptic. "She’s going to make them louder."
He shot her a look. "You gonna trust me or not?" she added before he could question it further.
Rolling his eyes, he turned his gaze elsewhere. He was growing tired of these briefings, the endless parade of new supes Vought was parading through. But then, his eyes landed on you.
You were surrounded by a group of eager reporters, microphones pushed into your face. Unlike Firecracker, who couldn't stop her loud, brash performance, you were different. You weren't reciting hollow slogans or pandering to anyone. You stood there with an almost serene composure, answering each question softly, with a gentle smile. There was something…sincere in the way you spoke, like you actually cared about the answers, not just the headlines they’d create.
"And what about her?" Homelander murmured, his gaze locked on you as if he were seeing something unexpected for the first time.
"The Pink Dahlia," Sage said, repeating your supe name as though it was obvious. "She’s going to be the new Starlight."
Homelander frowned, feeling a flicker of confusion. The new Starlight? That seemed impossible. No one could ever replace that bitch's popularity, her…adoring fanbase. But Sage seemed to sense his thoughts, elaborating with an almost bored tone.
"The only reason Starlight is liked is because of her sincerity. Her kindness," Sage explained, nodding towards you. "Pink Dahlia is going to be America’s next sweetheart supe."
Homelander hummed, though his mind was elsewhere, distracted by the sight of you. Sage was talking, but he was no longer listening. Instead, he watched as the cameras captured your every move. For a moment, you glanced in his direction. Not out of fear or awe, but with that same quiet softness you gave to everyone. It unnerved him how unaffected you seemed by his presence, by who he was.
He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.
Sage dragged him into yet another pointless debate, but his attention was only half there. He knew she’d eventually let it go once she realized his disinterest, and sure enough, she did. He was quick to pass her along to the vultures—photographers desperate to get the next "supe girl" in their lenses.
As Homelander turned, his gaze landed on Ryan, sulking in one of the chairs at the back of the room. Frustration boiled inside him. He couldn’t stand seeing his son like that, so withdrawn, when the whole world was theirs.
But then, his brow furrowed. You had walked over, leaving the cameras behind. Quietly, you sat beside Ryan, the two of you almost invisible in the flurry of the room. He watched as you offered your hand to Ryan, a gentle smile on your face. His son, who had been lost in his own thoughts, blinked in surprise before hesitantly shaking your hand.
For the first time in hours, Homelander saw the tension leave Ryan’s shoulders. His usual sulk was replaced with something lighter. He listened to whatever you were saying, nodding slowly. Homelanders listened carefully to your sweet words, and watched how they were clearly having an effect on Ryan.
Interesting.
Homelander had too many fucking things going on for his mind to keep circling back to you. It irritated him, gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
First, the rage that boiled up every time he saw those goddamn Starlighter protests. He could hardly walk outside without hearing people chant for Starlight’s bullshit message, waving their signs, spewing their anti-Homelander garbage. It infuriated him. Then there was the constant frustration in dealing with Neuman. She was slippery, always too clever, too calm, and it made every negotiation with her feel like wading through quicksand.
But every time his temper cooled, his thoughts went back to you. You. That sweet, unassuming smile that you flashed so casually, like it wasn’t the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. And then there was your body—tight and perfect in that small pink and green suit, looking like you belonged on a magazine cover instead of here, in this hellhole with people like him.
It made him furious.
How could he let himself be distracted by you, when everything else around him was crumbling? He was supposed to be in control, but instead, he was falling apart. First he let that fucking loser Hughie get away. Then, Ryan—his own son—had the nerve to run off to see Butcher after everything Homelander had given him. After all the time and care he’d put into Ryan, after showing him the world, how was he still not good enough?
It made him sick.
And then... and then there was the other thing. His reflection. The part of him that never shut up, that always knew where to strike. His other self had looked at him and sneered. Told him he was weak, that he was a joke. That no matter how much power he had, no matter how feared he was, he was still nothing.
And maybe it was right. Maybe he was losing it.
So he decided to visit home. The lab. Where they had made him. Where he had been molded into the strongest supe to ever walk the earth. He’d slaughtered every single one of the scientists who had "raised" him. He stood in the sterile halls, the faint hum of the machines still active around him. The silence made him feel grounded, like this was the only place in the world where he could truly be himself.
But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
Not when the image of you—your smile, your soft gaze, your kindness—kept seeping into his mind. You were a weakness he couldn’t afford. And that filled him with even more rage.
And yet the moment he saw your face, all that rage he had been holding onto evaporated like steam. The blood, the anger, the frustration—it all seemed distant as he took in the worried expression on your face.
He had strolled back into Vought Tower like nothing was wrong, though his suit was still soaked in the blood and viscera of the scientists he’d butchered in the lab. It didn’t matter—he was Homelander, after all. No one would dare question him. But fate must have been laughing at him because, of all people, he ran straight into you.
You froze when you saw him, your eyes widening in pure shock at the sight of him covered in carnage. Anyone else would have been horrified, would have run or screamed, but not you. Instead, your lips parted and, with that same quiet softness he had come to expect, you said, “Would you like some help?”
Homelander just stared, his mind slowing to a crawl as the words sank in. He was a god, covered in the blood of men, and here you were, offering help. Something inside him shifted in that moment. He nodded, feeling strangely empty and vulnerable, like a child waiting for instructions. In the back of his mind, he realized this was the first time you had actually spoken to him directly.
His chest tightened as you stepped closer, your eyes flicking up to his with cautious concern. You reached out and gently placed your pink-gloved hand into his red, blood-stained one. Homelander nearly closed his eyes, focusing intently on the warmth of your touch. That warmth—it spread through him, melting away the sharp edges of his anger. No one touched him like that, without fear or calculation.
You led him silently into the elevator, your hand still in his, guiding him like he was something fragile. He couldn't help but glance down at your hand in his, his mind spinning as he tried to commit the sensation to memory. The touch wasn’t just physical—it felt like a lifeline, something pulling him out of the darkness he had been sinking into.
As the elevator doors slid shut, the quiet hum of the building surrounded them, and Homelander found himself focusing solely on you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t recoil. You just held his hand, gently, as if leading him somewhere safe. He didn’t feel like a monster in that moment, not in your presence.
The elevator dinged softly, and you led him down the hall to your floor. The sight was unlike anything in Vought Tower—lush greenery, vibrant pinks and soft petals blooming everywhere. It felt alive, warm. This was your power after all, to bend nature to your will. And it was a reflection of you, full of life, soft but powerful. He was surprised it was even still Vought Tower.
He hadn’t expected you to bring him here. You could’ve taken him to his own floor, left him in one of the pristine, sterile bathrooms of his suite. But no—you’d brought him to your space, a sanctuary. It was so unlike the cold, artificial world of Vought. And so much like you.
Slowly, you guided him to the bathroom. The plants trailed along the walls, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. You looked up at him, blinking those wide, soft eyes of yours. A single word entered his mind: Fawn. You looked like a fawn, delicate and innocent, standing before something dangerous without any idea of what it could do to you.
“Do you want me to leave?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
He shook his head, unable to find the words to speak. Still entranced by you, he wondered how you could be so kind, so gentle, to someone like him. Anyone else would have left him to clean himself up in cold silence, but you…you stayed.
You nodded quietly, as if you understood, then turned to the bath, filling it with warm water. He watched you bite your lip in thought, and all he could think about was biting your lip himself. His gaze lingered on your mouth, and for a split second, he imagined pulling you close, feeling that softness against his own. But instead, he remained silent, his breath heavy as you carefully and gently began to undress him.
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him with such care. You didn’t fumble or stare, didn’t sneak a lustful glance as you removed his suit piece by piece. You were entirely respectful, your touch light, focused on the task. And when you led him to sink into the bath, your hands still guiding him, he realized that you weren’t treating him like Homelander. You weren’t treating him like a god. You were treating him like…a person.
The warm water surrounded him, washing away the blood and grime. But what made him feel truly clean was your touch. You knelt by the tub, peeling off your pink gloves, and began washing him with your bare hands. He could feel your skin against his, the warmth of your palms gliding over his body.
He had to fight to keep from shivering. The sensation of your skin on his—bare and vulnerable—sent a wave of euphoria through him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt. This wasn’t lust. This was something deeper, something far more dangerous. He was intoxicated by you, not because of what you were doing, but because of who you were. The softness, the care, the genuine kindness…it was all so foreign to him.
And as you worked in silence, cleaning away the blood, he realized with a start that he never wanted this feeling to end.
Homelander couldn’t take his eyes off you as you washed him. Every gentle stroke of your hands sent a ripple of pleasure through him, and though his eyes begged to close, he refused. He needed to see you. To watch you, to take in every movement, every touch. Your fingers slid through his hair, and for a moment, he almost gave in—almost let his eyes flutter shut and just melt into the sensation. But his gaze stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.
You could feel his stare, that much was clear, yet you didn’t say a word. You just kept working, silent and serene. And it started to bother him, gnawing at him. How could you be so quiet, so unaffected by his presence? He needed to hear your voice again. He craved it, like a drug, something to soothe the irritation building inside him.
“Talk to me,” he said, the words slipping out in a petulant tone he hadn’t meant to use. But he didn’t care. He wanted your attention, your words, your everything.
Your eyes met his, wide and curious, like you were studying him, trying to figure him out. You tilted your head, and once again, the thought struck him—fawn. That was what you reminded him of. A fawn, delicate and gentle, standing before a predator without realizing the danger.
You pursed your lips, thinking carefully about what to say, and for just a second, Homelander finally closed his eyes. He wanted to focus solely on your voice. Nothing else mattered. Just you.
“I named myself Pink Dahlia because my favorite color is pink,” you began, your sweet voice filling the room like music, “and dahlias symbolize love and devotion.”
His eyes snapped open.
Love and devotion. The words echoed in his mind like a gunshot, shattering every other thought. You kept talking, explaining something about flower meanings and other potential supe names you’d considered, but Homelander didn’t give a fuck about that. None of that mattered. All he could focus on was love and devotion.
It was a sign. It had to be. You were made for him. There was no other explanation. How could it be a coincidence that the one person who treated him with kindness, who looked at him without fear, had chosen a name that embodied exactly what he wanted from you? Exactly what he needed. Love and devotion.
His chest tightened with the realization, his mind spinning with the possibilities. You would love him. You would be devoted to him completely. It was inevitable. Fate had brought you into his life for a reason.
As you continued to speak, your voice soft and calming, he stared at you, consumed by the thought of it—how perfect it would be. You, by his side, loyal and loving, filling the void that no one else could. The world would bow before him, but you…you would worship him in the way he craved, in a way no one ever had.
You were starting to seriously piss him off. The way you acted, pretending like nothing had happened between you, like the connection between you wasn’t so strong it practically vibrated in the air. You carried on as if the two of you didn’t share something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable. It was infuriating.
Then again, if you had acknowledged it—if you’d brought it up and confronted him about it—he probably would’ve blown a fucking gasket. His control was fragile enough as it was.
But trying to talk to you? That was a whole other level of frustration. Every time you looked up at him with those soft, gentle eyes, and gave him that sweet, unassuming smile, all the words in his head vanished. Just gone. Like you had some kind of power over him that even he didn’t understand.
So, he did the only thing he could think of to get you closer—he forced The Deep to move, ordering him to sit somewhere else, so that you could sit right next to him. He wasn’t subtle about it, either. He didn’t care if anyone noticed. As long as you were close, that was all that mattered.
Then came the Vought V52 Expo, and Homelander could feel the agitation building inside him. He needed to talk to you, to make you see what was right in front of you, but the timing was never right. On the bright side, things were going well with Ryan. He was bonding with his son, teaching him to stand up for himself, to say no when he needed to. It felt…good, like he was finally getting through to him.
But by the time they got to the V52 Expo, the agitation had grown into something much sharper. His eyes tracked you across the stage, watching as you announced your new environmental awareness project—the Dahlia Project. Fans were cheering for you, screaming your name, and you looked so damn perfect up there.
You were smiling, waving to the crowd, talking passionately about your cause, and the noise of the crowd was deafening. But all Homelander could think about was how you hadn’t even looked at him once. Not a glance. Not a dedication. Nothing.
He watched you with cold, calculated eyes, trying to keep the growing frustration in check. You were good at this, at drawing people in, making them adore you. But how could you not see that you already had him? That no one else in the crowd mattered compared to him?
And as the fans continued to cheer, his grip tightened around the milkshake he’d bought for you. He needed to speak to you. To make you understand. And the longer you went on, the more he realized—this wasn’t just about getting closer to you anymore. It was about making sure you knew that you belonged to him.
Homelander was standing with Ryan, guiding him through yet another lesson in asserting control. Ryan had been eager to "help" people, to really understand what that meant. So, when Homelander saw an opportunity, he called over Adam—the Vought employee who had been making his assistant visibly uncomfortable with inappropriate advances.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed skeptically, his young face twisting in uncertainty as he looked at the assistant. “Um… is he making you uncomfortable? You can tell me. You won’t get in trouble.”
The assistant bit her lip nervously before nodding, her voice hesitant but honest. “Kind of… yeah.”
Homelander raised an eyebrow, turning his attention to Ryan. “Ryan, what do you think we should do about that?”
Ryan hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He still hadn’t fully grasped the power he held, and Homelander could sense his uncertainty, the hesitation that made his own patience wear thin. With a sigh, he glanced away—only for his eyes to land on you, walking past with that usual air of calm about you.
“Dahlia,” he called, his voice a little sharper than he intended. “Come over here.”
You looked up at him, eyebrows raised in that sweet, expectant way that only made him more agitated, and walked over without hesitation, your eyes scanning the scene as you assessed the situation.
“What’s up?” you asked simply.
Homelander smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and gestured to Adam. “Adam here has been making some inappropriate advances toward his assistant. What do you have to say about that?”
Even Ryan turned to you, waiting for your response. Homelander watched you closely, studying the way you furrowed your brows in genuine concern as you looked at Adam.
“I think,” you said carefully, “that there’s no excuse for making someone else uncomfortable. And it’s even worse when you know you’re doing it.”
Homelander’s smile widened at your answer. It was perfect—clear, direct, and moral, just like he expected from you. There was a subtle pride in the way you spoke, and it fed into his own sense of approval. You were playing right into his hands without even realizing it.
Your words seemed to be the push Ryan needed, as he turned to Adam, his voice gaining confidence. “Apologize,” Ryan commanded, the hint of authority in his tone surprising even himself. When Adam hesitated, Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Now.”
Adam stated an obviously insincere apology, and Ryan, growing bolder by the second, looked at the assistant. “I want you to slap him.”
Homelander’s gaze snapped to you, watching intently for your reaction. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you seemed to consider the situation with a quiet thoughtfulness, your expression showing no sign of discomfort. You didn’t object or look shocked—in fact, there was a hint of agreement in the way you nodded lightly. You understood the need to make a point, to assert control.
Homelander couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not just in Ryan, but in you. The way you navigated the situation with clarity, how you stood by his side and reinforced his lessons without even realizing it—it only confirmed what he already knew.
You belonged with him.
The moment his resolve truly snapped was at Tek Knight’s party. Everything had already spiraled out of control. A-Train and Firecracker were nowhere to be found, MIA at a critical time. And when it was time for the big speech to the GOP donors, Sage was acting as if she’d had a fucking lobotomy, leaving Homelander to take over.
The minute he started speaking, they questioned him. Him. They criticized him as if he wasn’t the most powerful man in the room, as if he wasn’t Homelander. His hand twitched, and he was one second away from lasering through every single one of those smug, entitled bastards. But then Neuman stepped in, pulling the conversation back on track and rallying the support he was seconds from obliterating.
He stalked away, seething. And that’s when he saw it—him—one of the donor’s sons talking to you. But it wasn’t just talking. He recognized the look in that guy’s eyes, the casual leaning in, the way his hand brushed against your arm like it was nothing.
Homelander’s chest tightened with a slow, burning jealousy, the kind that clawed at him from the inside. His grip on the glass tightened, but for the moment, he held himself in check. Barely. When that loser touched your arm, though, that’s when it snapped. His entire facade shattered.
In his mind, that small touch was a violation. You belonged to him. Whether you knew it yet or not, it was already decided. And this idiot was crossing a line no one should ever have the nerve to approach.
His reaction started subtly—at first. His smile stiffened, his eyes narrowed with an icy focus. He moved toward you with the kind of charm that made people believe he was still in control, but inside, he was already a storm waiting to break.
Homelander slid smoothly between you and the man, a calculated smile plastered on his friendly. “Everything alright here?” His voice was polite, but there was an edge, a tension simmering just beneath the surface.
You blinked up at him, surprised but unsuspecting, nodding lightly. “Yeah, of course. This is Jason Wilson, the District Attorney’s son. We’re just talking.”
Just talking. Homelander’s smile grew tighter. Logically, he knew that. But logic had no place here. The jealousy gnawed at him, irrational, violent, and all-consuming. Without hesitation, he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that left no room for doubt. “We wouldn’t want things to get inappropriate, now would we?”
Jason froze, his eyes widening slightly, clearly unnerved by the sudden shift. Homelander’s stare bore into him, a silent warning not to take another step, not to even breathe in your direction. Jason stammered an awkward excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Homelander alone.
You frowned up at him, clearly confused by the sudden shift in his mood. “What was that about?”
Homelander didn’t answer right away. Instead, his grip on your waist tightened, enough that you’d feel the strength behind it—enough that you couldn’t pull away easily. He quietly steered you toward a more secluded corner of the room, away from prying eyes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone, his lips close to your ear. “You shouldn’t let people touch you like that,” he said, barely keeping his rage in check. “Not when you’re with me.”
You blinked, utterly confused, your brows knitting together in that way he both adored and despised. “I don’t understand. I’m not… with you.”
His jaw clenched. The words stung, hitting him harder than any physical blow could. You didn’t understand yet. You didn’t see what he saw, didn’t feel what he felt. But you would. You had to.
Homelander let out a hollow chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t understand. It’s fine, I’ll forgive you for that.” His tone dripped with condescension as if he were talking to a child. He then pointed between the two of you, his expression hardening. “You and me—we belong together. Which makes you mine.”
You stared at him, completely lost, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. The confusion in your eyes only seemed to amuse him further. You were so oblivious, so innocent, and it both frustrated and thrilled him. Finally, you managed to speak, your voice soft and uncertain. “I thought you were interested in Firecracker.”
Homelander’s face scrunched up in pure disgust, his lip curling as if you had just said something vile. “What? No. Ew. No.”
“Oh,” you mumbled, looking around as if there were hidden cameras capturing this bizarre moment, half-expecting this to be some kind of elaborate joke. “Oh.”
Then you turned back to him, your wide eyes filled with genuine surprise, lips pouting slightly as you asked, “You… like me?”
The way you said it—so innocent, so utterly unaware—made his chest tighten. Like wasn’t even close to what he felt for you. He needed you. You were everything he’d been waiting for, the one pure thing in a world full of filth and betrayal. But the fact that you couldn’t even comprehend why someone like him would be interested in you… It only made his obsession stronger.
He smiled, soft and almost tender, his previous irritation and jealousy melting away in the face of your cluelessness. “Like doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, dripping with an intensity that sent a shiver through the air. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an unsettling focus. “You’re perfect. You’re everything.”
He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture intimate but laced with possessiveness. “You just don’t see it yet. But you will.”
You blinked up at him, still dazed, still confused, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But in his mind, it was already decided. You were his—had been from the moment he laid eyes on you. And soon enough, you’d understand that too.
Homelander cupped your face as though you were the most delicate thing in existence, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone capable of such monstrous strength. His heart raced as he leaned in, finally close enough to taste the softness of your lips—something he’d craved for what felt like an eternity. He could already imagine how perfect you’d feel, how right it would be.
But before his lips could meet yours, your hand quickly covered his mouth. "Wait," you said, eyes wide with sudden embarrassment.
His eyes snapped open, irritation flashing in them, his impatience barely concealed. "What?" he grunted, his voice muffled by your hand.
You hesitated, biting your lip nervously, avoiding his intense gaze as you finally explained, “My lips… they’re poisonous.”
His brows furrowed in confusion, and you removed your hand, looking even more embarrassed. “They contain a toxin,” you said softly, as if confessing a dark secret. “It gives anyone who kisses me a high, raises their heart rate until they get a heart attack… and die.”
A heavy silence followed as you waited for his reaction, expecting rejection or disgust. But Homelander’s eyes gleamed with something entirely different. Instead of pulling away, he just shrugged as if the danger you posed was trivial to him. "Fuck it," he muttered with a smirk, his hands tightening around your cheeks.
Before you could protest again, he pulled you into a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that bordered on madness.
The moment your lips met, Homelander let out a low, primal groan of pleasure. The sensation of your mouth against his was everything he’d imagined—and more. He could feel the toxin you had warned him about seeping into his bloodstream, but instead of fear, it only fueled the euphoria rushing through him. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his desire consuming every rational thought.
The high from your poison made him feel invincible, like every dark, twisted part of him was being set free. The world outside—its chaos, its disappointments, its endless betrayals—faded into nothing. All that mattered was you. He felt light, weightless, as though he could fly to the edge of the universe with you in his arms.
And as the toxin worked its way through his system, the sensation of bliss became all-consuming. He didn’t just want to kiss you—he wanted to devour you, to possess you completely, body and soul. Every kiss, every taste of you, made the thought of losing you unbearable.
He deepened the kiss, his grip on your face tightening, every muscle in his body screaming with pleasure. He didn’t care about the risk, didn’t care that you could kill him. In that moment, he belonged to you, utterly and completely, and he’d die a thousand deaths for this feeling. The darkness inside him surged, but for once, it didn’t feel like a curse. With you, it felt like freedom.
Homelander had never been high in his entire existence, but if this was what it felt like—well, it was fucking spectacular. Every nerve in his body buzzed with euphoria, his muscles relaxed in a way that felt almost foreign to him, and everything around him suddenly seemed amusing, even absurd. He laughed—really laughed—as he flew the two of you back to Vought Tower, the wind whipping through his hair as if the world itself couldn’t touch him.
When he landed on your balcony, a wide grin stretched across his face, a rare glint of pure joy in his eyes. You looked up at him, bemused, as he stumbled slightly, his usually poised demeanor replaced with a boyish charm. He couldn’t stop smiling. “How long does this last?” he asked, his voice light with the toxin’s effects.
You chuckled softly as you led him inside, your touch warm and steady while his hands wandered over you, unable to keep still. “Max? Maybe two hours before the average human dies,” you murmured with a teasing smile.
He let out a breathless laugh, his hand still brushing against your waist, intoxicated not just by the toxin but by you. “How many people have you done this to?” he asked, voice low as he buried his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. It was almost possessive, his need to absorb every part of you.
You leaned back slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Two… high school boyfriends.”
Homelander’s hands slid over your body, but then something caught his eye—a small jar on the kitchen island. His gaze sharpened instantly, curiosity piqued. “What’s that?” he asked, tone suddenly playful but underlined with a dangerous edge as his fingers drifted toward the jar.
He could feel the tension in your body before he even turned to face you fully, sensing the shift in the air. His smile twisted into something more predatory as he turned to you, eyes glinting with amusement and a hint of menace. “Look here,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “since we’re now officially together—”
“Officially?” you murmured, your eyes slightly hazy from his intoxicating presence, a dreamy smile playing on your lips.
He scrunched his nose in a mock expression of annoyance. “Yeah, officially. And there’s one thing you should know about me—I hate secrets. Can’t fucking stand 'em.”
You flushed, your face heating with embarrassment as you shifted on your feet, clearly reluctant to answer. “It’s… nipple cream,” you mumbled.
Homelander raised an eyebrow, his expression uncharacteristically patient, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “I can see that,” he said, his voice slow, almost mocking. He leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But why do you need it?”
You hesitated, then looked away shyly before finally answering, “I lactate.”
For the first time in a long time, pure shock crossed Homelander’s face. His smile faded, replaced by an unreadable expression as your words sank in. Lactate? He couldn’t process it at first, the information almost short-circuiting his mind. “What?” he asked, his voice lower now, the question almost a growl.
You swallowed, explaining softly, “Just like how some plants and fruits produce milk… ever since I got my first cycle, I’ve been producing milk too.”
Homelander’s throat went dry, his eyes dropping instinctively to your breasts as his thoughts spun wildly. “Only during your cycle?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.
“No,” you admitted, your voice softer still. “Every single day since I got my cycle.”
A long pause hung in the air between you, the weight of your revelation settling in. Homelander’s heart pounded, and for a moment, the effects of the toxin couldn’t compare to the sheer awe and hunger he felt. His gaze drifted back up to meet yours, and something primal flickered in his eyes.
“Oh,” he murmured, a slow smile creeping back onto his face, but this time, it wasn’t just euphoria driving it. No, this—this was something deeper.
Somehow, impossibly, you had just become even more perfect in his eyes.
▶︎︎ Noble (starring . fire lord!zuko & cult leader!geto)
synopsis . In which the two leaders of two entirely different lifestyles have one other thing in common outside of their lordship—their addiction to you.
content . afab!reader, atla x jjk au, porn with no plot, lots of hair pulling (duh), hints of obsession and possessiveness, eventual threesome & they kinda pass you back 'n forth, brothel worker!reader, missionary, marathon sex, zuko’s a lil awkward here ‘n there, fingering, oral sex, throat fucking, slight nipple play, praise, pet names, sexual use of fire bending, creampies, dirty talk (sugu's filthy like always), full nelson, zuko steams when he’s close/when he cums, manhandling, filth (cum eating), jealous innuendos, prone bone, etc.
word count . 8.7k (dunno how tht happened) || author's note: y’all know i had to. btw this is dedicated to tht one anon who said they’re tired of seeing me write foursomes & threesomes <3 banner art by rororogi mogera!
In a world where things like jujutsu sorcery and elemental benders exist simultaneously, one can only imagine how overwhelming life must be to live.
And yet, you’ve managed to find some sort of balance in the midst of it all as a humble brothel worker.
Well, not just any humble brothel worker but—the brothel worker, as titled by the many men and women of highest ranks in society who’ve had the pleasure of indulging in you for a night or two.
You had gathered many loyal clients over the years, people who'd come in and beg 'n plead for even a few minutes with you. By the time this palate of clients reached those of higher status, your rates naturally went up, and eventually you'd only be visited by those most worthy of you.
Which, is rather impressive for a mere whore.
You're unsure what it was about you that made you so special, but if you had to thank someone for your status in the society of prostitution, that someone would be Geto Suguru, who was the first to openly pick you as his favored escort.
After he came in to your brothel unmasked and open with who he was, many people of higher society began to follow suit until this trend eventually reached royal walls.
It was by then that you were sought out by only the best of the best. And while this was supposed to be a good thing for you, considering it meant much better pay and (thankfully) less harassment, you found yourself facing a new difficulty as your two highest paying clients began to butt heads and clash with their timing...
——
On one hand, you had well known cultist leader Geto Suguru who you'd wrapped around your pretty little finger from his first night with you.
You recall said first night like it were yesterday.
Dimmed lanterns littered the brothel's corners and ceilings, leaving arrays of shadows and silhouettes to splay out across the rich velvet-draped walls whilst the scent of sex 'n sin coated the air.
You were leaning against a scrupulously carved wooden bar, the silks of your robe slanting off your right shoulder—leaving room for a teasing curve of your breasts to spill out to the varying patrons winding about. It'd been a rather busy night for you, as you'd tended to at least three clients back to back prior to finding this short moment for yourself.
Most could hardly afford an entire night with you at this time, even though you weren't considered the best of the best just yet. This brothel brought in all sorts of lost souls, a diverse set individuals who's cash and coin could bring them whatever flesh they craved when their desires ran most rampant.
Your eyes had scanned the room time and time again in search of who to approach, as it was also rather rare that you'd have a second to do the approaching—most came to you. But, this night had been wildly different.
Your gaze plucked out the regulars and you grimaced as the prospect of having to approach one of those merchants who carried leering grins and uncomfortably grabby hands dawned on you. Although you'd a busy night thus far, you were quite hungry for cash.
All you wanted was one more customer before you'd call it a successful night.
You debated on approaching some soldiers who's hands you knew to itch for softness, deeply considering how their pockets tended to run rather deep.
When such powerful fascinations of magic existed, it was only natural that all sorts of people existed as well. There were benders of four different kinds, sorcerers who had the most complex of abilities, mixes of both who existed, and lastly—regular people who carried no special, otherworldly aptitudes whatsoever.
That last category is where you fall. But, you suppose being able to bend your back just right and give people a taste of something far sweeter than any source of supernatural abilities out there was something to be moderately proud of.
It was in this very brothel that you felt most powerful, and nothing nor anyone could take that away from you.
Especially not by the time Geto entered the establishment for the first time.
Staggering in at over six feet tall, cloaked in black from head to toe with half of his face hidden behind an ornate mask, he was certainly nothing to be played with when you first saw him.
You—and everyone else in a hundred mile radius—had heard many rumors and tales of the infamous Geto Suguru. How he slaughtered his own family, was actively wanted for doing so by members of Jujutsu Society, and had some sort of cult brewing about to spread ideals of slaughter in regards to any non-sorcerers.
But, given the mask he had on, you held no idea that the man snapping his eyes your way was him.
Though, looking back on it now, it should've been obvious. Only half of his face was concealed but most should be able to recognize that sharp jawline and those seductive eyes of amethyst hue from a mile away. Not to mention the long tresses of raven black that cascaded down his back, swishing with much elegance as he paced deeper into the brothel—half of it pulled up into quite the signature bun.
"You," He'd been standing in front of you much faster than you had time to prepare yourself for, his voice laced with this smooth purr that—again—anyone should've been able to recognize.
You remember the way you straightened up almost immediately, your gaze meeting his as the tension of his visual scrutiny fell down on you. Luckily for you, you were able to collect yourself just in time to offer a short nod of your head, "Of course."
You had to force steadiness in your voice just to maintain your usual confidence. No way were you about to let some masked stranger get you all nervous.
...Even if the masked stranger in question undressed you with his eyes in a way you swear you've never experienced before.
You ended up leading him up the creaky set of stairs to your left. It was apparent in how quiet he was along the way that he hadn't been a man of many words, at least not to people he didn't know—ergo, you.
Once upstairs, he followed you down the relatively quiet hall, the only source of sound coming from the soft click of a shutting door as you eventually brought him into a private room.
His eyes didn't stay on you long, too eager to take in the intimate space around him. He'd linger his gaze over the wide bed, scoff quietly at the cheap-looking sheets tossed over it, and shift in his standing as he contemplated deeply on all the decisions that led him here.
Then his attention found you again.
Whilst he had reminded dormant, you slowly turned around to face him and wasted little time in working to untie your velvety robes. The fabrics fell to pool at your feet, and for anyone who lived a life much different to this one—the way things played out may have come off as strange. But for you, having a client who spoke very little such as this one wasn't unusual in the slightest.
Hell, it was on nights like that where you preferred it most, honestly.
"Shall I uh..." Your voice wavered a moment but you quickly made up for it via gesturing your hand out to the man. Then you pacing closer to him, "Shall I help you?" You offered simply, your movement extending out into a reach as you went for his clothing.
A hand met your wrist and his head shook, "Not yet."
You'd known the gentleman for no longer than twenty minutes and yet only three words had come your way. How strange.
Unfortunately, you weren't given much time to ponder on his aloofness since you were distracted by the way his hand left you and went for his mask. He lifted it away and you gasped almost immediately at the reveal, stumbling back a bit to move your hands over your mouth.
In one respect, you were scared shitless. The man known for bringing harm to non-sorcerers was currently standing in front of you, a non-sorcerer. And in the other respect, it was hard to be entirely fearful when he had the face of an angel.
Most men prior to this instance weren't always the easiest on the eyes, and it was quite the rarity for you to be in a situation like this.
A few lengthy strands of hair framed the upper half of his now-revealed face and fuck if he wasn't the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on.
"You look scared," Geto pointed out bluntly, his gaze inert. He watched closely at the way the center of your throat moved with the gulp you took.
Cute.
You wanted to swipe your robes back up from the floor and run for your life, but what good would that really do you?
"Well, you're known for..." Your words failed you entirely but you tried your best to vocalize your scattered thoughts. "A-And I'm not a—"
"A sorcerer? I know," He fills in for you, closing the distance you'd tried to create between the two of you. "But, I don't need you to be a sorcerer to fuck you, do I?"
It was in that moment, and with those words, that you remembered what exactly your job was. Fearing that this man would harm you despite him literally coming to this establishment to feed into whatever lust lived inside him was mildly foolish on your part.
You eventually let your head nod understandingly, your gaze sinking to the floor in slight embarrassment. Meanwhile he'd found himself amused. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you'd easily become his exception for the sorcerer exclusive world he wanted to eventually create.
Geto stepped forward and went to take your wrists into his hands again, tugging you towards him and guiding your palms to his torso. "You can undress me now," He instructed.
Your hands were shaking slightly as you did so, struggling to swallow that lingering fear all the way down. It wasn't until you'd managed his top off that he moved to grab at your jaw rather roughly, forcing your head up and your eyes on his.
You gasped again, "Lord Geto, I—"
"Suguru will suffice," He murmured before you could even finish, tipping his head to the side and leaning in to caress your lips with his own. "I am yours more than you are mine tonight, alright?"
It was obvious he was trying to soothe your nerves but it wasn't really working until his lips fell onto yours. Your eyes went wide when he kissed you, stuck in your own shock and unable to bring yourself back into the moment.
Then, by the time his tongue darted out to tap at the corners of your mouth seeking entry, you regained some of yourself and managed to part your lips for him. After which his tongue met with yours and it was as though a flip had been switched in your head.
Your body pushed forward into his without second thought and you caught him by surprise quickly enough for him to grunt into your mouth. The taste of Geto on your tongue was something you'd never forget—not by a long shot.
One of your hands flew up to the side of his face to trace his cheek as your other explored the expanse of his abs, fingertips dipping against every sharp curve. Geto's body shuddered under your suddenly initiative touch, his breath clinging to his lungs and refusing to leave him in a timely manner.
A single slip of tongues was all it took for you to feel like yourself again and that was enough to have Geto reeling. Your thumb swiped against his cheek in a fashion more tender than he'd ever experienced in his life and he was completely under your figurative spell until your other hand began to dip past his waistband.
After a few minutes of exchanging saliva and soft moans, he'd unconsciously pushed you back against the bed. You pulled away from him and moved to sink to your knees without him having to say anything—leaving him to miss the feel of your tits against his naked chest.
Geto's hand came to the top of your head carefully as you tugged at his dark slacks, letting them plunge to the floor so that his erect cock could spring free. The man swears he caught a little twinkle in your eye upon watching how his dick came slapping up against his abdomen. Perhaps you were a bit more passionate about your job than he'd realized.
His cock was unduly thick, tannish length standing tall and curved whilst it dripped excessively with precum from the plump tip. You were salivating before you'd even copped a proper feel.
Your eyes flicked upward and he peered down at you expectantly, cocking a brow as if to ask what was taking you so long. You never cared much for being rushed but something told you that his neediness would somehow make everything worth it soon enough.
Then your mouth met his tip and you licked slowly, savoring the new taste of him on your tongue. He groaned faintly before moving to thread his fingers into your hair for a better grip on your head, his hips instinctively rocking forward. Your lips stretched around his cock as you swallowed him in, drool spilling out from the sides and quick to make a mess of your face.
Geto wasn't hesitant in fucking your mouth, especially with how good you were at using it. Your tongue did these tricks against him that he'd never felt before and it had his balls aching for release within a matter of minutes.
Hell, it had him thinking maybe he should've visited a brothel sooner!
"Jus' like that," Came from his purring tongue, "Take every inch of me-, fuck—mhmm, stretch that throat out. That's perfect." He grunted, voice laced with a nasty cadence.
You'd gag slightly as he knocked against the back of your throat, but it was a feeling you'd grown quite used to over time so you've come to enjoy it more than anything. Geto didn't take much longer to use your mouth as if it were specifically shaped to accommodate the size of his fat cock.
When he felt himself growing close, he plucked you right off of him and let the slops of saliva web all in between his tip and your chin. Then he'd hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed, abandoning thoughts of his own pleasure just to come spread your legs and kneel himself between them.
It wasn't unusual for clients to eat you out per-se, but it was quite uncommon.
Surging forward with no preamble, Geto buried his face into your sappy folds, his tongue coming forward with a spongey greeting to soak in your arousal. In the midst of this, you caught the man smiling like he'd proved something to himself just from getting a taste of you. Whatever that something was is entirely unbeknownst to you but, it matters little in the long run.
"Suguru," You tested, letting his name fall from you for the first time and watching how he instantly ground his hips forward to rub his bare cock against the bedsheets.
His lips were glistening in the remnants of you as his head fwipped upwards, "Again, pretty. Say it like you mean it." Geto ordered.
You did exactly that whilst he dove right back in, his hand coming out of seemingly nowhere to add two fingers into you and stretch you open on par with the rotational laps of his tongue.
"Mmngh! Sugu-, shit.." You huffed breathlessly beneath him and the workings of his mouth.
It seemed as though the sudden nickname you spewed was enough to send him into this feral state of feasting, mouth widening against your pussy just to suck 'n kiss alllll over you like you deserved to be sucked 'n kissed on. Your fingers tangled into his hair somewhere along the way but it began to grip and tug as you felt your orgasm approaching.
The skin of your thighs caged his head as your voice grew loud enough to escape the otherwise sound-proof walls of the room.
Directly after your orgasm flooded both his tongue and his thick fingers, Geto had no plans on letting you recover from it.
That first night with him was quick in the best way imaginable.
Geto rose to position his achy cock at your entrance, letting the head smack! in between your puffy folds a couple times before he started pushing in. Your hands went out to grip at the surrounding sheets and you whined whilst he stretched you out.
He was the first client of yours to ever make you feel so immersed in the acts of sexual pleasure, but far from the last.
He waited for the walls of your cunt to adjust to his thick size before he worked a steady pace into you, soon fucking you in a way that's simply incomparable to what you were used to. Your body rocked and rocked against the bed with his every thrust, his hands moving from the sheets to your hips, then to your breasts just to squeeze your body like he felt you needed.
One moment he was groaning and grunting above you about how good you felt, and the next his hands were on the undersides of your thighs, forcing your body to bend how he wanted as his voice curved all into your ear.
"Tell me something," He husked heavily, his hair framing your body with the way it fell out all messily. "How many cocks do you actually enjoy taking, hm?"
You choked.
Sure, men had asked you questions like that before but... most weren't too concerned with the others that you'd been with.
Cunt clenching around him, "I-I... I don't know-, nngh!"
At that, Geto had lifted himself just enough to grab ahold of your face like he'd done earlier, staring your dead in the eyes whilst his hips came rocking down into you—cock fucking the air right out of your lungs. "Well, when you make faces like that... I can't help but feel like mine is the only correct answer, no?"
It was your first night with the man and yet, you knew for a fact you had him right were you wanted him. A few have gotten addicted to you in the past, sure. But their pockets never aligned with their desires.
Not like Geto's did.
He eventually emptied himself into you, and wound up leaving you with a tip large enough to prevent you from working at all if you wished it so.
Then he became a recurring customer. Actually, scratch that, Geto Suguru became the recurring customer (for a while, anyway).
If you were with someone, he'd have them quickly dismissed and pay three times whatever the person you were with had been charged plus some just to make it happen.
Not only that, but he also showed up unmasked after his first night with you. You're unsure why exactly he did that when all this did was bring about attention to you.
Words of your successfully seductive nature spread all across the lands because of him, reaching places you never could've imagined for yourself.
...Such as the Fire Nation.
Or, more specifically, the Fire Nation's palace.
——
With Geto highlighting your sexual talents, you got new clients of all sorts. Other well-renowned jujutsu sorcerers, the most talented of benders from varying nations, etc.
The madam of your brothel helped you to maintain appearances, slowly viewing you differently over time, and eventually realizing that you were becoming her most starred worker—keenly peeping the investment she'd have to put into you in order to keep this flow of high societal members coming.
Your older garments, albeit nothing wrong with them, were quickly replaced with new silks that were more intricate and softer—fitting for a woman of your stature now. Your room had been moved higher within the building, farther from the bumbling noise of the common floor, and closer to those who could afford the best discretion.
Even the way your coworkers spoke to you had shifted. Some interacted with you whilst carrying awe in their eyes, others moving with resentment.
But through all this, Geto kept coming back, continued to remain your most devoted and loyal client.
That is, until Fire Lord Zuko waltzed in one night.
You were tucked into the comforts of your room when he'd visited the brothel, deaf to the commotion occurring just beyond your door.
Whispers flooded the hallways just outside, along with shocked gasps, attemptive passing touches, and failed glances of seduction as he made his way towards your room. Then came one firm knock to your door, the sound loud enough to startle you a bit.
You abandoned whatever it was you were tending to and made haste in approaching the door. As you moved to open it, you were left star-stuck from the sight of regal fabrics alone. Before you even looked up to see who was under said fabrics, you felt your heart lurch in your chest.
Then you peeked upwards and gasped rather animatedly, the folded fan you had in your hand fluttering to the floor. "L-Lord Zuko," You stammered in shock.
It was instantaneous the way you let your head lower into a rightful bow after catching the slightest shift in his brow, to which his face had lightened up a little in surprise.
Then came the tenderness of his voice, "You... don't have to do that." Zuko breathed, moving to lightly take your hands into his own.
You lifted your chin back up shortly after, blinking all dumbfoundedly at the man, "But..." As your words trailed off, he was firm in holding both your gaze and your hands.
His skin was warm against yours, eyes gorgeous in their golden hue, and long black hair falling loose to frame some of his tall figure. It was clear that here—in this brothel with you—there was no veil of inherent royalty between you and him.
The burn scar that twisted his left eye and cheek remain bare for you to take all the way in. It was unreal to have the Fire Lord standing right in front of you like this. One could only dream of such a thing, truly.
Within the spark of a moment that dwindled between the both of you, he let himself unconsciously lean a little closer to you. Husking a soft-spoken, "I'm not the first of royal status to pay you a visit, am I?" He asked.
You cleared your throat, "No, no, of course not."
Then you let your hands depart from his and you took a step back, moving your arm out to gesture him into entering your bed chambers. Zuko seemed to be delighted by the way you regained your comfort thus far, his shoulders relaxing as he inched forward.
Just before his foot fully passed the doorway, he paused and cut his eye back over his shoulder. Everyone who he'd passed whilst making his way here had been watching that entire little interaction, but the moment Zuko looked back at them all, they'd flinched and scrammed to return to whatever mindless tasks they'd been busy with before.
With the hallway cleared from a mere glance—with the exception of one or two fire nation guards—he let out a short breath through his nose and then turned to enter your quarters, the ends of his fashionably red and gold attire fluttering behind his every step.
You shut the door behind him and pressed your forehead against it for a moment. Your heart was pounding with every lengthy second that dragged by.
Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.
Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.
Fire. Lord. Zuko. is standing. in your room.
How do you even-
"Miss..?" He calls out almost sweetly, unintentionally making you flinch out of your thoughts.
You gulp, swirling around to face him only to swirl yourself right into his chest.
When had he gotten so close?
Your hands fly up to steady yourself—lightly grabbing onto him—and you squeeze your eyes shut, "My apologies, my lord..." You mumble, "As you can see, your arrival has startled me greatly."
Something soft leaves his lungs as his hands carefully meet your arms, "Why's that?" Fuck, his voice was so warm.
Your eyes bat themself open before moving up to meet with his. "...Are you seriously asking me that?" You blurt out.
Zuko stares at you an awkward moment.
He obviously wasn't used to having anyone speak so casually to him, and while he somewhat expected it before coming into this, it still manages to catch him off guard.
Leading him to let out a harmless scoff, "Pardon me for my confusion, miss. I just thought you'd be used to nobles visiting you by now. I've heard the rumors, after all."
You stare right back at him before tilting your head cluelessly, "Rumors?"
Zuko’s eyes skim over every inch of your face, appreciating the lack of space between your body and his already. Then he smiles ever so slightly, "You don't even know what people speak of you, huh?"
Your head shakes.
"They say you're the best," He explains steadily, lifting a hand to whisk a single strand of hair away from your face, "That a single night with you is enough to heal a broken heart of any sorts."
"Does that imply that your heart is recently broken, my lord?" You tease.
His hand halts for a second. Then his grin deepens, "It's not. I'm uh... I'm only reiterating what I've heard of you."
Playfully rolling your eyes, "Well, those rumors of me are wildly dramatic."
His eyebrow raises as if to challenge your claims, “Are they?"
You stand your ground, "I do whatever is asked of me and I get paid, there's nothing more to it."
Zuko doesn’t even try to hide the way he doesn’t quite believe you. Something threading on smug flickers across his expression whilst his thumb maps out the side of your face, drawing itself down towards your mouth.
You get lost in his touch faster than you can even help yourself. Everything about Zuko is just warm—there’s hardly another way to put it. His voice is velvety and tender on your ears, never too much bass or aggressiveness in the words that leave him.
In fact, it’s the exact opposite.
Every syllable slides off his tongue with this crowned elegance that somehow doesn’t ever strike your eardrums as too entitled or belittling in any way. "And yet word of your reputation alone has led me to you." Zuko says, the tip of his thumb finally greeting your bottom lip.
The gloss resting there makes him mouth out the word pretty and you feel your breath hitching, as if his compliment weighed far more than any other you’d ever received.
"For reasons far beyond me,” You murmur in response as he thumbs your lips apart slowly.
Zuko’s hand gathers the rest of your chin into his hold to lift your head further up and he spreads your lips apart from one another fully as he whispers, "Your humbleness is honorable, sweetheart."
Something in your chest flips right then.
Sweetheart.
A nickname you’ve heard time ‘n time again. A nickname you should be used to hearing by now.
But when it comes from him…
The look in your eyes change as you push your mouth against the pad of his thumb, “I could show you some other honorable things, my lord.”
His brow furrows and you hear a breath escape him, having hitched somewhere in his throat. “That's what I'm here for, but I'm not sure honorable is the right… word...” Zuko trails off, quickly getting enamored in the way you move your mouth to take in his thumb.
He’s not entirely a stranger to seduction, but it didn’t take long for him to figure someone like you should be something much more than a mere brothel worker. If this was something you truly took passion in—surely becoming his concubine would be much more fitting.
And with your tongue rounding his thumb in a manner meant to imitate the way it later would his cock, Zuko knows he’ll be returning to this brothel many times before he’s even half way satisfied with indulging in you.
He soon plucks his thumb from your mouth and moves to grab ahold of your face, tipping his head opposite of yours, and then leaning in as if to kiss you.
Zuko slows himself just short of his lips colliding with yours and you nearly whine at the teasing gesture. The man lets your breaths mingle and swirl into one another, exchanging waves of intimacy prior to engaging in the real thing.
Then, just to work you right up, he smirks and utters, “You want it?” as if you weren’t already a melting mess of need in his palms. He didn't realize it then, but you could tell this whole thing was new to him in one way or another.
You nod almost stupidly though, “Please?”
Zuko’s lips slip down onto yours and both of you hum into the kiss almost immediately. He’s holding your face like you’re the most dearest thing to him and you’re reeling in the fact that you’re kissing the Fire Lord himself.
And then in a matter of minutes the both of you go from tentative kisses and gentle moans to the tugging of clothing and a fiery handling of one another.
Zuko very nearly shreds your robes to ash just to get his hands on your bare skin—his touches eager as he soon has your tits fondled perfectly within his palms while still working your mouth over with his own.
He’d kiss you until you were breathless and clinging to him for more, ignoring how your hands tried to dip down for his cock, and smoothly bringing his mouth down to your chest.
His lips cupped one of your nipples before you had time to react, sucking and tugging on the perky bud with much fervor. “Mmmgnh,” Zuko hummed against you whilst rolling his tongue around in pleasureful little circles.
The first night with him was nearly as fast as the first night with Geto had been. Nearly.
There were little differences between the two men when they were with you. Both seemed eager and happy to please you more than they did themselves.
Zuko spent an almost concerning amount of time slobbering against your tits before even thinking of pulling his dick out. And once he did free himself from the restraints of his regal clothing, you’d already been laid down on the mattress in the particular position he planned on taking you in.
You laid on your stomach—body decorated and smothered in all sorts of markings induced from Zuko’s incessant mouth—and he was soon positioning his thighs around your own with his cock swinging out just above your ass.
When Zuko was especially turned on, bits of steam would puff out from his nose. A cute fact of which you come to pick up on over time, of course.
Sometimes you’d feel said steam caress your back when he took you from behind as he was now. The balmy head of his long cock would prod at your weepy pussy lips before he’d ease himself in, and by then, he was already a mess.
You’d push your hips back against him and he’d nearly lose his balance above you, a short huff that sounds dangerously close to a whine slipping right out of his lungs.
“So beautiful…” He’d coo, noticing how you shudder under the heated touch of his fingertips as they traveled the curve in your spine. Then he’d flatten his hand somewhere in the center of it and force your arch to deepen as he humped his dick into your wetly ringing cunt.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head instantly and drool danced out the side of your mouth along with a moan of his name, “F-Fuuck, Zuko.”
He adored the sound—felt himself growing wildly enamored by it with each time it dangled off of your tongue. The rumors about you were nothing compared to feeling you.
Your walls sucked him in to the hilt without him even having to move much, clenching around his cock in rhythmic motions that had his mind going blank for moments at a time. Zuko was thankful he’d had you in prone bone, otherwise you’d see just how red ‘n pink his cheeks had colored over just from fucking you.
Even so, he couldn’t control the sounds he let out. The way he’d grunt and then thrust as if to distract you from it, loving how you continued to gasp out directly after.
Up until you’d angled your head back to look at him, a gorgeously cockdrunk look dazzling over your glossy eyes. He’d never seen something so sinfully beautiful in his life.
Zuko’s hips were snapping down into you faster than he realized, his hand moving to your chin to force your head further back the moment you tried to look away from him. The nerve you had to give him a taste of such a perfect expression just to hide it from him seconds later.
How rude.
His body craned down and his face was mere centimeters from yours as his cockhead thrashed against the inner depths of your cunt. The two of you panted and moaned in sync, his jaw slacking from how good it felt to be inside you whilst fucking you into making that addictive expression.
It wasn’t until he was getting close that you felt his balls smack smack smacking! against your skin harder, and the faint smell of something burning coming from somewhere to your left.
There’d been incidents in the past—especially with fire benders—where silk sheets had been burnt within the brothel. You were no stranger to the scent, you knew exactly what it was without having to place your eyes on it.
Even so, your head ached to turn and locate the source of the fiery smell, but Zuko wasn’t having it. His veins trailing his cock throbbed and he groaned out all loudly as he kept your head in place with a steeling grip.
Huffing, “Shit-, i-ignore it.” as he continued on, despite the smell getting stronger.
You gasped and your body was conformed entirely to his hold on you, “But-, ah! You’ll burn something, my—“
“Say my name,” The Fire Lord demanded all of a sudden, his brow pressing inward as frustration built up across his face.
“Zuko,” You whined, “The sheets will—“
Again cutting you off, he tipped your head further up and swallowed up your words by kissing you. You struggled to kiss him back properly because of how mean his hips were coming down on you, but you tried your best.
When he finally pulled his mouth from yours, you saw how blissed-out his eyes had been. “Ignore the burning, focus on my cock. I know how to-, fuck.. how to control myself. No fires will be—god, you feel so good—c-caused… I promise.”
Even as he tried to reassure you, he was actively burning a hole into your favorite sheet set. Of course, these could be easily replaced by him—but it was the principle of it all, y’know?
His cock twitched inside you in sync with the flickering flames coming from his fingertips. You began to drool and he panted above you, letting his grunts and faint whines speak for his feels of pleasure instead of his tongue. The bedding was left singed due to his flames but you didn't mind it too much.
At least, considering how he most definitely pays you more than you ever could've imagined for yourself.
He ended up cumming somewhere on your back, with his dick going flaccid just between your ass cheeks shortly after. Your head fell down into the sheets and you found yourself smiling at the fact that the Fire Lord just fucked you.
You didn't mean to brag buuut... no one else could say that happened to them!
Those flames of his died out just after he calmed down and he soon fell to your side, his eyes going up to the ceiling to relish in what he'd just done.
Zuko had been stressed for weeks, months even, but that first night in the brothel with you was more than enough to motivate him for the next upcoming days.
Which is precisely why he kept coming back. Over and over and over and over again until he was just as recurring of a customer as Geto had been.
——
This routine of yours was manageable enough for a time. A long time, in fact.
Months went by before your time spent with Geto and Zuko separately ever conflicted with one another. But, of course, it was only a matter of time before they'd cross paths.
The beloved brothel of yours was alive 'n thriving with its usual throng up until a servant had come banging on your door all urgently, calling your name out with her voice shaking as if freightened.
Her voice quakes from outside your door, "Two arrivals, miss—L-Lord Zuko and.. and Lord Geto. They're both requesting y-"
"Send them in," You call back to her before her statement could even find its end.
"Together?" She squeaked.
You finally approached the door and move to swing it open, flashing a her a gorgeously perfected smile at the frightened lady, "Why, of course."
"...But miss, they're both demanding to see you separately." She warned.
"No matter," Your hand moved to wave off her words, "If they want me as badly as they so claim, they'll come to me regardless of who else decides to do the same."
The servant bats her lashes at you a few times, by far deeming you as the craziest lady currently occupying this brothel. It's not that serving two clients at the same time was uncommon, but the fact that you wanted to take in your highest paying clients—two men of very high status—at the same time...?
You had guts. Perhaps the attention you'd been receiving lately had gone to your head? Suppose Lord Zuko set this entire place ablaze simply because he doesn't feel like sharing, what then—
"The longer you stand there staring at me, the more impatient my gentlemen grow," You remind the poor servant, snapping her out of her gaze.
She blinks repetitively before bowing sharply and then turning on her heels. Then you watch her rush down the hall to go fetch your desired men.
You disappeared back into your room shortly after and patiently waited for your door to fly back open, this time with your sought-after guests. It'd been quite some time since you'd participated in a threesome so, part of you was definitely thrilled at the prospect.
And luckily for you, Geto nor Zuko cared much—or at all, really—about who the other guest coming to see you was. They even came bursting into your room together, Zuko first and Geto following closely behind him.
It was obvious without a word that they'd had enough time on the walk towards your quarters to discuss what was to take place. You could tell by the way they came in all silent.
Before this, you'd known both men to become more talkative over time when they came to see you. Geto would preach to you about his beliefs that you definitely didn't care about and Zuko would spend his free time with you to vent about the weight of royal responsibilities resting on his shoulders.
You enjoyed these things from them, of course. But at the end of the day, you had a role to play. A job to do.
And tonight—despite the both of them entering your room together—was absolutely no different. It was here nor there what few words were exchanged between the time it took for them to get themselves undressed and for you to figure out how exactly they'd decided on sharing you tonight.
All you know is that one moment they were slowly taking off their garments as you watched patiently—awaiting some sort of direction—and the next, Zuko's mouth was on yours.
You wanted to ask them how they decided on who'd get to do what first, especially considering that they're two entirely different people but neither of them gave you a chance to do so.
Luckily enough, your question is answered somewhere after Zuko kisses you until you were a drooling mess between your thighs and Geto lapped away at said drooling mess.
The room was heavy-, nearly clouded with the mixed scent of arousal and sweat, sheets rumpled up from the rapidly escalating actions. First you were between making out with Zuko while Geto did the same with your cunt, and then you found yourself positioned between them.
It was in that same position—arched over like some slut as Geto moved himself behind you, hand gripping over your ass whilst his cock rubbed between your cheeks—that the two finally started releasing more than a moan or a grunt.
You'd argue that Geto started it off by saying, "Ah, look at you.." after gliding his cock neatly in between your sodden folds. He thrust forward once and watched how your ass came bouncing against his sharp pelvis. Then he huffed, "Such a sweet girl, always sucking me in like you missed me-, fuck. Did you miss me, gorgeous?"
Your jaw fell open to reply to him but you were crudely cut off by Zuko, who was busy nudging his cock in between your lips. When your eyes lifted up, you saw how he had a bulky arm over his face as if to his his expression from you. Even so, his other hand was busy working his shaft down the center of your tongue—as if whatever Geto was saying to you wasn't worthy of any sort of response.
You found it funny at first, but then they started to go back 'n forth.
Zuko was matching the pace Geto was quick to set in a matter of seconds, your body left to wobble back and forth between them.
"No one pleases me like you do," Zuko murmured, the sudden praise catching you by surprise. "Fuck-," his voice pitches and you caught how his eyes fluttered. Then his hips ever so carefully grind forward, his balmy tip pressing a smear of precum down your throat and leaving a slopped smooch at the back of it.
Your cheeks hollowed out then and Geto was left to feel the way your cunt suddenly soaked around his dick. His hands latched onto your hips and you shuddered in pleasure upon feeling his fingers ground into your skin as his snapped forward a little sharper.
It was like he was competing with Zuko—silently trying to figure out who could hit the best spots inside you and say the right things just to get you wetter. Unfortunately for the crowned man in front of you, Geto's sneakily slipping a hand under you to swish the pads of his fingers over your clit 'n bring you to a quick orgasm on his cock.
Boasting about it directly after as a crooked smile crafts itself into his face, "There's that sloppy mess I was lookin' for. Shit-, I love the way you feel when you cum on me like that."
"Mmgh-, mmpfh!" You're mumbling against Zuko's dick. What exactly you were trying to say is lost to both men, as they mutually assume you were simply moaning.
Zuko's attention is caught by the man behind you though. His eyes flicking over to him as his arm drops from his face and he frowns. Mumbling, "She only did that cause of me..."
"Oh yeah?" Geto looks up immediately, cocking his head left while keeping his girth dormant inside your gummy walls. He gives you some time to focus more on sucking Zuko off properly, and delightedly enjoys in the way your pussy smothers his cock in a thin shimmery layer of release. "And what exactly makes you think that, your highness?" He mocks.
The Fire Lord rolls his eyes, "Well, she's—ah, heyyy," he looks down at you, "At least give me a second to t-talk, won't you?"
You drunkenly peer up at him, his cock still bulging in between your swollen lips. A trickle of saliva drips down and falls in between the valley of his balls, leading Zuko to shiver as his hand grips onto your head tightly.
Doing his best to ignore you anyway, his attention moves to Geto again. "As I was trying to say... she likes-, hah, getting her throat fucked," He points out with an intentionally jerky thrust of his hips, leading your jaw to ache for a split second from how deep in your trachea he was reaching.
Geto pulls himself out of you, dick flitting up into the air with droplets of your arousal hanging from it in dewy little strings. He glances at the sinful display for a second and uses his hand to grab his cock and tap it against your ass a couple times.
You let out another hum or two against Zuko in reaction.
To which Geto chuckles, "Yeahhh, I don't think she came because of you at all. But, I'll let you think that."
Zuko all but pouts upon hearing that. It was almost as though his honor or something was being contested with those words. So, he releases a chuff and practically snatches his length out of your warm facial cavern. "I don't take kindly to being challenged," He claims, ignoring your mouth that's steadily pressing forward for more.
"Nobody's challenging you, Lord Zuko." Geto shot back before moving his hands up into a surrendering gesture and shutting his eyes calmly. "Alls I'm saying is that she came on my cock, not yours-," His eyes opened slowly and his arrogant expression fell, "Uh, what're you doing?"
"Proving you wrong," Zuko answered casually as if he weren't currently hauling you up into his arms and spreading you out into a particularly debauched full nelson. You feel the firmness of his muscles rubbing against all sorts of crevices and nooks of your skin, only making you soak more.
His arms had hooked under your knees, folding your body into that perfect hold—your arms pinned behind your back, and plush thighs spread out widely. Your pussy was on full display, poor folds puffy 'n wet, exposed to Geto's hungry gaze as he watched intently.
"Like..." Geto blinks once-, twice upon seeing you spread out so broadly. "Like that?"
Zuko tuts, "Obviously."
You're squirming, naturally, but neither of them pay any mind to that either. Not your first—nor last—time in this position but fuck if it hadn't been a whiiiiiile since you'd been held up in such a precarious position.
"Hah. Fine then," Geto moves to slouch back against the bed, "Fuck her good, Fire Lord. Show me how uh," He nearly forgets his wording just from watching the other man's cock nudge up into position, "...Royal seed marks its territory, yeah?"
"Tch." Oh, Zuko was so annoyed.
With the way they were acting now, you hardly understood how the hell they agreed to share you in the first place. There's no way—
Something warmer pressing against your entrance, warmer than anything you've felt before. It wasn't an uncomfortable temperature or anything but there was this certain heat to it that made you flinch deeper into Zuko's grasp on you.
Then came his voice at the shell of your ear, "Feel that?" he whispered, hands holding you steady.
You shuddered, "Y-Yeah. Why're you so-, ah!"
He was pushing up into you before you had much time to question him. Zuko didn't need questions, he just needed to be snug inside that slobbering pussy of yours, stuffing you full of himself, and soon having you cream around him far more than you did on Geto.
...And if it took making his cock feel significantly different than Geto's did inside you via slight manipulation to the heat surrounding it, then so be it! You'd never have a moment long enough to question it anyways.
Y'know, since you're much too busy getting fucked dumb on his cock shortly after its slotted inside you. You're promptly displayed in front of Geto—who couldn't stop himself from tugging at his dick to the sight even if he tried—and your body feels almost tingly as Zuko plunges in and out of you.
He so easily lifted you up 'n down his cock, your pussy struggling to keep up with the pace as it squelched and left slicks of creaming arousal alllll over him.
The position allowed Zuko to hit deeper than he ever had before—arguably even deeper than Geto had too. Filthy juices slicked his cock, drooling down to his heavy balls whilst he bounced you in his arms.
You found your orgasm more times than you can count in that position but it took Zuko a bit to get there himself since he'd put so much focus and energy into getting you to cum on him harder than you did on Geto.
And even after, by the time he's obscenely thrusting his own load into you, Geto still looks as though he's got something up his sleeve.
The cult leader had spilt into his hand already but that mattered little, as he had one more thing in mind in order to win this imaginary competition he'd set.
Zuko pulled out of you and lowered your used body down gently onto the bed right in front of Geto. A mix of your release and his seed leaked out from inside you. He moved a hand to the top of your head to pat you softly and wiped sweat from his brow before casting Geto a glance, "There. I win."
The sly man smirked, "Did you?"
"I did," Zuko confirms, shrugging. "There's nothing else you can do to—"
He is oh-so-unfortunately cut off by Geto moving forward to nestle in between your legs.
Zuko clears some shakiness out of his throat, "You... You're not about to do what I think you are... r-right?"
Geto merely winks at the man before pushing your jittery legs apart. Your back falls towards Zuko, who easily catches you, and is left to watch Geto angle downwards.
Your pussy glistened with the evidence of Zuko spilling into you, a milky white left to leak from your hole. "How pretty," was the last thing Geto murmured before he did the unimaginable and dove in.
His tongue came in flat and broad as it lapped at your folds, just nasty in the way he scooped up the mingled folds onto it.
He sucked appreciatively on your cunt but you were whimpering above him, tugging at his hair and then pushing at him because your head's all confused with pleasure and the back to back stimulation. Geto's tongue swished around your clit before he sucked on it, and you gasped.
Your hand flew somewhere before you were clutching onto both Zuko's arm and Geto's head as the man cleaned you.
Zuko transfixed on the sight for a long timed before you heard him say, "Doing something so filthy for her pleasure..." He managed a smile in between his words, "How honorable."
Geto plucked his mouth away then, just to respond. "What's with you and this honor thing, huh?"
"Just take the compliment," Zuko hummed.
"Give me a normal one and perhaps I will."
"That is a normal one."
You snort wearily, "Zuko, my dear, there is... hahhh, n-nothing normal about you and your fixation on things being honorable."
▶︎︎ Noble (starring . fire lord!zuko & cult leader!geto)
synopsis . In which the two leaders of two entirely different lifestyles have one other thing in common outside of their lordship—their addiction to you.
content . afab!reader, atla x jjk au, porn with no plot, lots of hair pulling (duh), hints of obsession and possessiveness, eventual threesome & they kinda pass you back 'n forth, brothel worker!reader, missionary, marathon sex, zuko’s a lil awkward here ‘n there, fingering, oral sex, throat fucking, slight nipple play, praise, pet names, sexual use of fire bending, creampies, dirty talk (sugu's filthy like always), full nelson, zuko steams when he’s close/when he cums, manhandling, filth (cum eating), jealous innuendos, prone bone, etc.
word count . 8.7k (dunno how tht happened) || author's note: y’all know i had to. btw this is dedicated to tht one anon who said they’re tired of seeing me write foursomes & threesomes <3 banner art by rororogi mogera!
In a world where things like jujutsu sorcery and elemental benders exist simultaneously, one can only imagine how overwhelming life must be to live.
And yet, you’ve managed to find some sort of balance in the midst of it all as a humble brothel worker.
Well, not just any humble brothel worker but—the brothel worker, as titled by the many men and women of highest ranks in society who’ve had the pleasure of indulging in you for a night or two.
You had gathered many loyal clients over the years, people who'd come in and beg 'n plead for even a few minutes with you. By the time this palate of clients reached those of higher status, your rates naturally went up, and eventually you'd only be visited by those most worthy of you.
Which, is rather impressive for a mere whore.
You're unsure what it was about you that made you so special, but if you had to thank someone for your status in the society of prostitution, that someone would be Geto Suguru, who was the first to openly pick you as his favored escort.
After he came in to your brothel unmasked and open with who he was, many people of higher society began to follow suit until this trend eventually reached royal walls.
It was by then that you were sought out by only the best of the best. And while this was supposed to be a good thing for you, considering it meant much better pay and (thankfully) less harassment, you found yourself facing a new difficulty as your two highest paying clients began to butt heads and clash with their timing...
——
On one hand, you had well known cultist leader Geto Suguru who you'd wrapped around your pretty little finger from his first night with you.
You recall said first night like it were yesterday.
Dimmed lanterns littered the brothel's corners and ceilings, leaving arrays of shadows and silhouettes to splay out across the rich velvet-draped walls whilst the scent of sex 'n sin coated the air.
You were leaning against a scrupulously carved wooden bar, the silks of your robe slanting off your right shoulder—leaving room for a teasing curve of your breasts to spill out to the varying patrons winding about. It'd been a rather busy night for you, as you'd tended to at least three clients back to back prior to finding this short moment for yourself.
Most could hardly afford an entire night with you at this time, even though you weren't considered the best of the best just yet. This brothel brought in all sorts of lost souls, a diverse set individuals who's cash and coin could bring them whatever flesh they craved when their desires ran most rampant.
Your eyes had scanned the room time and time again in search of who to approach, as it was also rather rare that you'd have a second to do the approaching—most came to you. But, this night had been wildly different.
Your gaze plucked out the regulars and you grimaced as the prospect of having to approach one of those merchants who carried leering grins and uncomfortably grabby hands dawned on you. Although you'd a busy night thus far, you were quite hungry for cash.
All you wanted was one more customer before you'd call it a successful night.
You debated on approaching some soldiers who's hands you knew to itch for softness, deeply considering how their pockets tended to run rather deep.
When such powerful fascinations of magic existed, it was only natural that all sorts of people existed as well. There were benders of four different kinds, sorcerers who had the most complex of abilities, mixes of both who existed, and lastly—regular people who carried no special, otherworldly aptitudes whatsoever.
That last category is where you fall. But, you suppose being able to bend your back just right and give people a taste of something far sweeter than any source of supernatural abilities out there was something to be moderately proud of.
It was in this very brothel that you felt most powerful, and nothing nor anyone could take that away from you.
Especially not by the time Geto entered the establishment for the first time.
Staggering in at over six feet tall, cloaked in black from head to toe with half of his face hidden behind an ornate mask, he was certainly nothing to be played with when you first saw him.
You—and everyone else in a hundred mile radius—had heard many rumors and tales of the infamous Geto Suguru. How he slaughtered his own family, was actively wanted for doing so by members of Jujutsu Society, and had some sort of cult brewing about to spread ideals of slaughter in regards to any non-sorcerers.
But, given the mask he had on, you held no idea that the man snapping his eyes your way was him.
Though, looking back on it now, it should've been obvious. Only half of his face was concealed but most should be able to recognize that sharp jawline and those seductive eyes of amethyst hue from a mile away. Not to mention the long tresses of raven black that cascaded down his back, swishing with much elegance as he paced deeper into the brothel—half of it pulled up into quite the signature bun.
"You," He'd been standing in front of you much faster than you had time to prepare yourself for, his voice laced with this smooth purr that—again—anyone should've been able to recognize.
You remember the way you straightened up almost immediately, your gaze meeting his as the tension of his visual scrutiny fell down on you. Luckily for you, you were able to collect yourself just in time to offer a short nod of your head, "Of course."
You had to force steadiness in your voice just to maintain your usual confidence. No way were you about to let some masked stranger get you all nervous.
...Even if the masked stranger in question undressed you with his eyes in a way you swear you've never experienced before.
You ended up leading him up the creaky set of stairs to your left. It was apparent in how quiet he was along the way that he hadn't been a man of many words, at least not to people he didn't know—ergo, you.
Once upstairs, he followed you down the relatively quiet hall, the only source of sound coming from the soft click of a shutting door as you eventually brought him into a private room.
His eyes didn't stay on you long, too eager to take in the intimate space around him. He'd linger his gaze over the wide bed, scoff quietly at the cheap-looking sheets tossed over it, and shift in his standing as he contemplated deeply on all the decisions that led him here.
Then his attention found you again.
Whilst he had reminded dormant, you slowly turned around to face him and wasted little time in working to untie your velvety robes. The fabrics fell to pool at your feet, and for anyone who lived a life much different to this one—the way things played out may have come off as strange. But for you, having a client who spoke very little such as this one wasn't unusual in the slightest.
Hell, it was on nights like that where you preferred it most, honestly.
"Shall I uh..." Your voice wavered a moment but you quickly made up for it via gesturing your hand out to the man. Then you pacing closer to him, "Shall I help you?" You offered simply, your movement extending out into a reach as you went for his clothing.
A hand met your wrist and his head shook, "Not yet."
You'd known the gentleman for no longer than twenty minutes and yet only three words had come your way. How strange.
Unfortunately, you weren't given much time to ponder on his aloofness since you were distracted by the way his hand left you and went for his mask. He lifted it away and you gasped almost immediately at the reveal, stumbling back a bit to move your hands over your mouth.
In one respect, you were scared shitless. The man known for bringing harm to non-sorcerers was currently standing in front of you, a non-sorcerer. And in the other respect, it was hard to be entirely fearful when he had the face of an angel.
Most men prior to this instance weren't always the easiest on the eyes, and it was quite the rarity for you to be in a situation like this.
A few lengthy strands of hair framed the upper half of his now-revealed face and fuck if he wasn't the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on.
"You look scared," Geto pointed out bluntly, his gaze inert. He watched closely at the way the center of your throat moved with the gulp you took.
Cute.
You wanted to swipe your robes back up from the floor and run for your life, but what good would that really do you?
"Well, you're known for..." Your words failed you entirely but you tried your best to vocalize your scattered thoughts. "A-And I'm not a—"
"A sorcerer? I know," He fills in for you, closing the distance you'd tried to create between the two of you. "But, I don't need you to be a sorcerer to fuck you, do I?"
It was in that moment, and with those words, that you remembered what exactly your job was. Fearing that this man would harm you despite him literally coming to this establishment to feed into whatever lust lived inside him was mildly foolish on your part.
You eventually let your head nod understandingly, your gaze sinking to the floor in slight embarrassment. Meanwhile he'd found himself amused. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you'd easily become his exception for the sorcerer exclusive world he wanted to eventually create.
Geto stepped forward and went to take your wrists into his hands again, tugging you towards him and guiding your palms to his torso. "You can undress me now," He instructed.
Your hands were shaking slightly as you did so, struggling to swallow that lingering fear all the way down. It wasn't until you'd managed his top off that he moved to grab at your jaw rather roughly, forcing your head up and your eyes on his.
You gasped again, "Lord Geto, I—"
"Suguru will suffice," He murmured before you could even finish, tipping his head to the side and leaning in to caress your lips with his own. "I am yours more than you are mine tonight, alright?"
It was obvious he was trying to soothe your nerves but it wasn't really working until his lips fell onto yours. Your eyes went wide when he kissed you, stuck in your own shock and unable to bring yourself back into the moment.
Then, by the time his tongue darted out to tap at the corners of your mouth seeking entry, you regained some of yourself and managed to part your lips for him. After which his tongue met with yours and it was as though a flip had been switched in your head.
Your body pushed forward into his without second thought and you caught him by surprise quickly enough for him to grunt into your mouth. The taste of Geto on your tongue was something you'd never forget—not by a long shot.
One of your hands flew up to the side of his face to trace his cheek as your other explored the expanse of his abs, fingertips dipping against every sharp curve. Geto's body shuddered under your suddenly initiative touch, his breath clinging to his lungs and refusing to leave him in a timely manner.
A single slip of tongues was all it took for you to feel like yourself again and that was enough to have Geto reeling. Your thumb swiped against his cheek in a fashion more tender than he'd ever experienced in his life and he was completely under your figurative spell until your other hand began to dip past his waistband.
After a few minutes of exchanging saliva and soft moans, he'd unconsciously pushed you back against the bed. You pulled away from him and moved to sink to your knees without him having to say anything—leaving him to miss the feel of your tits against his naked chest.
Geto's hand came to the top of your head carefully as you tugged at his dark slacks, letting them plunge to the floor so that his erect cock could spring free. The man swears he caught a little twinkle in your eye upon watching how his dick came slapping up against his abdomen. Perhaps you were a bit more passionate about your job than he'd realized.
His cock was unduly thick, tannish length standing tall and curved whilst it dripped excessively with precum from the plump tip. You were salivating before you'd even copped a proper feel.
Your eyes flicked upward and he peered down at you expectantly, cocking a brow as if to ask what was taking you so long. You never cared much for being rushed but something told you that his neediness would somehow make everything worth it soon enough.
Then your mouth met his tip and you licked slowly, savoring the new taste of him on your tongue. He groaned faintly before moving to thread his fingers into your hair for a better grip on your head, his hips instinctively rocking forward. Your lips stretched around his cock as you swallowed him in, drool spilling out from the sides and quick to make a mess of your face.
Geto wasn't hesitant in fucking your mouth, especially with how good you were at using it. Your tongue did these tricks against him that he'd never felt before and it had his balls aching for release within a matter of minutes.
Hell, it had him thinking maybe he should've visited a brothel sooner!
"Jus' like that," Came from his purring tongue, "Take every inch of me-, fuck—mhmm, stretch that throat out. That's perfect." He grunted, voice laced with a nasty cadence.
You'd gag slightly as he knocked against the back of your throat, but it was a feeling you'd grown quite used to over time so you've come to enjoy it more than anything. Geto didn't take much longer to use your mouth as if it were specifically shaped to accommodate the size of his fat cock.
When he felt himself growing close, he plucked you right off of him and let the slops of saliva web all in between his tip and your chin. Then he'd hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed, abandoning thoughts of his own pleasure just to come spread your legs and kneel himself between them.
It wasn't unusual for clients to eat you out per-se, but it was quite uncommon.
Surging forward with no preamble, Geto buried his face into your sappy folds, his tongue coming forward with a spongey greeting to soak in your arousal. In the midst of this, you caught the man smiling like he'd proved something to himself just from getting a taste of you. Whatever that something was is entirely unbeknownst to you but, it matters little in the long run.
"Suguru," You tested, letting his name fall from you for the first time and watching how he instantly ground his hips forward to rub his bare cock against the bedsheets.
His lips were glistening in the remnants of you as his head fwipped upwards, "Again, pretty. Say it like you mean it." Geto ordered.
You did exactly that whilst he dove right back in, his hand coming out of seemingly nowhere to add two fingers into you and stretch you open on par with the rotational laps of his tongue.
"Mmngh! Sugu-, shit.." You huffed breathlessly beneath him and the workings of his mouth.
It seemed as though the sudden nickname you spewed was enough to send him into this feral state of feasting, mouth widening against your pussy just to suck 'n kiss alllll over you like you deserved to be sucked 'n kissed on. Your fingers tangled into his hair somewhere along the way but it began to grip and tug as you felt your orgasm approaching.
The skin of your thighs caged his head as your voice grew loud enough to escape the otherwise sound-proof walls of the room.
Directly after your orgasm flooded both his tongue and his thick fingers, Geto had no plans on letting you recover from it.
That first night with him was quick in the best way imaginable.
Geto rose to position his achy cock at your entrance, letting the head smack! in between your puffy folds a couple times before he started pushing in. Your hands went out to grip at the surrounding sheets and you whined whilst he stretched you out.
He was the first client of yours to ever make you feel so immersed in the acts of sexual pleasure, but far from the last.
He waited for the walls of your cunt to adjust to his thick size before he worked a steady pace into you, soon fucking you in a way that's simply incomparable to what you were used to. Your body rocked and rocked against the bed with his every thrust, his hands moving from the sheets to your hips, then to your breasts just to squeeze your body like he felt you needed.
One moment he was groaning and grunting above you about how good you felt, and the next his hands were on the undersides of your thighs, forcing your body to bend how he wanted as his voice curved all into your ear.
"Tell me something," He husked heavily, his hair framing your body with the way it fell out all messily. "How many cocks do you actually enjoy taking, hm?"
You choked.
Sure, men had asked you questions like that before but... most weren't too concerned with the others that you'd been with.
Cunt clenching around him, "I-I... I don't know-, nngh!"
At that, Geto had lifted himself just enough to grab ahold of your face like he'd done earlier, staring your dead in the eyes whilst his hips came rocking down into you—cock fucking the air right out of your lungs. "Well, when you make faces like that... I can't help but feel like mine is the only correct answer, no?"
It was your first night with the man and yet, you knew for a fact you had him right were you wanted him. A few have gotten addicted to you in the past, sure. But their pockets never aligned with their desires.
Not like Geto's did.
He eventually emptied himself into you, and wound up leaving you with a tip large enough to prevent you from working at all if you wished it so.
Then he became a recurring customer. Actually, scratch that, Geto Suguru became the recurring customer (for a while, anyway).
If you were with someone, he'd have them quickly dismissed and pay three times whatever the person you were with had been charged plus some just to make it happen.
Not only that, but he also showed up unmasked after his first night with you. You're unsure why exactly he did that when all this did was bring about attention to you.
Words of your successfully seductive nature spread all across the lands because of him, reaching places you never could've imagined for yourself.
...Such as the Fire Nation.
Or, more specifically, the Fire Nation's palace.
——
With Geto highlighting your sexual talents, you got new clients of all sorts. Other well-renowned jujutsu sorcerers, the most talented of benders from varying nations, etc.
The madam of your brothel helped you to maintain appearances, slowly viewing you differently over time, and eventually realizing that you were becoming her most starred worker—keenly peeping the investment she'd have to put into you in order to keep this flow of high societal members coming.
Your older garments, albeit nothing wrong with them, were quickly replaced with new silks that were more intricate and softer—fitting for a woman of your stature now. Your room had been moved higher within the building, farther from the bumbling noise of the common floor, and closer to those who could afford the best discretion.
Even the way your coworkers spoke to you had shifted. Some interacted with you whilst carrying awe in their eyes, others moving with resentment.
But through all this, Geto kept coming back, continued to remain your most devoted and loyal client.
That is, until Fire Lord Zuko waltzed in one night.
You were tucked into the comforts of your room when he'd visited the brothel, deaf to the commotion occurring just beyond your door.
Whispers flooded the hallways just outside, along with shocked gasps, attemptive passing touches, and failed glances of seduction as he made his way towards your room. Then came one firm knock to your door, the sound loud enough to startle you a bit.
You abandoned whatever it was you were tending to and made haste in approaching the door. As you moved to open it, you were left star-stuck from the sight of regal fabrics alone. Before you even looked up to see who was under said fabrics, you felt your heart lurch in your chest.
Then you peeked upwards and gasped rather animatedly, the folded fan you had in your hand fluttering to the floor. "L-Lord Zuko," You stammered in shock.
It was instantaneous the way you let your head lower into a rightful bow after catching the slightest shift in his brow, to which his face had lightened up a little in surprise.
Then came the tenderness of his voice, "You... don't have to do that." Zuko breathed, moving to lightly take your hands into his own.
You lifted your chin back up shortly after, blinking all dumbfoundedly at the man, "But..." As your words trailed off, he was firm in holding both your gaze and your hands.
His skin was warm against yours, eyes gorgeous in their golden hue, and long black hair falling loose to frame some of his tall figure. It was clear that here—in this brothel with you—there was no veil of inherent royalty between you and him.
The burn scar that twisted his left eye and cheek remain bare for you to take all the way in. It was unreal to have the Fire Lord standing right in front of you like this. One could only dream of such a thing, truly.
Within the spark of a moment that dwindled between the both of you, he let himself unconsciously lean a little closer to you. Husking a soft-spoken, "I'm not the first of royal status to pay you a visit, am I?" He asked.
You cleared your throat, "No, no, of course not."
Then you let your hands depart from his and you took a step back, moving your arm out to gesture him into entering your bed chambers. Zuko seemed to be delighted by the way you regained your comfort thus far, his shoulders relaxing as he inched forward.
Just before his foot fully passed the doorway, he paused and cut his eye back over his shoulder. Everyone who he'd passed whilst making his way here had been watching that entire little interaction, but the moment Zuko looked back at them all, they'd flinched and scrammed to return to whatever mindless tasks they'd been busy with before.
With the hallway cleared from a mere glance—with the exception of one or two fire nation guards—he let out a short breath through his nose and then turned to enter your quarters, the ends of his fashionably red and gold attire fluttering behind his every step.
You shut the door behind him and pressed your forehead against it for a moment. Your heart was pounding with every lengthy second that dragged by.
Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.
Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.
Fire. Lord. Zuko. is standing. in your room.
How do you even-
"Miss..?" He calls out almost sweetly, unintentionally making you flinch out of your thoughts.
You gulp, swirling around to face him only to swirl yourself right into his chest.
When had he gotten so close?
Your hands fly up to steady yourself—lightly grabbing onto him—and you squeeze your eyes shut, "My apologies, my lord..." You mumble, "As you can see, your arrival has startled me greatly."
Something soft leaves his lungs as his hands carefully meet your arms, "Why's that?" Fuck, his voice was so warm.
Your eyes bat themself open before moving up to meet with his. "...Are you seriously asking me that?" You blurt out.
Zuko stares at you an awkward moment.
He obviously wasn't used to having anyone speak so casually to him, and while he somewhat expected it before coming into this, it still manages to catch him off guard.
Leading him to let out a harmless scoff, "Pardon me for my confusion, miss. I just thought you'd be used to nobles visiting you by now. I've heard the rumors, after all."
You stare right back at him before tilting your head cluelessly, "Rumors?"
Zuko’s eyes skim over every inch of your face, appreciating the lack of space between your body and his already. Then he smiles ever so slightly, "You don't even know what people speak of you, huh?"
Your head shakes.
"They say you're the best," He explains steadily, lifting a hand to whisk a single strand of hair away from your face, "That a single night with you is enough to heal a broken heart of any sorts."
"Does that imply that your heart is recently broken, my lord?" You tease.
His hand halts for a second. Then his grin deepens, "It's not. I'm uh... I'm only reiterating what I've heard of you."
Playfully rolling your eyes, "Well, those rumors of me are wildly dramatic."
His eyebrow raises as if to challenge your claims, “Are they?"
You stand your ground, "I do whatever is asked of me and I get paid, there's nothing more to it."
Zuko doesn’t even try to hide the way he doesn’t quite believe you. Something threading on smug flickers across his expression whilst his thumb maps out the side of your face, drawing itself down towards your mouth.
You get lost in his touch faster than you can even help yourself. Everything about Zuko is just warm—there’s hardly another way to put it. His voice is velvety and tender on your ears, never too much bass or aggressiveness in the words that leave him.
In fact, it’s the exact opposite.
Every syllable slides off his tongue with this crowned elegance that somehow doesn’t ever strike your eardrums as too entitled or belittling in any way. "And yet word of your reputation alone has led me to you." Zuko says, the tip of his thumb finally greeting your bottom lip.
The gloss resting there makes him mouth out the word pretty and you feel your breath hitching, as if his compliment weighed far more than any other you’d ever received.
"For reasons far beyond me,” You murmur in response as he thumbs your lips apart slowly.
Zuko’s hand gathers the rest of your chin into his hold to lift your head further up and he spreads your lips apart from one another fully as he whispers, "Your humbleness is honorable, sweetheart."
Something in your chest flips right then.
Sweetheart.
A nickname you’ve heard time ‘n time again. A nickname you should be used to hearing by now.
But when it comes from him…
The look in your eyes change as you push your mouth against the pad of his thumb, “I could show you some other honorable things, my lord.”
His brow furrows and you hear a breath escape him, having hitched somewhere in his throat. “That's what I'm here for, but I'm not sure honorable is the right… word...” Zuko trails off, quickly getting enamored in the way you move your mouth to take in his thumb.
He’s not entirely a stranger to seduction, but it didn’t take long for him to figure someone like you should be something much more than a mere brothel worker. If this was something you truly took passion in—surely becoming his concubine would be much more fitting.
And with your tongue rounding his thumb in a manner meant to imitate the way it later would his cock, Zuko knows he’ll be returning to this brothel many times before he’s even half way satisfied with indulging in you.
He soon plucks his thumb from your mouth and moves to grab ahold of your face, tipping his head opposite of yours, and then leaning in as if to kiss you.
Zuko slows himself just short of his lips colliding with yours and you nearly whine at the teasing gesture. The man lets your breaths mingle and swirl into one another, exchanging waves of intimacy prior to engaging in the real thing.
Then, just to work you right up, he smirks and utters, “You want it?” as if you weren’t already a melting mess of need in his palms. He didn't realize it then, but you could tell this whole thing was new to him in one way or another.
You nod almost stupidly though, “Please?”
Zuko’s lips slip down onto yours and both of you hum into the kiss almost immediately. He’s holding your face like you’re the most dearest thing to him and you’re reeling in the fact that you’re kissing the Fire Lord himself.
And then in a matter of minutes the both of you go from tentative kisses and gentle moans to the tugging of clothing and a fiery handling of one another.
Zuko very nearly shreds your robes to ash just to get his hands on your bare skin—his touches eager as he soon has your tits fondled perfectly within his palms while still working your mouth over with his own.
He’d kiss you until you were breathless and clinging to him for more, ignoring how your hands tried to dip down for his cock, and smoothly bringing his mouth down to your chest.
His lips cupped one of your nipples before you had time to react, sucking and tugging on the perky bud with much fervor. “Mmmgnh,” Zuko hummed against you whilst rolling his tongue around in pleasureful little circles.
The first night with him was nearly as fast as the first night with Geto had been. Nearly.
There were little differences between the two men when they were with you. Both seemed eager and happy to please you more than they did themselves.
Zuko spent an almost concerning amount of time slobbering against your tits before even thinking of pulling his dick out. And once he did free himself from the restraints of his regal clothing, you’d already been laid down on the mattress in the particular position he planned on taking you in.
You laid on your stomach—body decorated and smothered in all sorts of markings induced from Zuko’s incessant mouth—and he was soon positioning his thighs around your own with his cock swinging out just above your ass.
When Zuko was especially turned on, bits of steam would puff out from his nose. A cute fact of which you come to pick up on over time, of course.
Sometimes you’d feel said steam caress your back when he took you from behind as he was now. The balmy head of his long cock would prod at your weepy pussy lips before he’d ease himself in, and by then, he was already a mess.
You’d push your hips back against him and he’d nearly lose his balance above you, a short huff that sounds dangerously close to a whine slipping right out of his lungs.
“So beautiful…” He’d coo, noticing how you shudder under the heated touch of his fingertips as they traveled the curve in your spine. Then he’d flatten his hand somewhere in the center of it and force your arch to deepen as he humped his dick into your wetly ringing cunt.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head instantly and drool danced out the side of your mouth along with a moan of his name, “F-Fuuck, Zuko.”
He adored the sound—felt himself growing wildly enamored by it with each time it dangled off of your tongue. The rumors about you were nothing compared to feeling you.
Your walls sucked him in to the hilt without him even having to move much, clenching around his cock in rhythmic motions that had his mind going blank for moments at a time. Zuko was thankful he’d had you in prone bone, otherwise you’d see just how red ‘n pink his cheeks had colored over just from fucking you.
Even so, he couldn’t control the sounds he let out. The way he’d grunt and then thrust as if to distract you from it, loving how you continued to gasp out directly after.
Up until you’d angled your head back to look at him, a gorgeously cockdrunk look dazzling over your glossy eyes. He’d never seen something so sinfully beautiful in his life.
Zuko’s hips were snapping down into you faster than he realized, his hand moving to your chin to force your head further back the moment you tried to look away from him. The nerve you had to give him a taste of such a perfect expression just to hide it from him seconds later.
How rude.
His body craned down and his face was mere centimeters from yours as his cockhead thrashed against the inner depths of your cunt. The two of you panted and moaned in sync, his jaw slacking from how good it felt to be inside you whilst fucking you into making that addictive expression.
It wasn’t until he was getting close that you felt his balls smack smack smacking! against your skin harder, and the faint smell of something burning coming from somewhere to your left.
There’d been incidents in the past—especially with fire benders—where silk sheets had been burnt within the brothel. You were no stranger to the scent, you knew exactly what it was without having to place your eyes on it.
Even so, your head ached to turn and locate the source of the fiery smell, but Zuko wasn’t having it. His veins trailing his cock throbbed and he groaned out all loudly as he kept your head in place with a steeling grip.
Huffing, “Shit-, i-ignore it.” as he continued on, despite the smell getting stronger.
You gasped and your body was conformed entirely to his hold on you, “But-, ah! You’ll burn something, my—“
“Say my name,” The Fire Lord demanded all of a sudden, his brow pressing inward as frustration built up across his face.
“Zuko,” You whined, “The sheets will—“
Again cutting you off, he tipped your head further up and swallowed up your words by kissing you. You struggled to kiss him back properly because of how mean his hips were coming down on you, but you tried your best.
When he finally pulled his mouth from yours, you saw how blissed-out his eyes had been. “Ignore the burning, focus on my cock. I know how to-, fuck.. how to control myself. No fires will be—god, you feel so good—c-caused… I promise.”
Even as he tried to reassure you, he was actively burning a hole into your favorite sheet set. Of course, these could be easily replaced by him—but it was the principle of it all, y’know?
His cock twitched inside you in sync with the flickering flames coming from his fingertips. You began to drool and he panted above you, letting his grunts and faint whines speak for his feels of pleasure instead of his tongue. The bedding was left singed due to his flames but you didn't mind it too much.
At least, considering how he most definitely pays you more than you ever could've imagined for yourself.
He ended up cumming somewhere on your back, with his dick going flaccid just between your ass cheeks shortly after. Your head fell down into the sheets and you found yourself smiling at the fact that the Fire Lord just fucked you.
You didn't mean to brag buuut... no one else could say that happened to them!
Those flames of his died out just after he calmed down and he soon fell to your side, his eyes going up to the ceiling to relish in what he'd just done.
Zuko had been stressed for weeks, months even, but that first night in the brothel with you was more than enough to motivate him for the next upcoming days.
Which is precisely why he kept coming back. Over and over and over and over again until he was just as recurring of a customer as Geto had been.
——
This routine of yours was manageable enough for a time. A long time, in fact.
Months went by before your time spent with Geto and Zuko separately ever conflicted with one another. But, of course, it was only a matter of time before they'd cross paths.
The beloved brothel of yours was alive 'n thriving with its usual throng up until a servant had come banging on your door all urgently, calling your name out with her voice shaking as if freightened.
Her voice quakes from outside your door, "Two arrivals, miss—L-Lord Zuko and.. and Lord Geto. They're both requesting y-"
"Send them in," You call back to her before her statement could even find its end.
"Together?" She squeaked.
You finally approached the door and move to swing it open, flashing a her a gorgeously perfected smile at the frightened lady, "Why, of course."
"...But miss, they're both demanding to see you separately." She warned.
"No matter," Your hand moved to wave off her words, "If they want me as badly as they so claim, they'll come to me regardless of who else decides to do the same."
The servant bats her lashes at you a few times, by far deeming you as the craziest lady currently occupying this brothel. It's not that serving two clients at the same time was uncommon, but the fact that you wanted to take in your highest paying clients—two men of very high status—at the same time...?
You had guts. Perhaps the attention you'd been receiving lately had gone to your head? Suppose Lord Zuko set this entire place ablaze simply because he doesn't feel like sharing, what then—
"The longer you stand there staring at me, the more impatient my gentlemen grow," You remind the poor servant, snapping her out of her gaze.
She blinks repetitively before bowing sharply and then turning on her heels. Then you watch her rush down the hall to go fetch your desired men.
You disappeared back into your room shortly after and patiently waited for your door to fly back open, this time with your sought-after guests. It'd been quite some time since you'd participated in a threesome so, part of you was definitely thrilled at the prospect.
And luckily for you, Geto nor Zuko cared much—or at all, really—about who the other guest coming to see you was. They even came bursting into your room together, Zuko first and Geto following closely behind him.
It was obvious without a word that they'd had enough time on the walk towards your quarters to discuss what was to take place. You could tell by the way they came in all silent.
Before this, you'd known both men to become more talkative over time when they came to see you. Geto would preach to you about his beliefs that you definitely didn't care about and Zuko would spend his free time with you to vent about the weight of royal responsibilities resting on his shoulders.
You enjoyed these things from them, of course. But at the end of the day, you had a role to play. A job to do.
And tonight—despite the both of them entering your room together—was absolutely no different. It was here nor there what few words were exchanged between the time it took for them to get themselves undressed and for you to figure out how exactly they'd decided on sharing you tonight.
All you know is that one moment they were slowly taking off their garments as you watched patiently—awaiting some sort of direction—and the next, Zuko's mouth was on yours.
You wanted to ask them how they decided on who'd get to do what first, especially considering that they're two entirely different people but neither of them gave you a chance to do so.
Luckily enough, your question is answered somewhere after Zuko kisses you until you were a drooling mess between your thighs and Geto lapped away at said drooling mess.
The room was heavy-, nearly clouded with the mixed scent of arousal and sweat, sheets rumpled up from the rapidly escalating actions. First you were between making out with Zuko while Geto did the same with your cunt, and then you found yourself positioned between them.
It was in that same position—arched over like some slut as Geto moved himself behind you, hand gripping over your ass whilst his cock rubbed between your cheeks—that the two finally started releasing more than a moan or a grunt.
You'd argue that Geto started it off by saying, "Ah, look at you.." after gliding his cock neatly in between your sodden folds. He thrust forward once and watched how your ass came bouncing against his sharp pelvis. Then he huffed, "Such a sweet girl, always sucking me in like you missed me-, fuck. Did you miss me, gorgeous?"
Your jaw fell open to reply to him but you were crudely cut off by Zuko, who was busy nudging his cock in between your lips. When your eyes lifted up, you saw how he had a bulky arm over his face as if to his his expression from you. Even so, his other hand was busy working his shaft down the center of your tongue—as if whatever Geto was saying to you wasn't worthy of any sort of response.
You found it funny at first, but then they started to go back 'n forth.
Zuko was matching the pace Geto was quick to set in a matter of seconds, your body left to wobble back and forth between them.
"No one pleases me like you do," Zuko murmured, the sudden praise catching you by surprise. "Fuck-," his voice pitches and you caught how his eyes fluttered. Then his hips ever so carefully grind forward, his balmy tip pressing a smear of precum down your throat and leaving a slopped smooch at the back of it.
Your cheeks hollowed out then and Geto was left to feel the way your cunt suddenly soaked around his dick. His hands latched onto your hips and you shuddered in pleasure upon feeling his fingers ground into your skin as his snapped forward a little sharper.
It was like he was competing with Zuko—silently trying to figure out who could hit the best spots inside you and say the right things just to get you wetter. Unfortunately for the crowned man in front of you, Geto's sneakily slipping a hand under you to swish the pads of his fingers over your clit 'n bring you to a quick orgasm on his cock.
Boasting about it directly after as a crooked smile crafts itself into his face, "There's that sloppy mess I was lookin' for. Shit-, I love the way you feel when you cum on me like that."
"Mmgh-, mmpfh!" You're mumbling against Zuko's dick. What exactly you were trying to say is lost to both men, as they mutually assume you were simply moaning.
Zuko's attention is caught by the man behind you though. His eyes flicking over to him as his arm drops from his face and he frowns. Mumbling, "She only did that cause of me..."
"Oh yeah?" Geto looks up immediately, cocking his head left while keeping his girth dormant inside your gummy walls. He gives you some time to focus more on sucking Zuko off properly, and delightedly enjoys in the way your pussy smothers his cock in a thin shimmery layer of release. "And what exactly makes you think that, your highness?" He mocks.
The Fire Lord rolls his eyes, "Well, she's—ah, heyyy," he looks down at you, "At least give me a second to t-talk, won't you?"
You drunkenly peer up at him, his cock still bulging in between your swollen lips. A trickle of saliva drips down and falls in between the valley of his balls, leading Zuko to shiver as his hand grips onto your head tightly.
Doing his best to ignore you anyway, his attention moves to Geto again. "As I was trying to say... she likes-, hah, getting her throat fucked," He points out with an intentionally jerky thrust of his hips, leading your jaw to ache for a split second from how deep in your trachea he was reaching.
Geto pulls himself out of you, dick flitting up into the air with droplets of your arousal hanging from it in dewy little strings. He glances at the sinful display for a second and uses his hand to grab his cock and tap it against your ass a couple times.
You let out another hum or two against Zuko in reaction.
To which Geto chuckles, "Yeahhh, I don't think she came because of you at all. But, I'll let you think that."
Zuko all but pouts upon hearing that. It was almost as though his honor or something was being contested with those words. So, he releases a chuff and practically snatches his length out of your warm facial cavern. "I don't take kindly to being challenged," He claims, ignoring your mouth that's steadily pressing forward for more.
"Nobody's challenging you, Lord Zuko." Geto shot back before moving his hands up into a surrendering gesture and shutting his eyes calmly. "Alls I'm saying is that she came on my cock, not yours-," His eyes opened slowly and his arrogant expression fell, "Uh, what're you doing?"
"Proving you wrong," Zuko answered casually as if he weren't currently hauling you up into his arms and spreading you out into a particularly debauched full nelson. You feel the firmness of his muscles rubbing against all sorts of crevices and nooks of your skin, only making you soak more.
His arms had hooked under your knees, folding your body into that perfect hold—your arms pinned behind your back, and plush thighs spread out widely. Your pussy was on full display, poor folds puffy 'n wet, exposed to Geto's hungry gaze as he watched intently.
"Like..." Geto blinks once-, twice upon seeing you spread out so broadly. "Like that?"
Zuko tuts, "Obviously."
You're squirming, naturally, but neither of them pay any mind to that either. Not your first—nor last—time in this position but fuck if it hadn't been a whiiiiiile since you'd been held up in such a precarious position.
"Hah. Fine then," Geto moves to slouch back against the bed, "Fuck her good, Fire Lord. Show me how uh," He nearly forgets his wording just from watching the other man's cock nudge up into position, "...Royal seed marks its territory, yeah?"
"Tch." Oh, Zuko was so annoyed.
With the way they were acting now, you hardly understood how the hell they agreed to share you in the first place. There's no way—
Something warmer pressing against your entrance, warmer than anything you've felt before. It wasn't an uncomfortable temperature or anything but there was this certain heat to it that made you flinch deeper into Zuko's grasp on you.
Then came his voice at the shell of your ear, "Feel that?" he whispered, hands holding you steady.
You shuddered, "Y-Yeah. Why're you so-, ah!"
He was pushing up into you before you had much time to question him. Zuko didn't need questions, he just needed to be snug inside that slobbering pussy of yours, stuffing you full of himself, and soon having you cream around him far more than you did on Geto.
...And if it took making his cock feel significantly different than Geto's did inside you via slight manipulation to the heat surrounding it, then so be it! You'd never have a moment long enough to question it anyways.
Y'know, since you're much too busy getting fucked dumb on his cock shortly after its slotted inside you. You're promptly displayed in front of Geto—who couldn't stop himself from tugging at his dick to the sight even if he tried—and your body feels almost tingly as Zuko plunges in and out of you.
He so easily lifted you up 'n down his cock, your pussy struggling to keep up with the pace as it squelched and left slicks of creaming arousal alllll over him.
The position allowed Zuko to hit deeper than he ever had before—arguably even deeper than Geto had too. Filthy juices slicked his cock, drooling down to his heavy balls whilst he bounced you in his arms.
You found your orgasm more times than you can count in that position but it took Zuko a bit to get there himself since he'd put so much focus and energy into getting you to cum on him harder than you did on Geto.
And even after, by the time he's obscenely thrusting his own load into you, Geto still looks as though he's got something up his sleeve.
The cult leader had spilt into his hand already but that mattered little, as he had one more thing in mind in order to win this imaginary competition he'd set.
Zuko pulled out of you and lowered your used body down gently onto the bed right in front of Geto. A mix of your release and his seed leaked out from inside you. He moved a hand to the top of your head to pat you softly and wiped sweat from his brow before casting Geto a glance, "There. I win."
The sly man smirked, "Did you?"
"I did," Zuko confirms, shrugging. "There's nothing else you can do to—"
He is oh-so-unfortunately cut off by Geto moving forward to nestle in between your legs.
Zuko clears some shakiness out of his throat, "You... You're not about to do what I think you are... r-right?"
Geto merely winks at the man before pushing your jittery legs apart. Your back falls towards Zuko, who easily catches you, and is left to watch Geto angle downwards.
Your pussy glistened with the evidence of Zuko spilling into you, a milky white left to leak from your hole. "How pretty," was the last thing Geto murmured before he did the unimaginable and dove in.
His tongue came in flat and broad as it lapped at your folds, just nasty in the way he scooped up the mingled folds onto it.
He sucked appreciatively on your cunt but you were whimpering above him, tugging at his hair and then pushing at him because your head's all confused with pleasure and the back to back stimulation. Geto's tongue swished around your clit before he sucked on it, and you gasped.
Your hand flew somewhere before you were clutching onto both Zuko's arm and Geto's head as the man cleaned you.
Zuko transfixed on the sight for a long timed before you heard him say, "Doing something so filthy for her pleasure..." He managed a smile in between his words, "How honorable."
Geto plucked his mouth away then, just to respond. "What's with you and this honor thing, huh?"
"Just take the compliment," Zuko hummed.
"Give me a normal one and perhaps I will."
"That is a normal one."
You snort wearily, "Zuko, my dear, there is... hahhh, n-nothing normal about you and your fixation on things being honorable."
❝baby, i can't hurt you, sure, but I'm the jealous type❞
pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!firebender!reader
synopsis — zuko does not get jealous, in fact he doesn't even know what jealousy means. he just wants sokka to back up a little.
content — fem!reader, mature content (18+), minors dni, alcohol consumption, long fic, very light angst based off the zuko edit, ooc! zuko, not proofread, reader is stated to have three brothers (but doesn't seem to like them), reader is described to be shorter than Zuko, kinda mean!reader, tease!reader, light smut, Zuko and reader are implied to have been dating before even joining the gaang. Takes place 5 years after Atla so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21
author's note — I have not watched the leaks and if I chose to I'll still watch it when it releases to support the animators
The beach is a place she loved dearly. She loved the way the sun kissed her skin, hearing the crash of the waves, the sound of the breeze, seeing her boyfriend shirtless, the way the sand warmed her feet as it shifted beneath her, looking at Zuko’s biceps, and picnics. God she loved picnics, Katara made a mean candied jackfruit pie.
Yes, Ember Island was her favourite way to unwind from saving the world. This had to be one of the best places she’d ever been out of everywhere she’d traveled. It’d just be a lot better if Zuko took his shirt off.
She sat up slightly from where she was laying on the blanket, propping herself up on her elbows, pushing her gold sunshades up onto her head. He was standing near the shoreline with Sokka, chatting solemnly, in his shirt.
Spirits she wished he would take it off.
“Zuko!” she called across the beach. He turned to face her, his expression as stoic as ever. She waved him over and, without hesitation, he started toward her, Sokka trailing behind him.
He stopped in front of her, hands settling on his hips. “Can I help you, love?”
“Well, you can help me by moving to the side first. You’re both blocking my sun.”
He and Sokka sighed in unison, stepping aside as she gave a satisfied nod. “Thank you. Now, can you do me another favour?”
Zuko glanced down at her. “Yes?”
“Relax, dummy. It’s a vacation, and I can see the tension in your shoulders from here. That can't be good for you.”
Zuko exhaled, already shaking his head. “I can’t afford to relax. I shouldn’t even be here. I have a nation to run, remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” she said, pushing herself up slightly. “The same nation that’s kept us from taking a vacation for the last five years?”
“That’s the one.” He nodded.
She rolled her eyes.
“And yet we’ve been gone for four hours, and I’m pretty sure it’s still up and running.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Of course I do. I have Miyuki bringing me updates every hour.”
“No, you do not.”
“…No, I do not.”
Sokka laughed at that, loud and immediate, while Zuko let out a quiet groan, dragging a hand down his face.
“Please just relax, for me?” she purred, batting her lashes at him.
Zuko made a strangled noise, clearly pained by the attempt. “…Fine,” he gave in. “Sokka and I are going to go swimming.”
She clapped her hands together in glee, watching them both start toward the water.
“Oh, and Zuko?” she called.
He glanced back.
“Don’t you think it’s too hot for a shirt?”
“I don’t get hot.”
She tilted her head. “But wouldn’t you be more comfortable without one?”
Sokka snorted, crossing his arms. “Is this your very unsubtle way of trying to see him without a shirt?”
“Well, I wasn’t going for subtlety,” she grumbled, pushing her sunglasses back down her nose.
Sokka laughed again as they kept walking, and for a moment, she thought that was the end of it. Defeated she sighed.
It wasn’t.
She heard footsteps in the sand before she saw him again.
Zuko stopped in front of her, already tugging his shirt over his head, movements a little sharper than usual. The fabric lifted, revealing the slow pull of muscle, his abs tightening as he dragged it off, shoulders flexing, biceps shifting with the motion before he tossed it aside.
He didn’t say anything at first, just held it out toward her.
She blinked, then took it slowly, her gaze lingering, dragging over him without shame.
“So needy,” he muttered, but there was a small, betraying smile tugging at his lips.
She leaned back on her hands, entirely pleased with herself, eyes still tracing the lines of his torso.
“Only for you,” she said lightly.
She leaned back against her hands, watching him wade into the water, completely unashamed. The sunlight caught on his skin, glinting off the water as it moved around him, dragging her attention lower, over his shoulders, his biceps, the way his abs tensed when a wave hit him.
Her gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, following every movement like she had nowhere else to be.
“Could you be any less subtle?”
She tipped her head back toward the voice. Katara, Toph, and Aang stood above her, smirking, a ball tucked under Aang’s arm.
“I mean, seriously,” Katara continued, crossing her arms, “stare any harder and your eyes are going to fall out.”
“What part of ‘subtlety isn’t my strong suit’ do you people not understand?” she rolled her eyes, leaning forward again to look back at the very important view in front of her.
Zuko moved deeper into the water, pushing his hair back, muscles shifting easily with the motion, completely unaware.
Spirits, she just wanted to take a bite out of—
“I found a ball and a clear court if we all want to play!” Aang beamed, the three of them stepping right into her line of sight.
Again.
“Why do you people insist on blocking my sun?” she whined, leaning to the side to try and see around them.
Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “As if the sun is what you’re worried about us blocking.”
She didn’t even bother denying it, just leaned further to the side, trying to catch another glimpse past them. “Move.”
“No,” Katara said immediately, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up before she could protest. “You’re coming with us.”
She groaned, letting herself be dragged to her feet. “Katara—”
“You’ve been laying here doing nothing.”
“I have been appreciating the view,” she corrected, glancing back toward the water.
Toph laughed. “Yeah, we noticed.”
Aang bounced slightly on his heels, already halfway turned toward the makeshift court. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”
She let out a dramatic sigh but didn’t fight them, brushing sand off her legs as they started walking. “If I lose my spot, I’m blaming all of you.”
“But don't you want a closer look?,” Katara said, amused. "At the view of course."
“Fair point.”
“Mm.”
They didn’t stop until they reached the edge of the water.
Aang cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sokka! Zuko! We’re playing volleyball!”
Zuko glanced over a second later, eyes landing on her first before anything else.
She crossed her arms, expression unimpressed.
“Get out of the water,” Katara called. “Now.”
Sokka splashed his way toward shore without hesitation. “I call first serve!”
Zuko lingered for a moment longer, then followed, water trailing down his skin as he stepped back onto the sand.
Her gaze flicked over him once, quick but intentional, before she looked away like she hadn’t.
About time,” she muttered.
Sokka shook out his arms, already hyped. “Alright, you," he pointed at the fire bending girl as she examined her nail beds "and Toph on my team.”
“Your team?” Katara complained, crossing her arms. “Why do you get first dibs?”
Sokka raised a brow. “Raise your hand if you’re a bender.”
Everyone’s hand went up.
Slowly, dramatically, he gestured to himself. “Exactly.”
She rolled her eyes.
Aang beamed, tossing the ball lightly in his hands.
The first serve went up fast.
Aang launched it high, a quick burst of air sending the ball spinning toward Sokka’s side. Toph barely moved, just tilted her head before stomping lightly, shifting the sand beneath her feet to steady herself as she bumped it up.
“Mine!” Sokka shouted, immediately spiking it—
—or attempting to.
Katara caught it midair with a smooth arc of water, redirecting it effortlessly back over the net.
“Oh, come on!” Sokka groaned.
The fire nation girl laughed, already moving, heat blooming at her fingertips. A quick flick of her wrist and a controlled burst of fire snapped upward, nudging the ball just enough to send it flying toward Zuko.
Zuko didn’t even hesitate.
A sharp, precise motion, fire curled around his hand as he struck it, sending the ball back harder this time.
It hit the sand near Toph’s feet.
“In!” Aang cheered.
“Barely,” Toph muttered, kicking sand in Zuko’s direction.
“Point for us!” Katara called, smirking.
The fire bender narrowed her eyes slightly, a grin pulling at her lips. “Oh, it’s like that?”
Sokka pointed at her. “That’s what I’m saying!”
The next round started quicker.
Toph set the ball perfectly this time, using a subtle lift of earth beneath it. Sokka actually managed to hit it clean, sending it over with a triumphant yell.
“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”
Zuko stepped in, fire flashing briefly as he redirected it.
She moved before it even crossed the net, jumping slightly, a controlled burst of flame at her palm giving her just enough lift to meet it midair.
and spike it down.
Hard.
There was a beat of silence.
“Oh, that was clean,” Sokka said, impressed.
She landed, brushing her hands off like it was nothing. “Obviously.”
Zuko’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer than necessary. The game picked up after that.
Air swirled, water snapped and curved, fire flared in controlled bursts, and even Sokka, somehow, kept up, diving dramatically into the sand every chance he got.
“Watch it!” Katara called as Aang sent another spinning serve.
“I got it!” Sokka yelled—
—and immediately tripped.
Toph caught the ball anyway, launching it back up with a smirk. “You’re useless.”
“I’m an asset,” he shot back.
The fire bender laughed, already moving again, heat flickering at her fingertips as she sent the ball flying toward Katara.
Katara deflected.
Zuko returned it.
Toph set it.
Sokka, miraculously, spiked it.
It hit the line.
Aang groaned. “No way!”
“That’s game!” Sokka shouted, throwing his arms up. “Winners!”
She blinked once, then broke into a grin.
“We won?”
“We won!” Sokka grabbed her wrist, spinning her once before she laughed and, without thinking, jumped straight into his arms.
He caught her easily, lifting her slightly off the ground as she laughed, breathless.
“Did you see that?!” he said, equally hyped.
“Yes!” she laughed, clinging to his shoulders for a second before dropping back down.
Toph smirked. “Carried the team, obviously.”
“Excuse me?” Sokka said, offended.
“Please,” Toph shrugged.
She just smiled, still riding the high of it, brushing sand off her legs as the others groaned and argued.
Sokka was still talking, loud, animated, reliving the last point like it had been a war victory.
“Did you see that spike? I mean—perfect form—”
“You tripped twice,” Katara cut in.
“Yes, that was my strategy.”
Toph snorted.
She laughed, reaching out to shove Sokka’s shoulder lightly. “You almost took me down with you.”
“Worth it,” he shot back immediately.
“Obviously.”
Aang stretched his arms over his head. “I’m done. That was fun.”
“Finally,” Katara said, already walking back toward the blankets. “I need water.” Toph followed, kicking sand as she went. “You all play too slow anyway.”
Sokka groaned. “Excuse me? I carried that entire game.”
“No you didn’t,” Katara called over her shoulder.
“Yes I did!”
The group started to break apart, the noise fading into smaller conversations as everyone drifted back toward the shore.
She lingered a second longer, still smiling, turning back to Sokka. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“Sounds like something a loser would say,” he said, grinning. She laughed. Zuko didn’t.
He stood a few feet away, quiet now, brushing the last bits of sand from his hands. His gaze flicked up—just once—landing on the two of them.
Sokka still grinning. Her still facing him. Too close. It wasn’t anything.
It didn’t look like anything.
Zuko’s jaw tightened, just slightly. He looked away first. By the time she turned, he was already moving, heading back toward the blankets without a word, shoulders a little too stiff again, like the game hadn’t done anything to loosen him at all.
She blinked, the smile on her face fading just a little. “…Zuko?” she called.
He didn’t answer. Just kept walking. She hated to see him leave, but she loved to watch him go.
She sighed, brushing sand from her legs as she followed after him, only to be stopped a few steps later.
“I just had to stop and tell you, I adore your nail colour.”
She turned, blinking slightly.
A girl with short black hair stood in front of her, practically glowing with excitement, a small group trailing behind her.
The fire bender pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, wiggling her fingers with a small smile. “Ba Sing Se exclusive.”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “I knew it! I’m Kya, by the way.”
She gestured behind her. “This is Lian, Haru, and Ren.”
They all gave small waves or nods, except Ren, who didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes lingered on her a second too long before he looked away.
Ew.
“Nice to meet you,” she said easily.
Kya leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “We’re throwing a party tonight. Nothing huge, just people from around the island, but?you should come.”
She raised a brow. “A party?”
“Mhm, bonfire,” Kya nodded eagerly. “Music, drinks, the whole thing. You look like you’d fit right in.”
She glanced back briefly toward the beach, toward where her group was, before looking back at Kya.
“I don’t go anywhere without my friends,” she said simply. Kya grinned. “Bring them.”
“All of them.”
“Even better.”
There was a pause.Then she smiled. "Alright,” she said. “We’ll be there.”
Kya clapped her hands together. “Perfect. It’s by the east shore, just follow the lights.”
Ren spoke up this time, voice a little too smooth. “We’ll be looking forward to it. Her gaze flicked to him briefly, flat, uninterested,before returning to Kya.
“See you tonight.”
With that, she turned, not waiting for anything else, already heading back toward her group. Sand shifted beneath her feet as she approached, spotting them easily.
“Guess what,” she called, dropping back onto the blanket like nothing had happened.
Katara looked up. “What?”
She adjusted her sunglasses, a slight smile playing at her lips.
“We’ve been invited to a party tonight.”
When you spend half your teens dedicated to a dictatorship waging a disruptive war, and the other half trying to help end it,and then whatever time you had left helping rebuild everything that war broke, you don’t really get time to try normal teen stuff.
Dating? Sure, she flirted. She liked how easy it was to get attention, how simple it was to get any attention she wanted , but Zuko was her first. And her only.
Parties? From time to time. But when your father is a general, the need to maintain appearances is always there, lingering over your shoulder.
Drinking? Once. And that was more than enough to know she couldn’t handle it.
The party was already alive by the time they arrived.
A bonfire burned bright against the dark shoreline, flames crackling high as music drifted through the air, something rhythmic, easy, carried by laughter and the low hum of voices. Strings of lanterns were hung between trees and driftwood posts, casting warm, flickering light over clusters of people dancing, talking, leaning too close.
It was loud. Messy. Unstructured. Very unlike anything she was used to. She didn’t hate it.
The gaang drew attention the moment they stepped into the light, Aang’s curiosity already pulling him toward the music, Sokka immediately scanning for food, Katara taking everything in with a careful eye, Toph grinning saying something about finally getting to have fun.
Zuko stayed close.
His hand settled at her waist almost immediately, instinctive. Warm against her side as he guided her forward through the crowd.
She glanced at him briefly. He was already looking around, shoulders a little tense again, eyes tracking movement, exits, people, always assessing.
She nudged him lightly with her hip. “Relax.”"I am relaxed,” he said automatically.
She gave him a look. His hand tightened just slightly at her waist.
“…I’ll try,” he amended.
“That’s better.”
They moved closer to the fire, the heat brushing against her skin as laughter swelled around them. Someone passed by with drinks, someone else pulled a friend toward the makeshift dance area, the music picking up just enough to make the ground feel like it was humming.
It was chaotic. Alive. Her gaze flicked across the crowd and landed on something familiar.
Kya.
She was across the fire, already waving the moment she spotted them, dragging her friends along behind her.
“Told you we’d show,” she murmured under her breath.
Zuko’s hand didn’t leave her waist as they approached.
Kya reached them first, all bright energy and easy smiles. “You actually came!”
“Told you we would,” she said lightly.
Kya’s eyes flicked between all of them, clearly trying to take in everything at once. “Hi—okay—so—this is—”
“Katara,” Katara said politely, offering a small smile. "Aang,” he added with a wave. "The Avatar." Haru gasped.
“Sokka,” he said, already reaching for something off a passing tray. "Toph,” she grinned.
Kya nodded quickly, a little overwhelmed but still smiling. “Right—yeah—hi—um—this is Lian, Haru, and—”
“Ren,” he finished, stepping forward slightly.
His confidence from earlier lasted about half a second. Because that was when she shifted just slightly, leaning into Zuko’s side, his hand still firm at her waist.
“Oh,” she said, almost casually. “And this is my boyfriend.”
There was a brief pause.
“Fire Lord Zuko.”
It hit like a wave.
Lian straightened immediately, almost stiff. Haru’s eyes widened, posture snapping into something far more formal. Kya’s smile faltered completely this time before she quickly composed herself, bowing her head just slightly.
Ren—
Ren went rigid.
His gaze dropped instantly, shoulders pulling back as if he’d just been called to attention, every bit of earlier ease gone.
“Your—your Majesty,” he corrected quickly, voice tight.
Zuko didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. He simply inclined his head in acknowledgment, expression calm, unreadable, yet unmistakably authoritative. His hand remained at her waist, steady, grounding, like it belonged there just as much as his title did.
“Forgive us,” Kya added quickly, lowering her head again. “We didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine,” Zuko said evenly. Short enough to make it clear the conversation didn’t need to turn into a ceremony. Still, none of them relaxed.
Ren kept his eyes lowered, shifting his weight back half a step, putting a more respectful distance between himself and both of them.
“An honor, Fire Lord,” Haru said quietly. “Truly,” Lian echoed. Zuko gave a small nod, nothing more.
“Nice to meet you,” Katara said smoothly, easing the tension.
“Yeah,” Sokka added, completely unfazed, still eating. “Nice party.”
Kya let out a small, nervous laugh. “Th-thank you. We didn’t expect—um—this.”
Ren nodded again, quick and careful. “Of course, your Majesty.” Zuko’s expression didn’t change. "Tonight, I’m just Zuko,” he said.
But the way they stood, straight-backed, careful, measured, made it very clear they didn’t believe that for a second.
Kya cleared her throat softly, clearly trying to recover. “Um,can I get you something to drink?”
She perked up slightly. “You know what? Yeah.”
Katara glanced at her. “Maybe—”
“I’ll be fine,” she waved her off, already turning back to Kya with a small smile. “Surprise me.”
Kya nodded quickly, almost relieved to have something normal to do. “Right, yeah, of course.”
She disappeared into the crowd, her friends following after her, though Ren kept a noticeably wider distance this time.
Zuko’s hand was still at her waist.
She leaned slightly into him, glancing up. “Relax. You’re scaring them.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Thats the problem,” she said lightly.
He didn’t respond, but his grip didn’t loosen either.
She had lost count of how many drinks she’d had.
The bonfire blurred a little at the edges, the music louder now, warmer, the laughter around her blending into something soft and constant. The sand felt unsteady under her feet, the air just a little too light.
She laughed at something, she didn’t even remember what, and turned, spotting him.
“Zuko!” she called, already making her way toward him.
He turned immediately, expression sharpening the moment he saw her. “How much have you—”
“That’s not important,” she cut him off, grabbing his hand without hesitation. “Dance with me.”
“I’m not dancing.”
“Zuko.”
“I’m the Fire Lord,” he said, firmer now. “I shouldn’t even be at a party like this.”
She blinked at him, disbelief creeping in. “You’re already at a party like this.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” she shot back, swaying slightly as she stepped closer. “That you get to stand here and watch me instead of actually being with me?”
His brows pulled together. “I am with you.”
“No, you’re not,” she said immediately. “You’re here, but you’re not with me.”
A pause.
“You’ve barely looked at me all night,” she continued, voice slurred. “You’ve been watching everyone else. Thinking. Planning. Doing whatever it is you always do.”
“I’m making sure everything is—”
“Fine?” she cut in, a sharp laugh slipping out. “It’s always about making sure everything is fine. What about me?”
Zuko’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”
“It is,” she insisted, tugging his hand again, not as playful this time. “We barely see each other anymore. You’re always working, always busy, always needed somewhere else, and now we finally have time and you still won’t even give me one dance?”
“You think it’s that simple?” he asked, voice low.
“Yes,” she snapped. “For one night? Yes, it is.”
“I can’t just stop being who I am.”
“I’m not asking you to,” she said, softer, but it hit harder. “I’m asking you to choose me for five minutes.”
Silence.
The fire crackled behind them, music swelling, people laughing and neither of them moved.
Zuko looked at her, something conflicted flickering across his face, before it shut down.
“You’ve had too much to drink,” he said.Her expression dropped.
“That’s your answer?” she asked quietly. “That I’m drunk?”
“I’m saying you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly,” she said, voice rising again. “You just don’t like what I’m saying.”
Another pause. Then she let out a breath, shaking her head.
“Forget it,” she muttered. “Go be the Fire Lord. Just do it away from me.” She stepped back.
This time, Zuko didn’t reach for her.
He just stood there for a second, jaw tight, like he was holding something back—
then he turned.
And walked away. No argument. No apology. No looking back. Just gone.
She stared after him, the music suddenly too loud, the warmth of the fire not reaching her the same way.
Her chest felt tight.
So she did the only thing she could think to do.
“Sokka!”
He looked up from where he was, also clearly drunk, sand clinging to him in places it definitely shouldn’t be. “Yeah?!”
“Dance with me.”
“Absolutely.”
He was already moving before she finished speaking, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the center of the crowd.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” he cheered.
She laughed, louder than she felt, letting him spin her, letting herself get pulled into the movement, into the noise, into anything that drowned out the way her chest still felt too tight.
Sokka danced like an idiot.
It helped.
She threw herself into it, matching his energy, spinning, laughing, letting it all blur together, even if, every once in a while, her eyes still flicked back to where he’d walked away.
The music blurred into something distant. Laughter, movement, heat, none of it quite reached him the same way anymore.
Zuko hadn’t meant to come back.
He told himself he was going to leave her to it, let her have her night but something in his chest told him to come back.
And then he saw her. In the center of it all. Laughing. Spinning.
With Sokka.
Her head tipped back, hair catching the firelight, hands in his as he spun her again, too easily, too comfortably. Sokka’s hands landed at her waist to steady her, and for a second he didn’t move them.
Zuko went still.
His jaw tightened, something sharp and immediate cutting through him before he could stop it. His gaze lingered there, on Sokka’s hands, on the way she leaned into it without thinking, laughing like nothing else in the world mattered.
Too close. Too familiar. It wasn’t anything. Zuko’s hand curled at his side.
He moved before he could think about it. Straight through the crowd, not slowing.
“Hey!” Sokka started, still grinning. Zuko didn’t even look at him.
His hand closed around her wrist, firm this time, and then slid to her waist, pulling her just slightly out of Sokka’s reach as she stumbled into him.
“We’re leaving.”
She blinked up at him, dazed. “Zuko?”
“We’re going back,” he said, already turning her away from the center of the crowd. Sokka frowned. “Hey, she’s—”
Zuko’s gaze snapped to him then.
Sokka shut up immediately, hands raising. “Okay—okay—”
Zuko didn’t wait for anything else.
She stumbled again and that was enough. In one smooth motion, his hand shifted, gripping firmly at her thigh as he lifted her up, settling her against his side. Her weight rested on his arm, legs loosely around his waist, her arm instinctively draping over his shoulder for balance.
She let out a soft laugh. “Zuko—”
“Stop moving,” he muttered, adjusting his hold without any real effort. His arm stayed locked beneath her, steady, like he wasn’t planning on putting her down anytime soon.
And he didn’t. He just walked. Carrying her straight out of the crowd.
The walk back was quieter.
Her head dipped toward his shoulder, breath warm against his neck as she leaned into him fully now, no space left between them.
“You’re holding me hostage,” she mumbled.
“I’m helping you.”
“I was fine.”
“You weren’t.”
She hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t argue, fingers idly curling into the fabric at his shoulder as he walked.
His grip didn’t loosen once.
By the time they reached where they were staying, she was barely conscious. Zuko pushed the door open with his shoulder, carrying her inside before kicking it shut behind him. “Sit,” he said, lowering her carefully onto the edge of the bed, one hand still steady at her waist until he was sure she wouldn’t tip over.
She blinked up at him, unfocused. “You’re… bossy.”
“And you’re drunk.”
He moved quickly, grabbing water, coming back and pressing it into her hands.
“Drink.”
She took a sip, grimacing. “I don’t like it.”
“Drink it anyway.”
She did—slowly. But he stayed right there, watching, making sure she didn’t spill it, didn’t drop it, didn’t disappear on him.
When she’d had enough, he took it from her, setting it aside before crouching in front of her. His hands were steady as he slipped off her shoes first, brushing sand from her ankles.
Then, more carefully he reached for her wrists, unclasping her bracelets one by one, setting them aside neatly. He hesitated for a second at the edge of her dress before helping her out of it in the most practical, careful way possible, making sure she stayed balanced, that she didn’t tip or protest too much.
She barely did. Just a quiet hum, leaning into him without thinking.
He grabbed one of her sleep shirts, guiding it over her head, adjusting it down her arms, smoothing it out without even realizing he was doing it. He put on a pair of shorts for her.
“You left,” she said softly.
Zuko paused. Then continued, gentler now.
“So did you.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”
He guided her back onto the bed, adjusting the pillows behind her, pulling the blanket over her with more care than anything else he’d done that night.
Her eyes stayed on him.
“You’re mad,” she murmured.
“Go to sleep.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”
She frowned, but she was already fading. His hand brushed her hair back from her face.
“…You were happier,” he said quietly.
She barely responded. “Mhm…”
“With him.”
Nothing. Just slow, even breathing. Zuko exhaled, something tight still sitting in his chest, unresolved.
His fingers curled slightly against the blanket before he forced himself to step back. He watched her for a moment longer. Making sure she was okay. Making sure she wasn’t going anywhere.
Morning came slowly.Too bright.
Her head throbbed faintly as she shifted under the covers, groaning softly as she buried her face further into the pillow.
Spirits. Never again.
She blinked her eyes open, squinting at the light filtering through the curtains before she forced herself to sit up slightly and froze.
Her hands moved instinctively, brushing over soft fabric. Not what she had been wearing. She looked down. Sleep shirt. Clean. Comfortable. Definitely not what she’d left the party in.
Her brows furrowed. “…Zuko?” There was a quiet rustle beside her.
She turned her head. And there he was.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, back straight, already dressed, a scroll in his hands like nothing about last night had been chaotic at all. Reading.
Of course he was reading.
She stared at him for a second. “You changed me,” she said flatly. Zuko didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, though there was no real bite behind it. “That wasn’t a thank you.” "You were drunk,” he said simply, turning a page. “You would’ve been uncomfortable.”
She watched him for a moment longer, then shifted, leaning back against the pillows. “…Did you sleep?” she asked.“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”He didn’t answer. She sighed softly, rubbing her temple. “My head hurts.”
“There’s water,” he said, nodding toward the bedside table without looking up. She reached for it, taking a slow sip, eyes still on him over the rim.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
“We left early,” she said after a moment. "You needed to leave.”
“I didn’t ask to leave.” "You weren’t in a state to make that decision.” She lowered the cup slightly. “I was dancing.”
“You were drunk.” She gave him a look. “I can do both.” Zuko exhaled, finally setting the scroll aside. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” she asked, tilting her head. A pause. His gaze flicked to her briefly, measured.
“You were drawing attention,” he said. She blinked. “It’s a party.” "You’re not just anyone at a party.” She let out a small laugh. “Oh, here we go.”
“I’m serious,” he said, tone tightening. “People watch you. They notice who you’re with. How you act.” She frowned slightly now. “So I’m not allowed to have fun?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It sounds like what you said.”
Zuko’s jaw set as he stood. “The future princess of the Fire Nation shouldn’t be dancing with just anyone.”
She stared at him. “…Excuse me?” He didn’t backtrack. “It reflects on—”
“It’s not just anyone, Zuko,” she cut in, sitting up straighter despite the dull ache in her head. “It’s Sokka.”
The room went quiet. Zuko huffed. "Sokka."
He didn't say more. He didn't need to. Because something clicked. Her expression shifted, slowly, pieces falling into place.
“…Wait,” she said, voice changing.
His gaze flicked away.
“You weren’t worried about appearances,” she went on, watching him now, closer. “You were watching him.”
“That’s not—”
“You didn’t like it,” she interrupted, softer now, but certain. “You didn’t like me dancing with him.” Zuko’s shoulders tensed slightly.
“I was making sure you were—”
“Zuko.” He stopped. She leaned forward just a little, studying him.
“You were jealous.”
Silence. His jaw tightened.
“I wasn’t.”
She smiled, slow, knowing.
“Oh,” she murmured. “You so were."
“I wasn’t,” Zuko said immediately, a little too quickly.
Her smile widened.
“Mhm.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” he repeated, more controlled this time, reaching for the scroll again like that would somehow end the conversation.
It didn’t.
She shifted closer instead.
The mattress dipped under her weight as she slid toward him, ignoring the dull ache in her head, propping herself up on one elbow.
“Then what was it?” she asked lightly, voice soft, teasing. “Because you looked very pissed for someone who was just ‘concerned.’”
“I was concerned.”
“Concerned,” she echoed, dragging the word out as her fingers reached for the edge of his sleeve, idly toying with the fabric. “That I was laughing? Or that Sokka was the one making me laugh?”
Zuko’s hand stilled on the scroll.
“That’s not what I said.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said sweetly.
He exhaled through his nose, already irritated. “You’re twisting it.”
“Am I?” she tilted her head, eyes flicking up to his face. “Because from where I was standing, well, dancing, you didn’t look very concerned Fire Lord’ You looked…”
She leaned in just slightly closer.
“…possessive.”
Zuko’s grip on the scroll tightened.
“I’m not possessive.”
“No?” she hummed, letting her fingers slide from his sleeve to his wrist, tracing lightly, deliberately. “Then why did you pull me away from him like that?”
“You could barely stand.”
“And yet,” she smiled, eyes glinting, “I was standing just fine when you saw his hands on me.”
His jaw clenched. She noticed.
Of course she did.
“Oh my gods,” she laughed softly, leaning back just enough to look at him properly now. “You hated that.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” she cut in, delighted now. “You hated that he was touching me.”
Zuko looked away.
Which was answer enough.
Her smile turned sharper.
“That’s kind of embarrassing for you,” she teased, nudging his knee lightly with hers. “Getting all worked up over Sokka.”
“I wasn’t ‘worked up,’” he muttered.
“You were,” she insisted, leaning in again, voice dropping just a little. “I see it now you were jealous when I hugged him and you were jealous when I danced with him. You, are a jealous little baby.”
“That’s not—”
“Zuko,” she said softly.
He stopped again.
She was closer now. Close enough that he had to look at her.
“Were you jealous of Sokka? Answer honestly you're not a very good liar.” she asked, quiet but pointed.
A pause.
Zuko didn’t answer.
Her brows lifted slightly, the corners of her lips curving.
“Thought so.”
She let the silence stretch just long enough, then smiled again, softer this time, but no less teasing.
“You know,” she murmured, fingers brushing lightly against his wrist, “if you wanted me all to yourself…” Her gaze flicked up through her lashes.
“…you could’ve just asked.”
Zuko went very still.
“But you have nothing to worry about,” she added, voice gentler now. “Sokka and I are just friends.”
“You and Aang are just friends,” Zuko muttered. “I don’t see him all over you.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Just because you didn’t see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”
“What—”
“Zuko,” she cut him off softly.
She shifted forward, crawling across the bed until he had no choice but to lean down toward her. She sat back on her knees, hands coming up to cup his face, holding him there.
“Look at me.” He did. Immediately.
Her thumbs brushed lightly along his jaw, her expression softer now, but steady.
“You don’t need to be jealous,” she said quietly. “All I want is you. You’re all I’ve wanted for six years.” His eyes flickered, just slightly.
“Sokka and Aang are just like the stupid, annoying brothers I never had—”
“Darling,” he cut in dryly, “you have three brothers.” She blinked at him, deadpan. “Point to em.” That got a quiet laugh out of him. A real one.
His head dipped just slightly, nuzzling into her hands for a brief second before his hands found her waist again, settling there like they belonged.
“I don’t like having to share you with the world,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. Her lips curved.
“I want you all to myself,” he added, almost like a grumble. “Is that so wrong?”
“Jealous and possessive,” she purred, leaning closer, her forehead brushing his. “This is a good look on you.”
“Oh yeah?” he murmured.
“Mhm,” she nodded slightly, gaze dropping to his lips before returning to his eyes. “Very sexy.”
His grip at her waist tightened. "Now that we're on it I didn't like how those guys we met were looking at you." "Zuko, I can't help it if I'm hot that's not my fault you can't penalize me." "Sure fine, but jumping into Sokka's arms?" He quirked his eyebrow as she shrugged. "Heat of the moment." Her usual teasing grin spread across her lips.
“Careful,” he said quietly.
“Or what?” she teased.
His eyes darkened slightly, but there was something softer underneath it now, less tense than before.
“Or I might start thinking you did that on purpose,” he said. She smiled. "Maybe I did.” That earned her a look. A real one this time. And instead of pulling away, she leaned in just a little closer.
“Now,” she murmured, voice light again, but deliberate, “are you going to keep brooding…”
Her fingers traced lightly along his collar.
“…or are you finally going to spend some time with me?”
The touch on his collar snaps the last thread of his restraint. Zuko grabs her hips, pulling her down onto the bed and rolling over her in one fluid motion. He kisses her, not gently, but with the hungry urgency of a man reclaiming territory.
His teeth graze her lower lip, demanding a response, and she opens for him instantly, her nails digging into his shoulders. He grinds his hips against hers, letting her feel the hard, heavy weight of his desire, a physical reminder of exactly who she belongs to. Soft moonscape her lips and he swallows them. He breaks the kiss only to drag his lips down her neck, biting and sucking marks into the soft skin there, branding her.
He doesn't stop at her neck. Zuko hooks his fingers into the waistband of her sleep shorts, teasing her slightly. "Are you my girl?" "Well, you don't own me Zuko I'm my own-". He tugs them down taking her panties with them.
He spreads her thighs with his shoulders, settling himself between her legs. The scent of her arousal is potent, mixing with the lingering smell of the ocean. He looks up at her, his eyes dark and intense, before lowering his head. He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up her center, tasting the wetness that has gathered there. She gasps, her back arching off the mattress, her hands tangling in his hair. "Are you my girl?" He asks again, removing his mouth.
"Zuko…" "Do you wanna answer?" She shook her head, and Zuko sighed moving from her thighs. "No, please." She whined. "Are-" he places a kiss on the inner part of her thigh. "You-" he inches closer. "I'm your girl fuck please." She whines.
She gasps, her back arching off the mattress, her hands tangling in his hair. He eats her out with focused devotion, his tongue circling her clit before sucking it firmly, his hands pinning her hips to the bed so she cannot escape the pleasure. He laps at her, greedy and loud, driven by the need to erase every touch Sokka left on her body and replace it with the memory of his mouth.
“Did anyone even hear from them after Zuko dragged her out of the party?” Katara questioned as she, Sokka, Aang, and Toph walked through the halls of their vacation property.
“Shhh,” Toph hissed, pressing her fingers to her temple. “My head still hurts. I can practically hear the sun.”
Katara rolled her eyes. “I’m just worried they’re not okay. Sokka, did they seem fine when they left?”
Sokka shrugged. “I’m gonna be honest with you, I have no memory of last night.”
Katara groaned, and Aang placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “They’re probably fine. Let’s just go knock and check on them.”
As the four of them approached the couple’s room, they were stopped in their tracks.
Muffled sounds filtered through the door, heavy breathing, the occasional soft groan, and Aang’s eyes widened.
“You don’t think they’re in danger, do you?” he whispered.
Toph went still for a second, then slowly turned her head toward the door.
“…No,” she said after a beat. “Definitely not in danger.”
Katara’s face went red almost instantly. “Oh—oh my—”
Sokka blinked. “Wait, what—”
Toph held up a hand. “Give it a second, genius.”
"Fuck Zuko, faster please." "Not until you say it." "I'm yours! I'm yours fuck! Harder."
Katara quickly grabbed Aang’s arm, already backing up. “We are not barging in on them.”
Sokka frowned, still trying to piece it together. “I don’t—what are we—”
Toph groaned. “Just stand there and observe quietly for a second.”
Sokka opened his mouth,t hen paused.
“Oh.”
A beat.
“…Oh.”
love speaks! I've never written smut before and lwk this was longer than I intended everyone say thank you to my cherry pie indica pen. dividers by @/cafekitsune
It's a strange feeling when you see your childhood crush after all these years; he's grown up, and I've grown up and fallen even more in love with him.
esteemed prince zuko has a thing for cramming his cock inside you to the absolute hilt, so much so that his balls are squished against your ass and there's absolutely no more room for him to fit inside you even if he could, then rubs the swollen, heavy head of his cock against your womb, watching as each time he ruts his hips forward, a little indent forms in your tummy.
sometimes, he won't even thrust anymore, just keeps his cock inside you so you're forced to feel each of the dull throbs his cock gives and the veins lining his cock squished against your tender walls, while rolling his hips so your poor womb and his big tip kiss, as he likes to call it.
his favorite part is how your walls cling to him as he does it, how your pussy sucks him in and is firmly adamant in keeping him in place, especially when he just thrusts as is, no pulling back, just bucking his hips to force his cock deeper, deeper, deeper. even though there's no more space.
and when he does pull back a little, agonizingly slow and only halfway, he watches as your folds cling onto him, muscles wrapped tightly around his cock and tugging him back for more when he tries to move. he can't bear to move any more than halfway before he's thrustinng back in even slower than when he was pulling out, letting you feel every single inch stretching you out before he repeats that motion again and again until both of you cum. and afterwards, too. he won't stop until your poor pussy is overflowing with his load and leaking rivulets onto his sheets.
thinking about firelord zuko who very quickly discards tradition as soon as you’re married.
he never walks ahead of you, always a few paces behind like he has a better view or he’s appreciating a sight only to be seen once in a life time. your fingers stay interlaced beneath heavy cloaks that bare the emblem of his home nation, but nowadays yours is stitched into the fabric with threads imported from your own. right above his. right above his heart.
zuko who’s shadow takes shape in the darkness, allowing your light to filter through a room full of opinionated others. he knows the extent of your capability extends beyond the wildest dreams, far greater than those who stand around you waiting for the crack in your visage. you’re strong, even if you stand a few heads shorter than him, your voice is loud and oftentimes the most correct in a room full of static and noise. he’d never let you feel less than, he never speaks for you, lips only parting to clear the buzz in the air and to allow attention to fall to you.
fire lord zuko who insists on being your right hand at every table — leaving you to take a seat at his head. he can’t stand the thought of eating meals at opposite ends — where the distance makes him feel lost, too far from home. he eats to your right where he can listen to the mundane up close, watch the way your lips curl around bites of food or a the words that make up tale from your tribe. he listens like the world has stopped for the two of you, like a nation in need of rule can wait another day for its lord and his princess.
in a similar fashion, he tends to you like a devout follower. even if there are handmaids and tailors and people to help. every door you’ve ever walked through is held open by him. for you. he lifts the straying edge of your train with a certain reverence, treating extra fabric like it’s an extension of you. zuko twirls the braids into your hair in the fashion that you like, undoes the lacing strings of your attire with fumbling fingers that only know the roughness of flames after a late night — because even though his mess of your garments is embarrassing, it makes you laugh in a way that warms him like honey notes in milk before bed.
zuko preps the water that laps at the tension in your shoulders and eases it away with hands that move like molten lava. rose petals bob along the surface, perform twizzles in the ripples of water that ebb around the lines of your body. worn down by work, diplomatic duties but tended to by unspoken love and adoration. zuko sinks into the tub behind you, bare and warm — his chin on your shoulder and face in your neck because that’s the only place he’s found safe enough to call home.
when you’re married to zuko, life is not instantly easier and the traditions of others still find their way into your relationship as performative duty… but he carries part of the load. he makes it simpler for you, because loving you, is simple too.
summary. sukuna once collected a great many things, but none have ever been so important as the fox spirit that captivated him. so consumed by his love, he offered it a deal: live only for him, and sorcerers will never touch its beloved forest again. something twisted along the way.
wc. 15.3k (THICK FIC FOR A THICK MAN YKWIM)
tags. smut | top reader, bottom sukuna, husbands!reader/kuna, slightly tsundere kuna (hes soo possessive). true form sukuna!!! curse/fox spirit!reader, reader is of a similar height (~8ft or whatever sukuna is idk). smut takes place in the heian era, the rest is modern day; lore part includes kenjaku + his squad of curses. reader calls sukuna 'my lord', sukuna calls reader 'fox'. blood, sexy cannibalism (? sukuna receiving), praise + degradation, oral w his stomach mouth, come eating, brief hair-pulling, spit as lube, hickeys/biting, riding, missionary, edging (sukuna; kinda? hes just stubborn), multiple orgasms, creampie
notes. as requested, the reader character has "golden eyes" and "long hair". he's a kitsune/inari okami based character bc i starting writing this when white fox came to marvel rivals and i was like "yo i wanna turn into a big fox too"
[ requested (+2) ]
At the bottom of a lake in a national park sits a towering stone statue of an Asura – the three-faced, six-armed demigods who revelled in war and hungered insatiably for worldly pleasures. Two hands are clasped in prayer; four reach for the heavens. The forests are dense, the mountains tall, and the waters dark and cool.
Most scholars estimate the statue to be particularly ancient – something like one thousand and five hundred years, around the time Buddhism was introduced to Japan. Its size, however, begets questions: why so large for such a new religion? Who made it? Why at the bottom of a lake? Why this lake? How is it still almost perfectly preserved, with such little water damage or natural erosion?
It was a local oddity, a mystery of ancient times. Its purpose – to scare, to protect, to be worshipped – was debated. Kenjaku, however, knows better.
It is a door. An entrance to a long-forgotten tomb.
Now, draining an entire lake is a mammoth task. Luckily for him, whoever crafted the statue also made it a lock. It will open via a specific pulse of cursed energy, shaped sharp and terrible like a blade rather than a key. However, time has eroded the statue's memory of its proper shape – with a determined-enough battering ram, any door will open. Kenjaku is that ram.
It's magical, watching the lake drain into some strange contraption at the raised circular base at the bottom of the statue. It looks like a grate. Soon enough, the roar of the water subsides, and the dark hollow of the lake, punched deep in the earth, is like the gods' very own kitchen sink.
Kenjaku's eyes flicker to the dark dome above. The veil conceals everything for now, but discretion would be awfully difficult to keep if he finds out there's no way to restore the lake to proper, well, lake-hood. Sorcerers would come sniffing in an instant.
At the bottom of the lake, he enters the revealed stone doors, probably fifteen or twenty feet tall. They waited, newly open, for him once he'd bypassed the lock, grinding open slowly once he reached them.
His steps echo in the vast, dark cave system. The soft plink of water drips into clear pools somewhere in the distance. His breath clouds in front of him, the air cold and damp, as he descends stairs carved into the dark stone. The stairs go down and down, then up and up, the long winding passages broad enough to fit three cars side by side.
Torches line the walls, hammered into place with black iron that fans out in the shape of spider lilies. They crackle to life as he nears them, their red flames licking the centres.
Eventually, he comes across another set of open stone doors. Two black braziers sit on either side, throwing crimson light on the walls and darkening the shadows. He lifts a hand to one of the braziers as he passes, fascinated as the flames flicker harmlessly around his bare fingers. The fire feels only as hot as the steam over a boiling pot of pasta.
None of this is for him specifically. There is no kindling in the braziers, no oil in the torches – this is a falling line of dominoes, with stored cursed energy instructed to follow a set of actions the moment the lake drained. It is unique. It is ancient. It is... ingenious.
Beyond the second set of doors, the cave system opens up into a vast, gaping cavern. Through a gap in the ceiling, pale moonlight cuts diagonally through the darkness, a cone of light falling upon a rocky formation in the centre of the cavern. A cleared path curves up to a point, and mirroring its curve above is a massive stalactite. Perhaps the points of each had touched, once, into a single form, but no longer. Water drips from the tip into a blooming patch of translucent blue flowers that stretches around the base of the rock all the way to his feet, so pale they seem to glow in the moonlight.
He glances down near the doors. At the edge of the field of flowers is a knee-height collection of drawings etched in stone and painted with flaked paint. He bobs down, brushing his fingers over the stone.
The linework is sloppy, unsteady. The paint trails outside of the lines. Humanoid figures dance around a spider-lily brazier – sit peacefully around a roasted boar – stand knee-deep in a river catching fish. His fingers trail over the last scene. Two figures are in the water, one tall and one small, but there's a third on the banks, watching under a tree. It has four arms. The face has been erased with time.
He stands again. He walks up the path, flowers sprawling on either side, and finds a tall, still figure slumped gently at the top, like a throne.
Ancient silks pool around its wrists and feet, trailing through the flowers. Any colour it once had has since faded, the cloth now bone-white. It still, however, retains its shimmery lustre, with a sheen like crushed pearls.
Kenjaku steps closer, brushing his bangs over his ear as he reaches into his pocket and extracts his phone, glancing at a picture of an ancient painted scroll from his private library. He lifts his phone up to the figure, glancing between them, and hums.
"All these years, and you haven't changed one bit."
A thousand years have passed and your skin is still supple, smooth, though ashen with death. No blood runs through you now. Your hands rest open in your lap, cupped loosely, as if awaiting offerings. Your hair is romantically long, tucked behind your ear and over your shoulder, and despite how soft they look, your lips lack colour.
Even standing at the end of your robes, more than a metre away from the bottom of your moonlit throne, Kenjaku still has to look up slightly – you are tall, definitely beating his current body, six-foot-something as it is. No, you are larger than that. God-tall. Easily worshipped, he thinks – easily feared.
He steps closer, carefully manoeuvring around the white silk pooling around his shoes. In your hands is an intricate golden brooch, inlaid with four almond-shaped rubies that haven't dulled with time. It rests delicately in your palms, and your head is tilted towards it – perhaps it was the last thing you ever saw. Careful not to disturb the rest of you, he reaches for it.
Your hand shoots forward and wraps around the entirety of his forearm, dragging him in. Your grip is bruising, strong enough to shatter stone.
Silhouetted by darkness, your eyes glow a ghostly silver, pupils completely milky-white. Your lips nearly touch his as you pull him ever so slightly closer, fingers twisting punishingly around his arm. Your breath is cold against his lips.
"A corpse..." you whisper, a raspy, rattling breath, "should be left well alone."
Kenjaku doesn't move. He doesn't try to. Even dead, your presence is electrifying, your touch like a live wire straight to the nerves. His lungs constrict, and his heart pounds in his chest with something more than wonder.
Even like this, you still manage to surprise him.
You tilt your head slightly, eyes reflecting with an eerie catlike glow in the shadows of your features. Slowly, your grip loosens, and you release his arm – gently, softly, as if you're giving it back to him. Mechanically, your gaze lowers to the brooch in your palm, and you lean back, cupping it once more. Your hand closes around the brooch; the crimson jewels glitter between your long fingers. You close your eyes, and stillness returns to the dark cavern.
Kenjaku grabs his wrist, rubbing it more out of habit than anything. His own touch is a balm from the icy burn of yours. He mutters, "So dramatic."
You don't move.
"My way would have been easier. Centralised. I have to go out of my way to bring you back – but you were always a rebellious one, weren't you?"
He reaches for the brooch again. You grab his wrist – again. Just like before, there is no life in it. Nothing real. This is all just automatic reflex, instinct preserved in limbo, as unconscious and unthinking as the decay of meat and muscle – a natural, predetermined pattern of reactions to certain stimuli.
"What a bother," he murmurs, twisting his arm out of the corpse's grasp. "But if I were you, I suppose I'd want to keep a face like this, too."
He leans down, inspecting your lowered face. You have intimidatingly beautiful features – noble, strong. Uniquely elegant.
He reaches up, his face tilted towards yours. His fingers brush your ice-cold cheek – his palm is tiny in comparison.
Part curse, part god. A once-simple soul entangled deeply, cosmically, with another's. A bond that transcends eras, lives, and perhaps the very realm of the earth.
You don't stir. Why, he wonders? Is it the brooch that acts as the catalyst? Is your corpse protecting it?
Kenjaku draws back, lifting his phone again and scanning his annotations printed on a PDF file of scrolls. The photos are clearly taken with a phone camera on a library table rather than being scanned in archive quality, but they’re serviceable.
There's a highlighted note on a poem with beautiful calligraphy, its author gone uncredited. It accompanies a landscape scene of the lake he's standing under, the inky shape of the hills and mountains almost identical to when he viewed it over a nearby cliff.
Lucent blooms settle
Beneath sleeping mountains' light—
Silk's argent embrace
He hums. Incredibly profound.
It's a winter poem. 'Sleeping mountains' – that's the seasonal word, the kigo. His thoughts dart between fragments of information as he taps his chin thoughtfully, beginning to pace languidly back and forth. If only you'd trusted him enough with the key yourself – he'd had to scrounge through countless charred villages and museum archives just to find these clues, a task that spanned centuries. You were very good at hiding things. Unfortunately for him, only one being in existence has ever held that key, and they were currently… indisposed.
Winter. Cold. The corpse is cold. 'Lucent blooms' – that definitely has to be referencing these strange flowers, some rare variety he's never seen anywhere else. 'Light'… Moon? The moon's out right now. A full moon, if that changes things. Or it could be the light bouncing off the white peaks of the surrounding mountains. 'Embrace'. Embrace what? Fancy talk for just enjoying the natural view?
He clicks his tongue with a sigh.
Silk, his mind supplies helpfully. His gaze swings back to the god-corpse resting before him and the snow-white silk, still defiantly gleaming despite the passing aeons. An idea sparks in his mind.
Slowly, he crouches, inspecting the flowers and plucks the largest one from the fresh soil. The white petals are slender, soft as velvet and luminous under the moonlight. He glances at his phone, rereading the poem two more times. He places the flower in the cup of your open palms.
He waits. He watches.
The corpse's fingers twitch.
They close stiffly around the flower, pulling it close. With a slow, steady inhale, the corpse's eyes flutter open.
No longer are they that milky death-white, lacking the natural pinkness at the corners of the eyes and in the veins of the sclera. The irises are now gold, molten gold, and as bright and brilliant as the dawn.
There is a figure in front of you: dark-clothed, blurry with countless years of your dreamless oblivion.
"Uraume…?" Your voice is a low, husky breath. You close your eyes, one hand lifting briefly towards your aching, throbbing temple. The gold brooch tips from your palm, landing soundlessly in your lap.
"Not quite."
You blink, brow slightly furrowed. Your vision clears. There is a man in front of you – a sorcerer, judging by the controlled silvery shimmer that threads itself through his very being. His face is unfamiliar. But his energy is…
You take in his serene expression, the knowing gaze that borders on condescension… and the stitches across the forehead.
"You are not Uraume," you murmur – barely. Your lip curls with distaste. He has to strain to hear over the ambient noise, the low hum of the earth and the whisper of wind through stone. Your voice comes low, a death rattle cold enough to chill bones. "Leave, brain. You are not welcome here."
"Such little gratitude to an old friend," he replies with a smile. "Would it kill you to call me by my name?"
"Which one have you stolen now? This body…" You tilt your head, surveying him. "It is a recent acquisition."
"Yes – Geto Suguru," he says rather joyfully, touching his stitched forehead in a caricature of shyness. "You may call me such, if you like."
"I will not." You lower your gaze, scooping up the brooch and closing your fingers over it. The metal is cool against your skin – your sense of touch is returning to you. You can feel the intricate patterns of the gold and the hard angles of the jewels under your thumb. "Why do you wake me?"
"My plans are coming to fruition. I assumed you would want to be there for them."
You trace the white petals of the freshly-plucked flower in your palm. An offering – but given by the wrong hands. "If I had any interest in your 'plans', I would have accepted your proposal back then. So, before I snap every bone of your borrowed body and drink its marrow while you watch, I ask again: why do you wake me?"
He lifts his hands in surrender, but his smile sharpens. "Ryomen Sukuna has returned."
Your fingers stop drawing circles into the petals. Your breath catches. "What…?"
"Indeed. I'll give you a moment to check for yourself."
You can sense it. You feel him. It's faint, but something tugs at the base of your ribs, a sharp longing that has your eyes widening. He's unmistakable. You would recognise him anywhere – you would know him blind.
But if he has returned, why is it this brain stands before you, and not him? You promised you would wait for him. You would wake for him. To be awoken by this thing instead feels like a sickening betrayal. Your grip tightens on the flower, its petals crushed in your palm.
You… should kill him.
"Thinking of ending me?" His grin widens. "Unfortunately, Your Grace, I am the tip of the spear when it comes to restoring the King of Curses to his full strength. Removing me from the equation would obstruct his return to power."
"Would it?" You cup the brooch instead, letting the broken flower petals flutter to your feet. "You are such a confident little bug."
"Well-earned, I'd say." Kenjaku flutters a few fingers in the air casually as he speaks. "If it pleases you, I know a place where you can stay to recuperate while I gather the remaining number of Sukuna's fingers. I'm sure you'll be well enough by then to participate in my plans, should you change your mind."
"I have no desire to partake in your games. It is all posturing and strutting about – no substance." You glance up, leaning back. "Now leave before I peel every nerve out of that hideous brain of yours. You interrupted my beauty sleep."
He smiles back, infuriatingly composed. "As you wish. But I can't, in good faith, go without mentioning something. You might be interested to see that I have… this." He reaches into his robes and pulls out a wooden box completely wrapped in paper seals. Despite them, dark cursed energy radiates off of it in suffocating waves, thick enough to choke humans into a terrified, sobbing paralysis. It pulses like a heartbeat. He shakes it, and something rattles within.
Your amusement vanishes. You stiffen.
He watches your reaction keenly. "This is one of the two. Join me and I'll help you retrieve the other. Luckily for us, I just so happen to know exactly where it is."
Your eyes flash. "Are you threatening me?"
"It's more of a bargain, but I digress. Is the threat of a heart attack on a cosmic scale enough to entice you over, Your Grace?"
You gaze at him with an expression as readable as stone. Your gaze darkens. "You are a fool if you believe I'll ever make promises to a brain."
"A smart fool. I know you and Sukuna are impossibly attached to each other. How long will it take you to rewrite the rules of your 'hibernation' again? A year? Ten years? His current vessel is giving him grief, so it may take him a while to retain control long enough to find you. Help me gather his fingers and you'll have him back in a flash."
You say nothing.
"How long has it been?" you ask, finally, glancing around you. "How long has that bastard made me wait?"
"A thousand years, give or take."
Your grip tightens on the brooch. A long, heavy silence falls.
"Very well," you mutter, tracking him like prey as he steps away, inspecting the flowers and your silk robes as if you're some sort of museum exhibit. Your lips press together with disgust as he smiles and clasps his hands, a glint in his eyes that states he already knew your answer before you said a word. At least for now, you're weakened, so you'll oblige, but you promise yourself you'll enjoy spilling him across the stone one day. "Do what you must."
—
A child is running around your feet. It is small, with mismatched eyes and long blue-grey hair. You stare at it.
"This is not Uraume."
Kenjaku chuckles, watching from his seat by the table. He lifts a cup of steaming tea to his lips. "Uraume is busy searching for Sukuna's fingers. Why? Missing them?"
You cross your arms, tugging your billowing sleeves away from the grabby hands of the tiny... curse. Undeterred, it crawls under the hem of your trailing robes, folding them over its shoulders like a cape. You lift your gaze. "You said they were here."
"I said they were awake," he corrects. "If you care so much, why don't you send out your Bat-Signal, call them over?"
"My what?" you frown. "If you mean that I should signal my presence to them, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Only Sukuna created that sort of bond. I did not like the idea of being... tracked."
He hums, sipping his tea. "Always so independent. Uraume will be back soon, I wager. In the meantime, why don't you introduce yourself, Mahito?"
The child at your feet looks up and beams, brushing his messy bangs out of his eyes. The dark stitches across his skin stretch with his smile. "I'm Mahito!" he chirps. "I can touch souls!"
"That's... very nice," you say, tugging your robes to stop them from catching and pulling at his dark stitches. You glance between the pair, eyes sliding up to Kenjaku's forehead. "Is it another one of yours?"
Kenjaku lets out a barked laugh, placing his tea on the table. "No. He was born of human hatred. He's quite young – not even a year old, I believe."
"Oh. I suppose that's better." You observe the youngster for a moment as he plays with the charms hanging from your sash, particularly absorbed with a small jade fox.
"Excuse me?" He almost sounds offended. "Why is it better that he's not my child?"
You ignore him, turning to the little curse. "Mahito, do your stitches hold you together, as his do? Or are yours just to make you look even more adorable?"
He lights up. "Geto! You hear that? He thinks I'm adorable!" He turns back to you, grinning. "I don't know, mister! I don't think I'll fall apart without them, but I haven't been pulled apart yet."
"I see." You pat his head. "Let's keep it that way."
"Okay!" He grasps your kimono and follows you to the table, where a dozen old scrolls and stolen inventory files lie neatly organised. You pick up the nearest folder, finding inside a printed report of 'Sukuna's Finger: Left Index'. You trace the image of it, your gaze softening ever so slightly.
Mahito isn't tall enough to see what's in your hands, let alone over the edge of the table. He huffs in annoyance and shoots up in height, shaking out his newly lengthened limbs, and grabs your elbow, shoving himself beneath your arm. He is now comfortably chest-height with you.
"Oh, just looking at these again. Geto always looks at these. So, you two were, like, married, right?" he says, tilting his head straight up to look at you at an angle impossible for human necks. "Was he any good as a wife?"
"It was a covenant," you correct, turning the page. "And yes. He was very good."
"Wow," he giggles, grabbing a scroll and unrolling it flat across the table. "Then what was the covenant about? How'd you meet? Did he try to kill you?"
You glance down at your robes, white as moonlight. A small smile tugs at your lips. "That's a boring story, Mahito."
"I don't believe that for a second! I mean, I'm not doing anything important. Let me decide if it's boring or not," he says, immediately ditching the scroll he'd just opened to take up half the library table. "Tell me, tell me!"
"Are you sure? I might not be the best storyteller. My mind is still a little foggy with sleep."
"It's okay. I just wanna know how someone like Sukuna caught the attention of someone as pretty as you, mister." He stares up at you with wide, sparkling eyes.
"If you insist." You chuckle.
"I do!"
"Very well. Long ago, I lived in a forest," you begin, touching the photo of Sukuna's finger. Even Kenjaku shifts slightly, eyes downcast towards his research but his ear tilted towards you. "It was a great, ancient place, spanning across many mountains. It was my home, and I protected it well for many years – until one day, humans came stumbling through it, shouting and trampling and carrying torches. There were too many to fight off, coming from all directions. Dealing with one group left another unchecked. They set my home on fire; that fire raged for two weeks."
You grab a chair and settle down into it, and Mahito quickly takes a seat at your feet. "Hanami hates when humans do that," he says wisely, nodding.
"They do it often, those wretched things – no consideration for the innocent creatures caught in their paths. That day, they were looking for someone: someone who'd made his latest home in my forest, and who they called the King of Curses. I didn't think much of the title. I'd never heard of the man before, so I wondered why they cared so much about him. Curious, I sought him out. I don't know why the sorcerers struggled to find him – he was loud and brutish, every step like an earthquake, every blow shaking the heavens. Unfortunately, before I could confront the barbarian disrupting my peace, the sorcerers fighting him attacked me as well. Mahito, what colour do you think gods bleed?"
He cups his chin thoughtfully. "Mine's red, but most other curses are purple. Hm... You seem different. Maybe gold, like your eyes?"
You smile evenly. "Clever guess. After I slaughtered those sorcerers, I found this supposed 'king' standing back and watching me, letting me do all the hard work. It infuriated me. He barges into my home, destroys my quiet, and now he doesn't lift a single finger to drive off the enemies he brought to my door? He had twenty of them. Surely he could spare one. But he refused, so clearly, I had no choice but to chase him off like a feral dog to take his invaders with him. For three days and three nights, we fought until we reached a stalemate. He could not touch me in a way that mattered. I could not keep him down."
A sigh flutters past your lips as you rest your head on your palm, propping your elbow on the table. "Finally, he stopped. He called me mesmerising, said that I'd enchanted him with how I fought like it was a dance, but that he wouldn't leave and wouldn't help with the humans unless offered something in return. You who steal my moonlight for your silks! he accused me. I will kill every sorcerer who threatens this forest only if you dance for me alone, forever."
Mahito hangs onto your every word, leaning forward slightly. His round, mismatched eyes shine with fascination.
"And so, Ryomen Sukuna, the mighty and undefeated King of Curses, became my darling little guard dog. The end." You wave a hand, your white sleeve gleaming in the light, and laugh at Mahito's dumbfounded expression. "Why the look? Did you expect more?"
"You skipped the middle part!" he complains, crossing his arms. "That's the best part. I wanna hear how you responded to his bargain!"
You think of Sukuna's flushed face and parted lips, all four ruby eyes half-lidded and trained on you. You think of taking him then and there in the forest clearing, the grass and trees bleached bone-white from the heat of your clash, with his sturdy thighs bracketing yours as he gripped his weapons stabbed into the soil for balance.
"No," you hum, smiling. "No, dear, you don't."
—
Mahito quite likes you. Hanami approves of your paternal care of the forest you claimed as your own, and little Dagon is still too young to do much except get carried around by Mahito so they can listen to your stories together. These are facts that bother the volcanic cursed spirit, Jogo, a surprising amount.
"He lies as easily as breathing," Jogo says gruffly, his single Cyclopean eye narrowing in your direction as you spin tales out of Sukuna's triumphs over ten-thousand-strong armies. Mahito is small at the moment, legs crossed in the sand of Dagon's beachy domain – his eyes shine brighter when you briefly make reference to your own formidable strength. Sukuna is a fairytale, just a collection of words – you are tangible, real, and to his mind, more interesting for it.
Kenjaku smiles calmly. "Is that why you don't get along?"
"Cursed spirits should be authentic! Real! The fox hides his true feelings and plays games to manipulate things in his favour. That's cowardly," he grumbles. "Striking from the shadows is reserved for the weak."
"Ah, but you forget that he faced off against Sukuna in his prime and managed to walk away. He's anything but weak. Open, honourable duels just aren't his cup of tea." Glancing across the beach, he watches Mahito clamber into your lap, childlike interest bright on his face as he reaches up and touches the brooch pinned high on your lapel. You hide it with your hair most of the time, sweeping it forward over your shoulders. Kenjaku watches as you sit him across your knee and let him touch it, but you grasp it firmly so he can't steal it away. "Once Sukuna fully incarnates, don't mention such thoughts to him. He's very touchy when it comes to what's his, so if you know what's good for you, keep your mouth closed."
Jogo harrumphs. "Fine. Doesn't matter to me. Why'd you wake him up before Sukuna's incarnation, anyway? He hasn't done anything yet except make a fanboy out of Mahito."
"Oh, just think a little bit harder," Kenjaku cajoles. "We know Sukuna's vessel is trained by Gojo Satoru and they're both residing at the Tokyo jujutsu school, yes? If Sukuna's as possessive as I remember, knowing his fox has returned and is waiting for him will fuel his desire to incarnate as soon as possible. Right now, there are still a dozen fingers out there, so he isn't rushing to consume them. I want to change that."
His eye narrows. "You… want to send him to the school."
"Bingo," he replies cheerfully.
"That'll get him killed."
"Oh, please. Stop underestimating him. He's very good at his certain brand of violence. Besides..." he hums as he settles back in the chair, crossing his ankles and closing his eyes with a serene smile. "Don't you think it would be funny?"
—
Yuji trudges blearily towards the open training fields of the campus, rubbing his eyes. His uniform is crinkled, and his socks are probably two different colours. He can't remember. He's always been unnaturally hardy, but over the last two weeks, Sukuna has been exceptionally loud and restless inside his head, and every lapse in attention was enough to let him manifest a mouth or eye with disturbing ease. Nights were even worse, and Yuji worriedly relayed to his teacher how Sukuna was able to take control of his entire body just because he crashed so hard it felt like blacking out. He'd jerked himself awake with his hand on the doorknob, but that wasn't a risk he was willing to take every night.
Satoru had lost much of his flippant attitude at his confession. His smile faded for a beat too long before it returned, and he simply asked Yuji to meet up with him the next day to 'train'. Train what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but honestly, he'd trust the man if he told him to walk off a cliff blindfolded.
"You're a weak, pathetic little gnat and always will be. You think your 'training' will amount to anything? Give in. Give up."
If Yuji smacks the side of his head with any more force, he'll give himself a concussion. "You're straightforward today," he mutters. "Usually you like to try to manipulate me more."
"What is there to manipulate when you've got the brains of a brick?" Sukuna drawls. His voice echoes in his skull like a pounding bassline with none of the fun involved.
"You're a real jerk, man."
He chuckles then, deep and sinister. "Every time you consume a part of me, you lose more of yourself. Can you imagine that, of not knowing where I begin and you end?"
Something red flashes into Yuji's peripherals. He blinks, pausing on the edge of the training field along the path, right next to the dense forest that circles the campus.
A small red fox halts in the middle of the path in front of him, thick fluffy tail swaying low behind it. It blinks slowly, its yellow eyes fixated on him. Its red-orange fur is glossy, and its soft white throat is as pale as snow.
"Hey, buddy," Yuji coos, voice pitching higher subconsciously. "Aw. You're just the fluffiest, aren'tcha?"
The fox stares at him, small paws tapping the ground. It turns and patters further along the path for a few steps, then pauses and looks over its shoulder expectantly with uncannily clever eyes.
"Whoa," he mumbles, brows knitting slightly. "Is it just me, or does that fox look like it wants me to follow it?"
The response is instantaneous. "Do it, brat."
"Well, now I don't want to," he says stubbornly, crossing his arms. "Can't you literally read my thoughts? I was going to do it to kill time, since Gojo-sensei isn't here yet, but you saying that really messed me up."
"What the hell do you think I gain out of following a damn animal?"
"I dunno. What if it's a cursed spirit or something? What if you're trying to get me killed – again?"
"It is not. I can assure you, it is not." He sounds almost impatient. "But say it was. Look at the size of the thing. Kick it and you'd exorcise it. Now go. It's leaving."
Yuji groans, reluctantly jogging after the quick little fox. He supposes Sukuna's right, though – he's on campus, and he saw Principal Yaga walking through the halls just a few minutes earlier, so he at least has someone to run to if anything goes sideways.
Besides... something within him burns with curiosity. Not a vestigial remnant of Sukuna, either. Something uniquely his own.
With a half-second pause and a glance back, the fox veers left into the trees. It vanishes amongst the shrub almost immediately. Yuji scrambles to track it. "Ah, damn it…! Doesn't everybody say not to follow foxes in forests? The second things look fishy, I'm getting outta here."
For the first time in weeks, Sukuna is dead silent. Yuji ducks under a low-hanging branch, glancing behind him to see the light of the path quickly dimming with every step. The fox seems to be leading him in a straight line, which will be great for sprinting his way back to safety if he even so much as hears a twig snap.
The fox's pace quickens, white-tipped tail held high like a flag. Yuji steps over a nest of thick, gnarled roots, almost trips on a spiky bush, and looks up. He freezes.
There, in a small patch of sun behind a large evergreen tree, is a pure white fox the size of a large dog. Several smaller red foxes surround it, jumping about or resting in the patch of sunlight. What seems like a mother and her kits play slightly further away to give the yipping, wrestling babies some room. The white fox watches them with particular care.
"Whoa... Cute," Yuji whispers, dazed. He lifts his hands to his mouth, his eyes glistening. "So cute…"
At his words, the large white fox turns its head in his direction. Its eyes are not just yellow – they seem to glow with an unnatural flash that lingers even after it passes through the light into the shadows. It rises to all fours and steps slowly, predatorily, towards him.
Stepping out from behind the tree, it reveals nine long, gleaming white tails, held up high and proud.
The fox that led Yuji here scampers towards it, lowering its head in what seems like deference. The white fox glances at it once, and the red one stands and trots off to join another curled up in the roots of a tree.
The white fox approaches slowly, strong and sinewy. It blinks with eyes almost human, the pupils dilating as it scans his figure. The nine – nine! – tails puff up and give a little quiver, before calming down into a slower – though faster than earlier – side-to-side sway.
It comes even closer, near enough to pet if he lifted his hand. His fingers twitch. Its fur looks impossibly soft and white, like a cloud in animal form. It churrs quietly as it lifts its head towards his outstretched palm.
Wait, outstretched?
He snaps out of it with a sharp gasp. He turns swiftly on his heel and takes a single step forward.
"Leaving so soon?"
He freezes with a strange tugging in his soul – was that his? – that commands him to turn. Eyes wide, expression fixed in place, he slowly inches back around. His breath catches in his throat as his gaze travels up, up, up.
Standing before him is a beautiful man, taller than anything he's ever seen – taller than Nanamin, taller than Gojo-sensei, taller than Panda. He wears long robes that flow like a silver river, gleaming so brightly he looks like a fallen star, and a soft wind plays with his sleeves and hair. His expression is almost kind.
Almost.
"Goodness. Even a thousand years later, you still manage to drag me into the filth of your messes," you say, your voice a soothing wash of silk over river-smoothed stone. A pair of red foxes curls around your ankles, leaping over your trailing robes.
Yuji takes a step back.
"Well?" you ask, tilting your head. "Nothing to say, husband?"
Yuji squeaks, lifting his hands defensively. "Huh? What? No, you must be mistaken, I-I'm not – um—"
His jaw clicks shut as you step closer, extending a hand. How can you be more beautiful up close? You gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "He even looks like you, Sukuna. I have not seen you so young in a long, long time."
A crushing pressure presses down on his lungs, not unlike Gojo-sensei's when he lifts his blindfold. He wants to move. Needs to move. He's going to die if he stays still for even a second longer.
You lean down slightly, molten-gold eyes trained on his. Against his own will, his eyes flick down to the ruby-studded brooch peeking out from beneath your hair. Something dark and foreign rumbles against his very soul – like the purr of a large cat.
"Brat." Sukuna's deep voice cuts through his incoherent thoughts. "Let me take over."
What? he thinks, halfway to panic because a really, really pretty man is holding his face and isn't breaking eye contact. No! I'm not doing that! No way!
"You think you can fight him and win?" He scoffs. "That's a special-grade curse you're looking at, you know – slips past your defences like moonlight, a cruelty so beautiful you would thank him if he danced on your corpse. He made rivers run red with human blood for days."
WHAT? he thinks, fully panicking.
Oh, god. Oh, dear god. He wonders if he can summon his trusty teacher if he screams his name loud enough.
"You should come with me, child," you whisper with a smile, those golden eyes glinting. You kneel, moving closer, and Yuji squeaks as you look up at him. The scent of sweet petrichor curls around him – cool, gentle, like a secret not meant to be shared. "I won't hurt you... not a hair on your head. Come."
Your offered hand looks so inviting…
"No!" he blurts out, jerking back. "He said you like human blood, a-and dancing on people's corpses! I don't trust you at all!"
"Do you think sweet animals would sleep around my feet if I were so savage? You'd trust the word of a demon over mine, pup?"
"I..." He hesitates. "F-For this, yeah! He sounded proud. He's never proud of anything, so he can't be lying."
Your lips part slightly before pressing together. Your eyes, once so gentle, narrow. "Sukuna... You're ruining things again with your big mouth. I travelled all this way just to be foiled by my own husband – typical."
You turn Yuji's face, staring at the scar-like line below his eye. "You speak to the child, yet you hide from me. Does it please you to pretend I'm not here? Coward."
Foreign indignance bubbles up inside him. Yuji swallows.
You wait. One second. Two.
Your expression darkens and you rise to your feet, not so much dropping Yuji's face as pushing him away. He steps back, touching his jaw where your fingers once were. Something lingers, painless but crackling like Pop Rocks against his skin.
"Fine," you murmur, like a dull wave against the shore, as you turn your back to him. Your voice is impassive, but the forest responds to your mood as physically as a bushfire. Trees shudder. Flowers shrink away. The foxes stop playing. "Stay silent. Stay spineless. Just don't come crawling to me after, begging for forgiveness."
You lift your head at the brief flaring of heavy, malicious, familiar cursed energy that soaks into the forest around you.
At once, with more urgency than ever before, black markings bloom across Yuji's skin. His features sharpen minutely, his nails lengthen and blacken, and he runs a hand through his hair and sweeps it up off his forehead. With a slow, silent exhale, he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and shoves his hands into his pockets, tipping his chin up as he regards your figure with eyes that are finally his own.
Emotion burns like red-hot charcoal in his chest. Sharing a body with a teenager was annoying at best and humiliating at worst. Forced to watch through the brat's eyes as you touch him, hold him, even going so far as to kneel before him to make yourself smaller, he despised the way he felt his vessel's heartbeat quicken, how the kid's thoughts turned into jumbled mush the moment you gave him a playful nickname.
Maybe he should tear out the brat's eyes before he gives his body back. Maybe he should rip his heart out again just for the pleasure of crushing it in his fist, knowing that regenerating another meant that the new one would never have raced for you.
You turn. Your expression changes – softens, almost.
"Sukuna," you say quietly.
He says your name slowly. It's almost reverential, his four eyes trailing over your body. His crimson gaze is greedy, drinking you in. You have changed very little – you still wear the kimono he gifted you, tailored and as expensive as ten thousand mercenaries. The hem has frayed slightly, trailing over the ground, but every silver thread still carries the faint thrum of his original cursed energy – a mark, a claim, which you once wore with preening pride, teasing him for his quick jealousy. You have kept it steady, meticulously keeping him alive quite literally on your sleeve.
His lips part. "You're… awake."
"I am." Your eyes narrow. "Not by your hand."
He crosses his arms. Two, not four. "No."
"Why not?"
He pauses, assessing your mood. You stand perfectly still, now taller than him by a significant margin. He thought he'd hate it more than he does. Regardless, you have yet to grab him and sew him into a rock-weighted sack to toss in a lake, so he supposes it could always be worse.
"The brat is an anomaly," he replies, his lower set of eyes glancing down at his vessel's body with a sneer. His upper pair remain trained on you. "I was… suppressed."
"Suppressed," you repeat. You lift your chin and stare down at him. "I thought I married the King of Curses. The strongest."
He bristles slightly. "You did," he snaps, his voice deepening. "I am."
Silence falls. Your cursed energy ripples outward, and as the foxes begin to play again, as if he weren't even there, he knows he is free to speak. You have cloaked his presence, letting his energy merge with yours – as a creature of lies and illusions, nature's guardian god, your cursed energy feels more natural than most, as essential and unremarkable as rain and earth. You've given him a few minutes of secrecy.
"Hm." You step towards him, beckoning with an outstretched hand. He meets you in the middle, and you gently take his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up. "You look young, Sukuna. I have not seen you like this in a long, long time."
"Do you prefer it?" he asks, his tone flat with boredom – but he never blinks, tracing your features, printing them into the backs of his eyelids. The weight of his gaze slips lower – to your lips and then to your robes, tantalisingly open from the chest to the navel. His tongue swipes over his lower lip. Your waist is cinched with a wide silk belt, pinned with several draping chains of pearls and jewels. Little charms of glossy jade hang from your sash.
"Don't be jealous." You tilt your head as you blink slowly down at him, curiously tracing his features with your hand. "You are so small now, beloved… It hurts my neck to look you in the eye."
He huffs, but says nothing. You let go of his face and turn to pick up one of the foxes darting around your ankles, which paws at your clothes like a fussy toddler wanting to be picked up. Sukuna almost steps forward to force himself back into your line of sight, to keep your attention solely on him. He satisfies himself by walking half a step behind you, his sleeve brushing yours as you take a seat on a fallen log, the bark blanketed in soft moss. The hems of your robes spill across the deep green grass like a pool of stars.
You place the little fox in your lap, and it curls up in the crook of your arm. Its yellow eyes follow Sukuna as he moves. Expectantly, you gesture to a boulder beside you and murmur, "Sit with me a while."
When he doesn't so much as twitch, your eyes narrow slightly.
"Sit."
He sits.
You lean back, satisfied. You spend a long, silent, suffocating moment watching him, unblinking, in the way cats watch birds.
The mother fox begins to pick her kits up and place them near your feet, one at a time – back and forth, until all six of them are roughhousing a few steps away. Sukuna doesn't try to hide his distaste when a pair of them roll too hard and land on top of your pooling hem. You, however, relax at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips as the mother trots off to a quiet, shady tree nearby and promptly curls up and closes her eyes.
Children are all the same, regardless of species.
Atop the boulder, Sukuna sits with one knee up and his cheek in his palm. His shoulders are loosely sloped, his hands open and loose, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he's bored of the company. But you do know better. One set of eyes is always, always, trained on you.
"So," he drawls. "I'm sitting. There. Now what?"
You eye him. "Someone's testy these days… Eager to get away, are you?"
"I—" He exhales sharply. "No. Just aware of time. The brat's supposed to be meeting with his mentor soon. I don't know how long I have you for."
"Ah. That would be the newest Gojo boy I've heard so much about, yes? The only one in recent years to have both the Six Eyes and Limitless?"
"Yeah. That one." He clenches a fist. Loosens it. "I want you to stay away from him."
"Hm." You stroke the fox's brow gently with your knuckle. It curls up more comfortably. "Do you believe I would lose?"
His lips thin into a line. "No. He will become far too interested in you."
"Of course you would think so. Sharing me with anyone else is, to you, worse than death." The fox shifts in your arms, and you can feel its breaths – the steady expansion of its ribs, the inner workings of the heart. Meat and bone. Even Sukuna, next to you, is the same – now in a stolen body, yes, but he was still flesh and blood when he had four arms and four eyes. You, on the other hand, won't leave a corpse to feed the earth.
Inhaling sharply, you turn to Sukuna, suppressing the emotion that still rakes its claws across your heart when you remember he lied to you. I will be there when you wake, he'd murmured when his temples were frosty with time. He'd pushed a folded piece of paper into your hand, containing a short poem in his elegant script. Your sleep may leave you weakened. Until you regain your strength, I will keep you safe.
How humiliating it had been to stumble in front of Kenjaku, of all people. You had once been a force of nature, the only thing the merciless King of Curses ever took counsel with – the only thing strong enough to bend in his wake without breaking. None of that mattered when you were forced to walk with a hand against the wall to keep your balance.
"How do you know the Six Eyes will take an interest in me?" you ask, voice deceptively even. "Even if he were, what does it matter? I am yours, not his."
His fingers twitch at your last sentence. It almost makes you smile; even after all this time, he remains a possessive little creature.
"Sometimes I can see through the brat's eyes," he replies, dragging a hand through his hair. "Gojo Satoru has already taken an interest in you. Over the decades, cursed spirits by your tomb began to concentrate, but their numbers were recently lowered to near zero. The sorcerers suspect one of my fingers was consumed by a curse which razed everything else. They're investigating my history with the area."
"It is always you who causes trouble for me. No one else. Only you." You sigh. "Does the boy know you watch?"
He shakes his head. "The file was open when the boy glanced at it. He didn't even read the title."
"I see," you say. Then, quieter: "Is he aware of us right now?"
"No."
The pause that follows is thick with anticipation. Sukuna watches as you brush your hair over your shoulder, his body turning towards you ever so slightly as if to make himself look larger, to show himself off. Look at me, his posture demands. Look at me and no one else.
You look away.
"I see now that you cannot leave," you say, watching the kits at your feet pounce playfully at each other. "This… displeases me."
"Yeah, well, imagine how I feel."
You're supposed to be angry with him – for lying, for leaving, for a dozen little things you scrounge up in ancient memories just to be petty. But you almost smile, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest that passes as your kind of love.
He opens his mouth. You stiffen and hold up a hand, all humour vanishing from your expression.
"Wait," you murmur, eyes darting around. "Something has changed."
A beat after you, Sukuna feels it, too: a loud, careless rush of cursed energy, emanating from an infinitely-condensed point near the main gates of the campus. A radar, of sorts.
It crackles over him harmlessly, moving on without notice. You place the fox in your arms aside as you rise to your feet, turning to him with a complicated expression.
"Someone has come looking. I can't keep you hidden while revealing your vessel. This is... This is where we must part ways." Your gaze flits over him as you step closer. He tilts his head up to meet your eyes. "I can't say meeting you here made me happy. But... I missed your presence," you admit quietly, "and this assuages that, somewhat. Even if you are still as much of a bastard as you used to be."
He folds his arms tighter over his chest.
You continue, "Worry not. I will wait. After all, what is a few years to a millennium? However… you must promise me something in return for my patience."
He eyes you warily. "What is it?"
Leaning down, you grasp his chin. You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the overwhelming energy, pausing, then kneel in the grass and trace the marks along his cheek. A small smile graces your features, as soft and familiar as the night.
"Come for me the moment you are free. Depending on my mood, I may even offer you a dance," you tease. "You always liked that, didn't you?"
"Of course, I'm not a savage," he drawls, though his voice lacks its usual disdainful bite. He shifts his weight. "Fine. Deal."
"Good. Very good." You draw him closer, your fingertips brushing the soft underside of his chin. All four of his eyes flicker down to your lips. "My good boy…"
You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, as light as satin. For Sukuna, however, it is a grave insult – he grabs your collar and yanks you closer, turning his head so that his lips meet yours instead of his cheek.
He feels your lips curve up against his. They part, and you whisper his name against his skin.
—
"Beloved."
A silky voice, a soft touch. Somewhere in the distance, birds call to each other in the verdant canopies. Your fingers trail over his broad chest, and you prop your chin on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, pressed warm and solid against his back. He shifts – not to push you off, but to examine your expression.
You are smiling. Not that beautiful, terrifying show of teeth and tongue, but a small, playful one, reserved for him alone.
"What is it?" he mutters, ink brush hovering over the paper. "Weren't you teaching Uraume to use a bow?"
"I was," you agree, head bobbing. Silver glitters in your hair, woven through it like the river of heaven through the sky – treasured gifts from a man who cares little for personal adornment, but whose gaze always lingers a little longer, a little hungrier, when you drape yourself in his spoils.
"And?" he prompts, turning back to his half-finished poem. Your fingers slip beneath the edge of his dark grey haori, tracing the edge of the cloth. "Finish your sentences, fox."
"Patience. I was getting there. I sent Uraume out to run some errands – when you ask me to craft you weapons, you really don't understand how much you're asking of me. My list was... substantial." Those golden eyes of yours dilate slightly as you tilt your head, staring at the side of his face. You bring your lips to his neck, kissing the skin just below his jaw. "I tire of the heat of the forge. I missed you."
His skin flushes with heat as your touch grows heavier, less fleeting. You press on his shoulder, turning him towards you, and you smile, fanged, as your eyes drift to the grinning mouth splitting his stomach. You lower your hand, pressing your thumb to the sharp points of its teeth, and it laps lightly at your fingers like an eager little pet, saliva thick and viscous.
"You've missed me, too, I see," you hum, playing with its tongue. "Put down the brush." You lean in, licking the shell of his ear. His stomach-mouth kisses your palm, licking your hand into it. "It has been some time since I've touched you, my lord. I will fix that right away."
"You are interrupting my private time, fox," he grumbles, though he doesn't push you away. "Don't try to twist your desires as if it's my fault. You are insatiable."
"You're the one who wanted me all to yourself," you huff, the shimmer of your silken pearly robes pooling around you as you pluck the brush right out of his hand. You wear so much fabric – sometimes he wonders how you can stand to lug it all around. Translucent white ribbons loop around your arms and across your back, shimmering with silver threads. "Do you also blame your stomach for rumbling when you starve?"
Giving up on his poem, he turns to you fully. "What do you want, then? To eat me?"
"Oh, can I?" You lean forward with a half-lidded glance, leaning into his touch when he raises one hand to drape over your shoulders. "I would love that."
"Only if you remove your clothes."
You tilt your head, pointed canines digging into the softness of your lips as you bite back a smile. "So eager. Who's the one with the 'desires' now, hm?"
He scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, fox. It keeps the cloth clean. You will whine to me later if there are bloodstains."
"I would not."
All four eyes gaze blankly at you. You click your tongue and remove your hand from his stomach, much to its obvious displeasure – its lips twist, corners tugging down.
"Fine. No eating, then. Best to save room for dinner, anyway." You lean in, lips brushing his with a teasing smile. He busies two of his arms with straightening the inkwell and his half-full page of hemp paper – the third props himself up, and the last is wrapped possessively around your shoulders. "Perhaps you can sate another hunger of mine, beloved? I'll accept it as an apology for denying me a proper meal."
"Apology—?" he snarls, head whipping towards you. He glares. "What am I apologising for, you insolent fox—"
He is sufficiently silenced by a kiss.
You are not rough in the traditional sense. Just... bitey. Your canines dig into his lower lip, breaking skin, and he grunts softly as your tongue glides over the slick, coppery blood, pushing it into his mouth. He can feel your smile as you lick his tongue.
You part with a quiet smack, twisting in his hold to settle between his sturdy thighs. You press your forehead against his, stealing fleeting kisses between groans that seem to leave him more breathless than not.
"I know my lord is a generous and compassionate man," you murmur, your chest brushing his. "Sate my hunger. Offer me salvation."
Bare skin to bare skin, he can feel the strength taut in your muscles, the easy steadiness of your body. Despite your preference for twice as much fabric as necessary and all things shiny and luxurious, you are, at heart, just as much a fighter as he. Foxes are still predators, regardless of their glossy coats.
"Am I?" Sukuna nearly growls. His hand around your shoulders lifts to the nape of your neck, closing around delicate bone and muscle. He pulls you closer with a jerk, fingers digging into the soft spot beneath the corner of your jaw. His eyes roam your features, his blood tinting your grinning lips rosy. "Maddening pest. Think you can tell me what to do? You belong to me."
"Naturally," you reply with that same smile. "You always give in, anyway. Rather embarrassing, isn't it? A big, strong man like yourself, bending over backwards to please this little fox... or bending forwards, really. You're obsessed with me."
Nothing about you is little. You're the only thing he's ever met able to look him in the eye.
Sometimes he thinks you hover a few inches off the ground when you stand next to him, just so he has to tilt his head up to meet your playful gaze. But it isn't like he has any real proof; your robes obscure your feet, and you are constantly moving, fluttering about his shoulders in those ridiculous clothes, so it's difficult to get an accurate reading. It isn't as if you'd ever tell him, either.
"Come, now," you purr, fingers dipping into his stomach mouth again. It immediately licks your fingers inward, pulling them closer. "Ah... At least some part of you wants me. I'd almost resigned myself to using my own hand to get off."
His grip tightens around your neck. His eyes flash. "You will not. Your pleasure belongs to me."
"Yes, yes, as always. But you weren't giving me many options, my lord." You pout, stroking the tongue lapping contentedly at your hand. "Why can't you be more like this one? It's always happy to see me. You just call me names."
"That is also part of me, fox." Two of his eyes flicker down to it, watching the way you caress even his most monstrous parts with the same affection you offer the rest of him. Something unsettling curls around his heart. "Its sentiments are my own."
Your smile brightens. "Oh, I knew you loved me, Sukuna! Even if you'd rather pull out your own teeth than admit it."
He rolls his eyes and grabs you with two arms, another pulling at your sash and loosening it. You wear nothing beneath – typical of you, greedy creature – and your cock bobs as he releases it from its confines. He hums, low and rumbly in his chest.
Spitting in his hand, he grabs it and begins to stroke you, all four eyes trained on the pleased expression on your face. You thrust into his palm, one of your hands lifting to cup his thick chest and squeezing. Your saliva-slick thumb rolls over his tawny nipple, pinching and tugging, and you swallow his groan, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
You nibble at his neck, sucking bruises into his tanned skin. He twists his wrist, his hand heavy with the weight of you. The size is nothing to scoff at. When he glances up, you're already looking at him, smirking knowingly. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, pumping you faster, tugging roughly at the sensitive skin. Your smile falls as you whine pitifully, hips jolting forward. Your thick tip leaks.
"Sukunaaa," you gripe, "not so rough..."
"Shut up." His grip tightens as you groan directly into his ear, hot breaths fanning his neck. His skin prickles, a warm shiver threatening his perfect poise as you moan his name in a lazy drawl. His breathing grows heavy. "You... wanted this."
"So cruel." Suddenly, you press against him, closing the distance between your torso and his. You gaze through half-lidded eyes as you rut against the heat of his body, your tip brushing the lips of his grinning stomach. It opens wide, waiting.
He glares at you. Gently, you lean in, threading your fingers through his hair. You mouth at his jawline, tracing a path up, and you smile at the way his lips part naturally. You kiss him, feather-light.
Finally, mutely, he lets go of your cock, and you are free to move. He rests back on two hands, his thighs like iron around you as you press your hips forward into the mouth of his stomach. It closes immediately around you, more eager than you are, and its wide tongue laps at your length as you lazily fuck into it.
Sukuna's breath hitches violently. He tips his head back slightly but his eyes never leave yours, his expression as impenetrable as stone.
You shift, throwing your legs over his to straddle him. His eyes widen slightly as you push your cock deeper into the furnace-like heat of him, his muscles tensing under your touch. Your balls smack his stomach-mouth's lower lip as you grip his shoulder, your robes slipping around your broad shoulders. Thick muscle ripples beneath your skin as you lower your forehead to press against his.
"Good boy," you husk, fingers tightening in his hair. He couldn't pull away if he wanted to. "That feels good, doesn't it?"
Two of his hands shoot up to grip your waist as you stuff your cock deep inside him, reaching the spongy back of his second mouth. His lips part, eyes fluttering against his will, and you chuckle as he fumbles with your clothes, pulling them away from your thighs so they don't get in the way. He's careful to keep his sharp teeth away, and his lips keep a tight suction around your thick cock. His palm ghosts over your chest and stomach, almost reverential. His eyes are dark as they take in the sight of your length vanishing into him.
You croon as you yank his hair, forcing him to look at you rather than your dick. "Answer me, my lord. Does this feel good? Is it my cock that makes your cheeks flush so?"
His teeth bare in a snarl as you cup his hot face, but it's all posturing. He swallows his insults, knowing you are just as petty and would happily force him to sit there and watch as you stroked yourself to completion.
"Yes," he mutters.
You cock your head. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."
Your dick slams into him. He lets out a low growl. "Yes!" he snarls, his bruising strength on your hips making your skin dip. His long nails dig into your skin. "Fuck!"
His arm threatens to buckle under his weight. His second mouth isn't meant for this sort of thing – it sucks and slobbers on your cock messily, less coordinated than the one on his face. Or maybe it's just as coordinated but it feels too good – making him lose his mind, turning him into a greedy, cock-obsessed whore. It salivates, strings of drool connecting your cock to his lips, as he buries his head in your shoulder. Soft, heavy grunts escape him with every rough thrust, deep oval rolls of your hips making his stomach tense up.
"Good answer," you whisper, amused. He shudders almost imperceptibly as you grab his chin and tilt his head up to meet your loving gaze. "Don't hide, Sukuna. I want to watch you while I use you."
He bares sharp teeth, face twisted in a grimace. "Whatever. Just finish quickly. I have other things to do."
"Like what?" You withdraw slightly, wrapping a hand around your length and stroking lazily. His fingers dig into your skin, slipped beneath your many layers and preventing you from backing up any farther. You smile as you lower your forehead to his, your hair a curtain of privacy around you – that smile is sickeningly fond. You murmur, "I don't think you're busy at all. I think you just want me to fight for your attention – as you do for mine."
You're either very trusting or very stupid when you push your cock back into the mouth of his stomach. He considers it for a split second. The idea is simple – bite down and you'll stop goading him. But then he thinks about your easily-given affection, and he thinks about difficult bloodstains in your white sleeves, and he discards the idea entirely.
Two of his hands travel up your sides – cupping your ribs, callused fingertips bumping up your spine. He watches silently, enraptured, as your body moves with more urgency. All that beauty collides with a physical superiority that he cannot ignore. Your hand in his hair stops him from looking away – you're barely trying, too busy chasing pleasure like the gluttonous thing you are, but he really does have to work to even tilt his head down.
Not that he'd want to look away, anyway. Perhaps it was a shame you were a curse, invisible to most humans – you could solve ten wars by supper with a face like that.
Or maybe it was better this way. More of you is his alone.
His muscles flex under his skin as you press deeper with a rumbled groan, your seed spilling across the mouth's slick tongue. It devours you, tongue swirling around your length, mouth hot and sloppy and oh-so starved. You close your eyes and sink into the furnace-warmth of his embrace, threateningly close to burning – close, but never there.
"How does it feel?" you murmur breathlessly, ever-curious about his physiology. Most of the time he dismisses your questions with a grunt, but sometimes, when he's softer, he'll divulge an answer or two. Now, as he stares unblinkingly up at you with lidded crimson eyes, you figure he's the latter.
Sukuna's lips part as he closes his arms around you, pulling you closer against him. He rests his head against your shoulder, the slope of his nose pressed against the side of your neck, and releases a heavy exhale that's more like a groan. His grip tightens on you as your tip rubs the soft back of his mouth with a particularly desirous thrust.
"Deep," he rumbles, tone brusque. He licks his lips, pressing them against the skin of your collarbone. "Very deep."
"Good?" you ask, tilting your head to allow him better access. Wordlessly, his teeth sink into your flesh to satiate his instinct to gnaw and gnash, but not enough to break skin. White clothes, still worn.
"Yes." His sharp nails leave marks in your skin. "Acceptable."
You laugh and kiss him hard. You cup his cheek – the side with the bony growths, the monstrous eyes – and pull him deeper into the kiss, stroking the thick dark line across his bicep and eventually the daintier ones along his jaw. You kiss him with both hands on his cheeks like some delicate thing you aren't, and his skin prickles as if licked by fire.
Lazily, the mouth of his stomach laps up your come, its lips and tongue glazed in a thick white gloss. It dribbles down his lower stomach, soaking into the waist of his dark hakama. You drag your fingers through the sticky mess, coating them in it, and press two fingers into his mouth – the one on his face.
He takes them without complaint, a low rumble escaping him, and he curls his tongue neatly to lick up every drop. You press against his teeth, his tongue, stroking the delicate back of his throat, but your beloved is second to none and he doesn't so much as twitch, let alone gag. You pull them away with a slick pop and you chuckle affectionately as he stares up at you, his chest rising and falling shallowly.
He licks his lips, shining with saliva. "My turn."
He tosses you to the floor – you go down easily, a smile on your face as you gaze up at him, haloed by your own hair. He throws a leg over your middle and leans down to kiss you. He grabs your neck instead of cupping your cheek, but for him, they're one and the same.
Two of his hands tear off his trousers. Properly, too – none of that awkward shimmying, nor the time-wasting stepping-out of trouser legs. Sukuna, as he does a lot of things, does it brutishly: two handfuls of cloth yanked in opposite directions. The fabric comes apart as easily as paper.
You tut, though you can't help appreciating every inch of skin revealed to you. Your hands roam down his waist to his massive thighs, grabbing and squeezing wolfishly as you go. "You will run out of clothes at this rate."
He cocks his head. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"
"Of course. Easier access."
He huffs, not quite a chuckle, as you grab his heavy cock and smear your own slick come against his skin. You stroke him languidly, being polite – for once – by not mentioning how wet he already is when all you've done is use him. "You are a dog."
"Fox," you correct, watching hungrily as he tugs off his haori and tosses it aside. "As you are fond of reminding me."
"In spirit," he concedes, not quite agreeing. He places his hands near your head, and despite his barbaric nature, he is careful not to pin down your hair. He reaches down between his thighs and lines up your cock with his entrance, though you are quick to grab his wrist.
"No oil?" you ask, lifting a brow.
Impatiently, one of his hands brushes you off. "Do not tell me what to do."
Without another word – without fanfare, without flourish – he sinks hilt-deep onto your cock.
Your eyes slide shut as you smack your head against the floor, the sheer heat of him threatening to melt you. Your hands slide higher, brushing his lower set of pectoral muscles. Lost in the bliss of his body, it takes you a moment to register his own hand lifting to grab yours. He holds your palm against his chest as he begins to move, the solid weight of his body dropping again and again onto your lap.
He would not be Sukuna if he were not gluttonous. So, he holds you, rides you, and leans down to kiss you, all at once – and you do nothing to encourage moderation. You entwine your fingers with his, caress his waist, and nip at his lower lip to provoke him into giving you more.
More. It was always more with you. More, more, more…
The suffocating heat of his body is nothing new. You have taken him a thousand times, but you'll never grow tired of it. He is addictive, and you should be pleased you are the only thing his blood has ever run hot for. No concubine has made him feel the way you do.
He grinds onto your cock, the heavy muscle of his thighs clenching around your hips. You throb inside him, sticky precome slicking up his insides and easing his movements. You lick your lips as you grab his thigh, fingers bruising his skin as you grip him and roll his ass deeper onto your cock. You even use the shallow lift of his hips to make the next thrust harder, rougher, deeper.
His heavy cock jolts, slapping your stomach wetly. You grin with sharp teeth as you wrap your hand around it once more, pumping his length from root to tip in time with every roll of his hips. He hisses as a thick bead of liquid dribbles down his glans. His tip is dark red, and you press your thumb into the slit of it, smearing his slick down his pulsing length.
You stroke him faster, making him grunt. He chases your hand, his own tightening into fists near your head. His sharp nails dig into his palms, drawing blood.
What a silly little dear he is. Four hands and not one of them feels as good as yours around his cock.
He pants and growls as he bounces in your lap, muscles flexing as he slams harder onto your fat cock. The wet sounds of your cock squelching in his ass, of his skin meeting yours, are obscene and violent – perfect for a man like him. Hot pleasure shudders up his spine as your cock kisses that spot inside him which makes his dick pulse hotly, a spurt of partially-clear liquid shooting across your knuckles. You smirk as you swipe it up and smear it down his length. Your thumb rolls over his slit and drags down the prominent vein on the underside roughly, as if you're trying to smooth it flat.
He drops his hips, putting his full weight on your cock. He rocks back and forth. You drag your lower lip between your teeth as you toss your head back, and your groan of pleasure sinks into his brain like your claws into flesh. His dick twitches, his balls tightening as he watches your heaving chest and gazes into your dilated pupils.
"You ride cock like a seasoned whore, my lord," you whisper, chuckling as he clenches around you in annoyance. "Nowhere else can I find someone who takes it as easily as you do."
He clicks his tongue, squeezing punishingly around you. You grunt as his tight, gummy walls stroke your slick cock. "Of course I am the only one. You are twice the size of a man. Your cock would break them."
You smile up at him, your eyes half-lidded. "Wouldn't that be fun?"
His eyes flash. His lips curl into a sneer as he leans down to wrap his hand around your throat, nails digging into your skin.
"You have me," he growls, grip tightening. "Speak nothing of others."
He would pulverise bone had you been weaker, but as it stands, all it does is pin you down, the warmth of his palm against your skin making your cheeks heat up. You bite back a smile. You adore it when he glares at you. There's a red flush to his cheeks that he steadfastly ignores.
You squeeze his ass, hand roaming back over his thigh. Playfully, you pinch the thick black line circling his leg. "Is my lord jealous?"
He bares his teeth with a low growl that sounds more animal than man. Your cock throbs. His glare deepens.
You smirk, smug as always, and go as far as to slap his ass, which makes him jolt in shock as the sound cracks like a whip in the room. His glare returns, this time with a roll of all four of his eyes, and he presses you punishingly into the tatami mats. His hole, hot and slick, swallows your cock with ease.
"Fox," he hisses.
"My lord," you reply with a smile. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel your pace slipping."
"Do not test my patience. I will leave you here with nothing."
The threat is an empty one – you know he desires this as much as you. The mouth of his stomach drools, thick and wet, as your cock punches so deep he swears he can feel it at the back of his throat. You both know he would never leave you unattended when he could watch himself be your undoing.
Despite it, Sukuna looks pleased with himself when you offer a begrudging silence. His stomach mouth grins widely as your dick pulses with newfound hunger. Your eyes slide shut as your cock carves a path through the slick heat of his insides, again and again, until his body learns your shape. Your tip leaks, thick and sticky, and he lets out a harsh exhale, his own cockhead dripping with every pump of your hand.
He chases the slick ring of your fist, his low grunts mixing with your unabashed groans as he rides you closer and closer to your shared climaxes.
He barely blinks as he watches your high peak – he has to swallow roughly before he salivates like some barbarian. Your come bursts creamy and thick inside him, hot as lava, and heat rushes up from his chest to his head as he admires the way you groan his name and thrust up sloppily into him. All that natural grace of yours is tainted with the pleasure you take in his body – you are unwound, undone, by a savage like him.
Then you flip him over, throwing him to the floor as if he weighs nothing. He lands with a huff, opening his mouth to complain, but his words die in his mouth as you begin to drill into him, burying your head in his neck and breathing him deep. Every slick clap of skin on skin has your seed leaking out of his stretched hole, white and creamy, and it smears his ass and thighs with each brutal thrust of your hips.
He lets out a sound like a cornered animal. "Fox," he snarls, nails tearing at the floor as your cock demands every lick of his attention. He struggles to keep his voice even. "You – hah – you damned insatiable fox—"
"Insatiable?" you purr. "You haven't come yet. I'm being a good husband and making sure you do."
His hole slurps you up like some vulgar pussy. The filthy volume of come inside him makes every pump of your hips sound like you're in a brothel. Your claws sink into the meat of his ass as you fold him up – crimson blood beads along his skin, and he twitches as your teeth part skin and muscle to mark up the side of his throat. You pull back with a breathless groan that settles deep into his ear, listening to the slick churning of your scarlet tongue as you lick his blood from your teeth and lips.
You dive in again but he tangles his hand in a fistful of your hair, halting you half an inch from his scalding skin. You growl, eyes gleaming, with teeth stained red.
He jolts as your cock slams into his abused prostate, barely able to subdue his shout into a low moan.
"White," he mutters, jaw clamping to silence himself. "No chewing."
Your lips press together in a pout but you settle for lapping at the bite mark, your hips pumping hungrily against his ass. You suppose he's right – taking a chunk out of him always makes you surprised at the amount of blood that spurts out, no matter how many times you do it. But he just bleeds so beautifully – you can hardly control yourself.
Your head is foggy with lust. You press yourself into him, burying your face in the other side of his neck so you aren't tempted to take a quick bite. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his jaw, lips brushing the black markings that decorate his honeyed skin.
"Sukuna," you breathe, two of your fingers pushing into the mouth of his stomach. You can still feel the creaminess of your own release on its lips. You stroke its tongue and a low, magnificently beastly sound escapes him as his head tips back. The bite mark on his neck bleeds more profusely, pulsing in time with his quickened heartbeat.
"Don't—" He groans as you push one thigh higher, pinning it to your shoulder. It is heavy, with muscle like steel. "Slow—"
"What was that?" You drag your inhumanly long tongue against his calf with a wicked grin, leaning forward. He grits his teeth at the vulnerability of the position. "'Slow down', did you say? Can't my king handle a little roughhousing?"
His cock twitches visibly at the title. You laugh at him, your pace never slacking, and you press a kiss to his calf on your shoulder.
"You're holding back," you say, amused. You angle your hips, thrusting up to kiss that sweet spot inside him, and you delight in the way his back arches for half a second before he corrects himself and glares at you. "My lord, it'll be easier on you if you come. I'll stop trying so hard."
"Shut it."
He hates the way you use his hard-won titles like pet names. Such little respect. If you were anyone else, you'd be cleaved into tiny cubes before you could finish laughing, but then he would have no dancer and his days in your forest would be silent and boring.
You press your finger to his leaking slit. He clenches his jaw. Stubborn. Still, his swollen cock jolts as you grind into him, adjusting yourself above him to fuck him harder, deeper – one way or another, you'll get it out of him.
Suddenly, your pace quickens, and the sound echoes off the walls. The weight behind every thrust jostles his body and he curses you like a war cry, two of his hands grabbing you as the other two hold him up. You lick your lips at the sight of his flushed skin and the sweat beginning to collect at his temple and across his collarbones.
You can't help it. You swoop down and drag your tongue over his chest, and the tang of his sweat mixing with blood makes your head spin with desire. He groans, deep and throaty. Your hips clap against his ass hard enough to make him shout out, and as your teeth sink into the unmarred side of his neck and bite all the way down, he comes with a humiliated, thunderous roar.
You moan desperately into his skin as you follow him over the edge, his clenching insides achingly hot and tight. You fill him up with lazy thrusts, and he twists his hand in your hair so hard you feel lightheaded. He yanks you off his bleeding neck with a growl – you hang from his fist with a drunken grin and ruby-stained teeth, your jaw working slowly. Blood drips down your chin.
He can feel the cold sting of the air against his exposed meat and veins, a neat little scoop taken out of his shoulder. It annoys him that his cock throbs at the feeling, and his chest heaves as he pushes your grinning face away. His face is hot.
"You… Tch. I told you not to chew," he grumbles, healing it with a roll of his massive shoulder. He goes to wipe off the blood dripping down his chest but you beat him to it, cleaning him up with your tongue. You use the moment to mouth at his nipple, tongue laving across it, and pop off before he can smack you away.
You chuckle as your tongue slides over your front teeth, your voice rich and husky. You wipe your chin, smearing it. "But you liked it, Sukuna. It pulled such pretty sounds out of you."
"I—" He clicks his tongue, breath catching slightly as you pull your cock out of him with a slick, sticky pop. His thighs twitch as you grab his messy length and coat your fingers in his release, pumping him twice before lifting your hand and admiring the white glaze sticking between your fingers. He watches silently as you push two fingers into your mouth with a pleased groan, then lap up the rest when it drips down your wrist.
"Finish your sentences, my lord," you tease, tossing his own words back into his face. He rolls his eyes as you pause to suck your ring finger clean. "Maybe I should bite you more often. You taste like bliss. Come, now – tell me how much you enjoyed that."
Chest still heaving, Sukuna sits up straighter, widening his legs to fit you comfortably between his thighs. You kneel there – lazy, satisfied, practically glowing. Your robes pool around you like scattered starlight as you wait for his answer.
"You are impertinent, troublesome, and spoilt," he sighs, voice a low rumble. "But fine. Yes, I enjoyed it. No, you will not do it again. Today."
You wilt like an abandoned flower. "Why?"
He rolls his eyes and pulls you into his arms, heavy and possessive. He reaches up and swipes his thumb over a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth, and you press your lips to the pad of his finger, licking it up. "There is blood on your clothes."
You glance down to where he points at your sleeve. Your eyes widen and Sukuna braces himself. On cue, you grab his arm and begin to complain directly into his ear, nails digging into his freshly-healed shoulder.
"Sukuna – what is wrong with your body? Why does it bleed so much? My sleeve was nowhere near your neck! Look at what you've done – do you know how hard it is to ensure the cloth washes white and not pink? You ask so much of me – entertain you, keep this estate hidden, smith you a dozen weapons from myths and fables – which is ridiculous, I say, do you know how difficult it is to create cursed tools? – and all I ask in return is to not bleed on me, yet here you are, bleeding on me, like some—"
You are cut off with his lips on yours. You stiffen slightly in surprise, then melt into it, leaning in and tilting your head. He groans softly as your tongue curls with his, your hand lifting to twist in his hair. You smooth it off his forehead, tracing his hairline with a light touch, and he pulls you closer with three hands. The last one cups your hand on his face.
He pulls away to breathe. You sit back on your heels, pupils swallowing up the gold of your irises. You blink slowly as you steal another kiss, lips smacking halfway to indecency again. He leans back before you can drown yourself in him and try to push him back to the floor – a very unseemly place to do such things, in his opinion.
He lifts a brow. "Calm, yet?" he asks, absently pulling the collar of your robes over your shoulder.
"Enough," you acquiesce, watching him move over to grab his discarded haori near his table. He shrugs it on, his lower pair of arms not letting go of your body. You smirk. So jealous, even when nothing threatens to take you away.
"That is better than nothing."
"Mm." You crawl closer and walk your fingers up his arm. "Write me a poem, beloved."
His eyes snap up. He bares his teeth in a sneer that does nothing to dissuade you. His grip tightens on your hip. "What?"
"A poem," you say with infinite patience. "Whichever type you prefer. I know you enjoy praising me through poetry – my face, my sorcery, how I 'revel in the fires of your chaos'! Oh, yes, I've read a few of those volumes you've made, pushed to the back of your drawers." You smile, a dark edge to it, as you meet his glare unflinchingly. "This time, I want no secrecy – I want to observe your artistic process. Perhaps I will forgive you for staining my clothes if it is sufficiently flattering."
"Why are you rummaging through my quarters?" he scoffs. "Those poems are not for you."
"So you say. You refer to me in everything but name. If you truly wanted to keep them secret, you would've burnt them." You shift to sit beside him, leaning forward to pull the paper and inkwell towards the edge of the table. "Go on. Write."
He rolls his eyes. He adjusts to sit sprawled, lazy, one arm resting upon his knee and two around you. It brings a smile to your face. He was always terribly voracious for your attention, like a feral animal you feed once and cannot escape. No matter how he feels, no matter the company, he would always bend to your whim.
You grab his thigh, pawing at the meat of him like a kneading cat, and you almost laugh aloud when he pointedly tosses the hem of his haori over his cock. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sliding your palm up to the crease of his thigh, and cast your gaze down to the paper, the poem from earlier half-complete.
"'Kitsunebi'?" you muse, tilting your head. "Foxfire. Not for me, you said?"
He exhales sharply, shooting you a warning glance. In response, you pluck the brush from its resting place and smile sweetly as you grab his hand and push it into his palm.
How ridiculous it is that he must hide his belongings in his own home. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you and your curiosity. Instead, he simply lowers his gaze and rolls the brush tip in the black ink.
—
When Sukuna opens his eyes from the kiss, you have already begun to pull away, to step back – and he is reminded of his physical limitations once more.
"Greedy," you chuckle, swiping your thumb over your lower lip. "Go now – let the boy have his body back. Perhaps I will see you again. Follow my foxes; they will lead you to me."
Something compels him to speak. "And you?" he murmurs lowly. "I refuse to waste my time searching for a dead spirit."
Will you be safe? The question is unsaid but clear as day. You hum.
"If I can hide from you, I can hide from anyone. Rest assured, no one but you will ever spill my blood." You step behind him, pushing him towards the school campus. "And… Sukuna?"
"What?"
"I really did miss you."
He turns, but in your place is a nine-tailed white fox, silent and watchful. Your ears flick. After a lingering second, you rise from your haunches, curling around him and batting his side with your tails, before slipping away and leaping into the treeline to vanish completely into the forest's shadows.
His skin prickles with the fading remnants of your cursed energy. He clicks his tongue, jaw clenching. Your cloak will not last much longer, and he can sense the brat waking up. He presses his fingers to his lips, savouring the memory of your sharp, sweet warmth.
He closes his eyes, already feeling his control over his incumbent vessel lapsing. He spends his last moments of autonomy replaying the moment his lips touched yours, a moment a thousand years in the making.
Moonlit silk, ribbons of stars, a smile sharp enough to cleave bone. The world fades to soundless oblivion.
`ঔঌ. never did you didn’t expect for your husband, firelord!zuko to have a breeding kink? | 18+
the supporting council of the fire nation, and even several of zuko’s advisors have been adamant on one thing since your marriage to your childhood lover: producing an heir.
“yes… i know. even my ladies in waiting are asking,” you replied. the both of you were in his study, with you lounging on some cushions while he clearly was distracted from his paperwork considering the turn your conversation went.
zuko appeared hesitant, almost antsy. “really? they’re a bit annoying, aren’t they?”
you shrugged, until you just kept talking mindlessly. “it’d be nice though…wouldn’t it?”
your words made your husband furrow his eyebrows in confusion. “what would?”
“having children?” you walked over to him, sitting on his lap as his arms snaked around your waist and held you. “being pregnant…”
“you’d be a great daddy… so why don’t we try?”
“really?” his tone changed, almost laced with a bit of amusement. “are…are you sure?”
“why not?” you leaned towards him and you swore you saw the tips of his ears go red and his face slightly appear flushed.
it was a clear fact that your husband was a fast man, but before you knew it, you were naked before him, warm skin pressed against his cold desk, quills, ink, and paper scattered. he had undressed you quickly—as if you were going to run away.
“you’re sure about this?” zuko asked, beginning to align his cock to your entrance the moment you nodded, and rubbing your arousal around his length before slowly pushing in.
fuck, you really should’ve taken to account just how your husband is… because when he’s serious about something, he’s dead serious.
“mmm—zuko-! please—fuck!”
you felt almost lightheaded, with your cunt squeezing your husband’s cock almost uncontrollably while your clit throbbed immensely. the two of you have been at it for hours, going at it like damn rabbits all over his study. on the desk, the cushions, against the wall. and now? you’re riding him while he’s sat on his chair.
“you—hahhh—said you were sure,” he replied, hands squeezing at your ass and slapping it teasingly.
you could feel his loads of cum spill out of you with every harsh thrust of his hips, with your husband groaning loudly from how tight you felt around him.
it was all too much—so. damn. much. he fucks you so mean…
your arms around his neck only tightened around him the faster you went, pulling on his long hair slightly and eliciting a whine? from your husband.
“you’re gonna—shit—look so damn pretty… so fucking pretty pregnant…” he gazed up at you, almost intoxicated with how you looked riding him, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock while you whined so cutely. your maw was slack while your eyes were glued to the ceiling, and your grip on his hair only tightened (again).
until the two of you heard a knock on the door, and he covered your mouth quickly.
“fire lord zuko, your presence is requested—“
“i’m busy.”
zuko’s hips continued, slower yet still so torturous on you. he bounced you slowly yet harshly, slamming you on his cock. then came that obnoxiously loud squelch! you could cry of embarrassment… but it seemed that your lover was enjoying this.
“w-what was that?” the advisor asked.
and it wasn’t until zuko lifted your hips and slammed you onto him one last time, where you cried out in a octave you’ve never hit ever.
“gotta make sure we have that heir, right?”
.
.
.
had to… i just had to… #leastcanonthingever anyways IM CRINE THIS IS SO OOC BUT ITS OK!! also wtf is it with me and zuko smut in his firelord study
content warningsﾉtags: NSFWﾉ18+ (MDNI), explicit smut, fem!reader, firelord!zuko, angry sex, hair pulling, size difference, biting, overstimulation, p in v, arguing, derogatory pet names, risk of discovery, not proofread, lowercase intended
author's note: based on this request!! they have me in atla jail. send help. (i don't wanna be saved unless it's zuko doing the saving.)
"you are impossible, zuko. genuinely, utterly impossible. did you think i was just going to sit there like a gilded doll while pakku insulted our lineage? i was helping you!"
your voice is a burst of fire, amplifying the heavy air of the imperial bedchamber. the room smells of burnt agarwood, expensive charcoal, and the metallic tang of unshed rage. you're pinned against the cold stone of the wall, the tapestries rustling behind your head as he drives into you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. his skin is fever-hot, a living furnace pressing against your cooler flesh, and the contrast is a shock that travels straight to your marrow.
he doesn't answer with words at first, only a guttural sound in his throat that isn't quite a snarl and isn't quite a plea. his face is a mask of tension, that familiar scar—rough and textured like dried parchment—twisting as he grits his teeth. his eyes are amber fire, narrowed and tracking the way your lips curl in defiance. he’s beautiful even when he’s being a stubborn, spoiled brat, his long dark hair falling out of its topknot in messy, silken strands that brush against your collarbone.
you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in even as you glare. your heels dig into the small of his back, feeling the ripple of lean muscle beneath his silk robes. "don't you dare shut me out now. look at me. you know i was right about the trade routes. you know it, and you're just too proud to admit your wife has a better head for diplomacy than your entire council of ancient, dusty men."
"it's about... protocol," he pants, the word breaking in the middle as you shift your hips, catching him just right. he mouths the words against the curve of your jaw, his breath smelling of cinnamon and smoke. "you can't just... ungh... you can't just speak over the firelord in front of a foreign delegation. it makes us look fractured. it makes me look weak."
you let out a harsh, mocking laugh, the sound echoing off the high ceilings where the shadows of flickering candles dance like spirits. reach up, you fist your hands into his hair, tugging downward with a sharp, uncompromising jerk. his head snaps back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat, and a broken, high-pitched moan spills from his lips—a sound so fragile it almost makes you want to soften. but you don't. you squeeze him, your walls clenching around his thick, veiny length, feeling the way he pulses inside you, a frantic heartbeat in a place that shouldn't have one.
"weak? you think i make you look weak?" you tease, your voice dropping to a low murmur.. "you’re the one currently trembling because i pulled your hair, zuko. you’re the one who can’t even finish a sentence because you’re so desperate to stay inside me. is this what a powerful firelord looks like? panting like a stray in the dirt because his wife talked back to him?"
he nips at your neck, a sharp, stinging bite that will definitely leave a mark—a dark purple bruise for the maids to whisper about tomorrow. his teeth are blunt and hot, scraping over your skin until you shiver. "shut up," he hisses, his voice cracking. "just... shut your mouth."
"make me," you challenge, and the air between you literally ignites.
zuko inhales sharply, and you see the orange glow behind his teeth, the heat radiating off him in a sudden, violent wave that makes the sweat on your skin evaporate instantly. he doesn't let go of you; instead, he shifts his grip, his large hands hooking under your thighs to hold you steady as he lunges away from the wall,, carrying your weight with a desperate, clumsy grace. he stumbles into a low table, sending a ceramic basin of water crashing to the floor—the scent of wet stone and copper rising up to join the scent of smokel—before he slams you down onto the sprawling silk mattress of his bed.
the impact jars you, but he’s already hovering over you, his knees pinning your arms down, his chest heaving. this position allows him to sink deeper, bottoming out against your cervix with a blunt force that draws a loud, unbidden moan from your throat. you try to keep scolding him, try to find the words to tell him he’s a fool, but the way he’s filling you makes your brain feel like it’s melting into honey.
"you... you're still... a stubborn... idiot," you choke out, even as your back arches off the sheets.
he leans down, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your neck, his thumb pressing against your windpipe just enough to make you gasp. his other hand finds your tit, squeezing the soft tissue with a proprietary heat that feels like it’s branding you. he kisses you then—not a sweet kiss, but a frantic, unforgiving hunger, tasting of fury. his cock is thick, the head of it rubbing against your sensitive walls with every frantic, shallow thrust, the texture smooth but the pressure immense.
outside the heavy oak doors, the muffled sound of the palace at night continues—the distant clank of a guard’s spear, the soft chirping of turtleducks in the gardens—but inside the circle of his arms, the world is reduced to the friction of your intoxicating skin.
"my lord?" a voice calls out from the hallway, shrill and intrusive. it’s high sage ukano, his tone brimming with that self-importance zuko usually hates.
"my lord, i apologize for the late hour, but we have received an urgent scroll from the earth kingdom regarding the borders. we must discuss the response before the morning bells."
zuko freezes, his body still buried deep inside yours, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. he breaks the kiss, looking down at you with wide, dark eyes. you start to open your mouth, a smirk forming—ready to call out, ready to ruin his dignity—but his hand is there in an instant, slapping over your lips. his palm is dry and smells of old scrolls and fire, muffling your indignant yelp.
he doesn't pull out. instead, he stays perfectly still, his cock twitching inside you, the sensation so intense it makes your toes curl into the silk. he looks toward the door, his expression shifting from frantic lover to arrogant monarch in a heartbeat, though the flush on his cheeks betrays him.
"not now, ukano," zuko calls out, his voice surprisingly steady, though there’s a smug, sharp edge to it that makes your blood simmer. he looks back down at you, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as he begins to move again, slow and agonizingly deep, watching your eyes blow out as you struggle against his hand.
"the firelord is currently... occupied with matters of state. leave the scroll with the guard. i will deal with you in the morning."
he doesn't look away from you as the advisor’s footsteps fade. he just keeps moving, his eyes burning with a gold that’s finally, finally steady.
"don't you have something else to say?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "i'm listening."
whoever that 1st zuko anon was... look what you started.
⋆✴︎˚｡ Husband!Zuko who lovesss putting you in a head locking during sex
You were completely, shamelessly addicted to Zuko’s arms.
It wasn’t just that they were big now—thick, powerful, corded with muscle from years of firebending, sword training, and carrying the weight of a nation. It was the way they felt when he used them on you. The sheer strength. The way the veins stood out when he flexed. The way his biceps bulged like warm steel when he wrapped one around your throat and held you exactly where he wanted you.
And nothing compared to doggy style.
Nothing.
Tonight the palace was quiet, the heavy curtains drawn, only the low glow of firelight flickering across Zuko’s bare chest as he stood at the edge of the massive bed. You were already on all fours in the center of it, knees spread, back arched deep, ass up and waiting. Your pussy was dripping down your thighs before he’d even touched you.
Zuko climbed onto the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His big hands gripped your hips first, squeezing the soft flesh, thumbs digging in possessively.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Already soaked for me.”
You pushed back against him, whining. “Zuko… please.”
He leaned over you, chest pressing to your back, and you felt it—the heavy, thick length of his cock sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance. Then his right arm slid around your throat.
Your whole body lit up.
He didn’t choke you. He headlocked you. His massive bicep curled under your chin, the thick muscle pressing firmly against your neck while his forearm locked across your collarbone. His left hand braced on the bed beside your head for leverage. You were completely trapped, caged by his body, his strength, his heat.
And you moaned like you were in heat.
“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, tilting your head back into the crook of his arm. Your pussy clenched hard around nothing.
Zuko chuckled darkly against your ear, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back. “You really are crazy for these arms, aren’t you?”
You nodded frantically, already grinding back against his cock. “I love them. I love when you lock me up like this. Makes me feel so small… so owned.”
His grip tightened just enough to make your head spin in the best way. Then he pushed in.
One long, slow thrust and he buried every thick inch inside you, stretching you open until you felt him in your stomach. The headlock kept you perfectly arched, ass up higher, back bowed deep so he could sink even deeper.
Zuko groaned, low and filthy. “So fucking tight like this.”
He started moving—deep, powerful strokes that made the bed creak. Every time he bottomed out, his hips slapped against your ass, his heavy balls hitting your clit. The bicep around your throat flexed with every thrust, the muscle bulging harder against your skin. You could feel the raw power in it, the way it could crush you if he wanted, but instead it just held you right there for him to fuck.
You were drooling.
Your mouth hung open, eyes rolling back as he pounded into you. Every thrust forced a broken moan out of your throat.
“Harder,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Zuko, baby—please, use me. Fuck me like you own me.”
He snarled and gave you exactly what you wanted.
His pace turned brutal. The wet, obscene sound of his cock slamming into your soaked pussy filled the room. His left hand left the bed and reached underneath you, two thick fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, fast circles.
The headlock never loosened. His bicep stayed locked tight under your jaw, keeping your head pulled back against his shoulder so he could growl filthy praises right against your ear.
“That’s it… take this dick. Such a greedy little thing for me. You love being locked up in my arm while I ruin this pussy, don’t you?”
“Yes—yes, fuck yes—” You were shaking, thighs trembling, pussy fluttering wildly around his thick dick.
He flexed his bicep deliberately, the peak of the muscle pressing harder into the side of your neck. The pressure made everything sharper, hotter. Your vision sparkled at the edges.
“Come for me,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding. “Come while I’ve got you trapped. Let me feel how much you love my arms.”
You shattered.
Your orgasm crashed through you so hard your arms gave out. You would have collapsed face-first into the pillows if Zuko’s headlock hadn’t held you up. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, gushing around his cock as wave after wave rolled through you. You screamed his name, body convulsing, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheeks.
Zuko fucked you straight through it, hips never slowing, growling praises and curses as your walls milked him.
Only when you started to go limp did he loosen the headlock just enough to let you breathe properly. He pulled out, flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, and shoved your knees up to your chest.
Then he slid back inside you in one thrust and started chasing his own release
His arms caged you again—this time both of them, one on each side of your head, biceps flexing as he drove into you hard and deep. You wrapped your legs around his waist and clung to those massive arms, kissing and biting at the thick muscle while he fucked you into the mattress.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest. “Gonna put a baby in you tonight.”
You moaned, nails digging into his biceps. “Yes—please, Zuko. Come inside me. I need it.”
He buried his face in your neck and came with a deep, guttural groan, hips stuttering as he pumped you full, hot and thick. You felt every pulse, every spurt, and you clenched around him like you could keep it all inside.
When he finally collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you with his full weight, his arms still surrounded you—loose now, but protective.
You pressed lazy kisses to his bicep, the one you loved so much, and whispered against his skin, “I’m never getting enough of these arms. Especially when you headlock me like that.”
Zuko laughed breathlessly, rolling to the side and pulling you against his chest. His hand drifted down to rest over your lower belly, thumb stroking gently.
“Good,” he murmured, voice warm and satisfied. “Because I plan on doing that every single night until you’re round with our baby.”
You smiled, already feeling the familiar heat building again as you nuzzled into his chest.
“Promise?”
He flexed his arm around you, letting you feel the hard swell of his bicep one more time.
“Promise.”
dividers - @/cafekitsune
an - Hiiiiii my babies! I’ve missed y’all so much, so sorry for the ghosting! I lowkey couldn’t catch a break (lmao), but I’m back and ready to serve now 𓏲ּ𝄢
❝we had our downs but we had way more ups,let's make love❞
pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!earthbender!reader
synopsis — who was surprised when you and zuko were the first in the gaang to get pregnant?
content — fem!reader, mature content (17+), suggestive themes, mention of sex, no actual plot really, indulgent fic, takes place seven years before the legend of aang (which takes placed 12 years after ATLA) so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21, no use of yn, not proofread
author's note — I didn't watch the leaks yet just clips and if I do I'll still be watching the movie to support the animators
The Princess of the Fire Nation, though she often felt that, as the wife of the Fire Lord, she deserved a far grander title, sat before her vanity, studying her reflection. One by one, she had dismissed her maids, choosing instead to prepare for bed on her own. In truth, the new trending fragrance they all insisted on wearing had begun to make her nauseous.
Though, lately, everything seemed to make her sick.
“Aang sent a letter.”
She hadn’t even heard him enter.
Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.
“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”
“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.
“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”
He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.
“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.
His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.
“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”
His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.
“And all of you.”
She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.
But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.
His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.
This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.
His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.
“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."
She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.
Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.
“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”
"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.
“A village?”
Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."
He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”
She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”
She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”
Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”
“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.
Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”
Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”
The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.
“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”
Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”
There was a beat.
“Oh my gosh.”
“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”
Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”
Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”
The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.
In fact, she looked amused.
“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”
Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”
Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”
Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”
“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.
“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”
Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”
“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”
Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.
She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.
“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.
The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.
Katara, however, had not left her alone once.
The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“How far along are you?”
“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.
“What’s the gender?”
“No clue.”
“Any baby names lined up?”
“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”
Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”
“Are you going to have more?”
The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”
Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.
Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.
Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.
“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.
“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.
By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.
They didn’t have to search long.
Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.
“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”
His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.
Then paused.
“…Whoa.”
Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”
But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”
The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”
Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."
Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”
“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”
Toph let out a quiet snort.
Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”
Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”
Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”
“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”
The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”
Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."
Toph laughed outright at that.
Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Sokka wasn’t done.
“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”
Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”
“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”
“Sokka.”
“—expand the royal family.”
Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.
The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”
Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”
“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."
Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”
“Sokka.”
“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"
The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.
The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.
So yeah, there had been tension.
A lot of it.
It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.
His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.
“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.
Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.
“Not until you say please.”
Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”
A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
Another slow press of his lips, lingering.
“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”
She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”
“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”
His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.
“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”
“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.
His eyes flicked across the group.
Paused.
Then widened.
“…Are—did—?”
He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”
Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”
Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”
“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.
Aang blinked.
Then looked back at them.
Then back at Katara.
“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”
Toph snorted.
Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”
Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”
“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.
“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”
There was a beat.
“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.
Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.
“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”
She sighed.
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”
Toph smirked. “Told you.”
Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”
Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”
Zuko shot him a glare.
Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”
She gave a small, confident nod.
“Always.”
Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”
The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”
Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”
Zuko sighed. “Of course.”
Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”
Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”
She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.
“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."
He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”
love speaks! rushed and indulgent sorry i wish this was better but if i draft it it'll never get done. divider by @/cafekitsune
he's told you this many times now, but you often brush off the firelord's ask as fleeting desire. perhaps a new fetish - the thought of seeing you knocked up and so evidently claimed by him that any time you'd leave his chambers, people would see you as his, pregnant and swollen with his child.
you didn't take him seriously at all, until he dragged you away from his council room where you'd been seated next to him the whole time, giving him such sweet, pure little looks and rubbing his thigh dangerously close to his cock, all while murmuring praises whenever he proposed a strong idea. such words could've also been used in bed, as you'd been saying things like;
"so good, zuko."
"well done, my prince."
among other words in that sultry voice of yours.
now he has you folded up in his huge bed, pushing your legs wide open as far as they'll go as he pounds his achingly swollen cock into your chubby pussy with the sole goal of pumping you full of his babies.
you cry out and dig your nails into his strong shoulders, wondering what's come into your loving husband. how he's gone from lovemaking to fucking you raw into the mattress, aiming the thick head of his cock straight for your womb and kissing your cervix each time he bottoms out.
"didn't fuck- take me seriously at all." he grunts, watching juices spill out of you as he keeps aiming his long, curved cock straight for your womb, dragging his engorged shaft along your softened sweet spots each time. it makes your toes curl and your nails cut into his flesh as pleasure overwhelms you. "i told you i wanted to get you fuckin' pregnant, and you thought i was joking. what makes you think i'd ever joke about something like that?"
"zuko!" you call his name between garbled moans, your head tipping back into the pillow when he pushes his cock flat into your cervix yet again, slowing his thrusts just enough to hit it gently, not to hurt, but to deliver a fucking message. he tuts at your whining and lets out a soft hiss as you rake your nails down his skin. the pain does not deter him at all, only encouraging to pound your puffy cunt harder.
he grabs handfuls of your tits, squeezing and rubbing his skilled fingers along your budding nipples until they're hard and stout, his tongue licking over his lips hungrily as he imagines how they'll dribble with milk once you're thoroughly bred. he leans down and pushes your breasts together so he can suck both nipples into his mouth at once, tasting the sweetness of your skin and sweat for now and fixating on how much sweeter you'll taste with milk pouring into his mouth.
he plans to fuck your cunt as long as he can while you're pregnant, too.
the new angle has his cock spearing into you impossibly deeper, and as a reaction, your pussy flutters around him, milking his cock greedily and trying to wring the cum straight out of him. one more squeeze of your velvety walls around his dick has his cock swelling up, and with a loud groan into your tits, he spills a hot, thick, heavy load right into your womb, fucking you through it in hopes that this round of cum will surely get you pregnant.
𖧧 (MDNI) Firelord Zuko is rather awkward when it comes to his playful wife
Sawrry for the double post, my fyp has been filled with my malewife and I had to try writing for him.
"Am I not good enough to sleep with yet, Firelord Zuko?"
"Tch. I told you not to call me that," your husband murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The wrinkled edges of his scar deepened as he refused to make eye contact with a very exposed you laying on your side. "I'm your husband, not some... some stranger you lay with every night."
"You certainly act like that way. You can't even make look at me in the eye without scowling," you retorted, rolling your eyes and shuffling into a seating position. The silk sheets under your bare knees had twisted as you moved, the man now listening to you tug your robe over yourself.
All whilst keeping his eyes off of you, of course.
Zuko moved around your bedroom, busy doing nothing as a heat bloomed across his cheeks hotter than any fire he could shoot out of his fingers.
He was the Firelord, for God's sake. Why couldn't he face his clearly receptive wife who wished not nothing more than getting intimate with him?
Your voice calling out again interrupted his conflicted thoughts. "I get it what this is about. You don't love me," you sniffled dramatically, turning your back to your husband so that the grin on your face was concealed from sight.
In an instant, he whipped around — eye twitching. "Don't— God. don't start. You know that's not true."
When you didn't reply, he shuffled over, scratching the back of his head with a curse. His long hair had been freed a while back, framing the angular contours of his face under the flickering candlelight. Were you really upset?
You turned around once his hot palm met your revealed shoulder, where the robe had slipped off of you somewhat. There, he saw the way your lips were pressed into a tight, thin line.
Ignoring the fullness of your chest to the best of his fading ability, the way it sloped downwards until your nipples poked out from between your robe, he opened his mouth to apologise.
Until your eyes flickered with mirth.
Zuko pushed back, face deadpan. "What is wrong with you— mmph!"
Your husbands complaints were cut short the moment you tugged him by the arm, obscuring his vision the second he face-planted into your breasts.
Not that he minded, of course — but it was rather difficult for Zuko to do anything when all he had was a mouthful of soft flesh he could barely breathe around.
You stroked his head, carded your fingers through his long hair somewhat lovingly yet scolding all the same. "I didn't know I married a prude. You can fight plenty on the battlefield, so why not in bed?"
"That's not the same," he argued, the flush on his face deepening further when he pulled away. His eyes searched your face, taking in each and every detail he had come to love so dearly.
Indeed, you were beautiful — and it was that exact reason he couldn't face doing anything with you.
It was as if he became overwhelmed with a sudden sense of inadequacy. It was a feeling he struggled to articulate into words, the old habit of resorting to impulsive means threatening to bubble up yet again.
But Zuko swallowed it down, shook his head, and cradled one side of your face. "It's not you. It's me," he began, "am I really worthy of—"
You shut the thought down immediately, silencing him with your lips on yours. The peck was brief, yet carried over each and every thought you has for him.
"None of that. When has it ever been like you to talk like this?" You challenged, playfully cocking your head to the side. You dragged his hands down to your breasts, eliciting a faint twitch deep in his undergarments. "That's not the Firelord I married."
Phwump!
"...you're right," Zuko swallowed, regaining a semblance of his confidence back after gently pushing you onto your back. Just about, though — because he was still having difficulty finding it within himself to look into your eyes even whilst looming over you. Once he did, though, he was a goner.
Your husband scanned your entire form, cursing himself for what a fool he had been, missing out on countless nights on getting to know you, your body. "A fool indeed," you echoed, smiling once Zuko realised he had spoken allowed.
"Stop making fun of me," he rumbled, lowering his head to nip at your throat. "I'm not here to be turned into the butt of your jokes."
"You know I'll— mmh, do it regardless," you cooed breathily. Not once did Zuko pull back, even when you angled your head to the side to give you easier access.
His lips simply followed the movement with growing confidence — until he sank onto his knees, face buried between your quivering thighs.
