a/s/l: 22, femme, the states (not going in more than that, c'mon now)
who i write for found here
all of my stories are fem!black readers. if requested, i can do woc!reader or nb!poc!reader, but i do "x reader" for the black girls over here darlings. just fyi
recent works:
snippet from gar logan fanfic on wattpad (slow updates... like molasses)
can be found on: wattpad (working on fics about: gar logan, stiles stilinski, cw gossip girl, hbomax gossip girl, taking requests if you've got cool ideas)
daily (maybe) rambles found here
recs: #fubu recs
blogs (for other black & poc fandom writers)
shows/movies (cuz… that’s literally the reason i’m here)
i hope you enjoy my page, please feel free to send messages and requests! just getting started so patience is appreciated
bigots, stay away. if you’re not black, you can still enjoy but i’d much rather hear from my girls/gays/theys who look like me (the whole point of f.u.b.u., ya know?
My woke take, as someone who has worked in both a public library and a school library, is that we desperately need both more books that are at a higher reading level but a less mature subject matter, and more books that are at a lower reading level but a more mature subject matter, because 8 year olds who are advanced readers are still 8 year olds and don't want to read about graphic violence and torture, and teens and adults who have learning difficulties or who are just later readers for whatever reason are still teens and adults and don't want to read about Billy the Bunny going to school or whatever the hell.
Also people being obsessed with Greek mythology as kids wasn’t invented by Percy Jackson. My dad read the Iliad and the odyssey in high school because one of his friends was super obsessed with Ancient Greek lit and he was like “well I can’t let him be smarter and more well read than I am I’ve gotta catch up”
Summary: Clark would have been just fine if Eugene didn’t come along.
Word count: 3.1k
Contains: Fluff & suggestive themes. Entertains the idea that Clark can take small doses of Red!K like a Xanax for his anxiety LMAO… this leads to a dubious substance abuse/dubious-to-willing consent for fun of the plot. Smut tease IM SORRY IT WAS FUNNY. Daily Planet!Clark & reader. Reader is gullible and trusting, Clark is grumpy and paranoid, Lois is sick and tired of them both. Shenanigans and teasing. Kissing & more implied.
A/N: This is so silly I hope you like it I was in the mood to try and be funny
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“Look at him. He’s all over her. It’s disgusting!”
“Says you, Smallville,” Lois sniggered, quirking an eyebrow at the reporter to her left.
Clark’s eyes were glued to the sight of you across the bullpen, and the stress running through his veins was making him look borderline murderous. The poor coffee stirrer snapped in his palms as he clamped down on it.
“It’s his first day, Clark,” Lois rolled her eyes, brushing past him to steal a sugar packet. “He’s as adorably clueless as the rest. Why don’t you go and say something if it bothers you? Make it clear?”
Clark frowned at her. “I don’t want to look controlling.”
“Well, standing here like you’re planning a homicide isn’t doing much to dissuade the public. Take a chill pill, buddy. You know she’s all yours,” Lois grinned. “Oh, quit making that face. Buck up, cowboy. I’m out.”
Clark grunted unhappily as Lois sauntered away for her lunch break, and his eyes drifted back towards the doors to the copy room. You were in your nicest shirt today, because it was a big day. Perry had given you the privilege of training a new copyboy with reporter aspirations, meaning that you had written enough articles and done enough scut work that you could be trusted to teach someone else. You were very proud of this appointment, because it made you feel like your work was paying off. To have someone looking up to you was an honor. You dressed up in the polka dot blouse you kept for important days and a pencil skirt, one Clark was realizing might be too short for the bullpen, and you had a red marker stuck in your hair and a file balanced on your hip. Gorgeous and professional and entirely too happy.
This kid couldn’t even be out of high school, he was sure of it. He was two seconds away from calling up Chloe and ordering a background check. What kind of name was Eugene anyway? Eugene Cunningham. It was somewhere between too British and too cartoonish, and it was 100% stupid. Clark hated Eugene. Eugene wore thick-rimmed glasses and an argyle vest, which Clark was positive they didn’t even manufacture anymore, and his shoes were white and black like the ones girls wore with poodle skirts at some distant point of past light. He was an utter geek, and Clark was determined to discover what was so goddamn funny that you were smiling and tilting your head like the pretty bunny you were at Eugene Cunningham, the new copyboy from the 20th century.
He didn’t move his feet, though. He stood there and watched while you walked the newb around the bullpen, introducing him to people and showing him how the system worked. He stood there long enough that Lois came back from lunch and found him in the same spot, and it took walloping his arm with a rolled up issue of the Planet to wake him up.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“I think he’s into you.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Clark!” You chuckled, clacking away at your keyboard. When you heard a huff behind you, you swiveled in your chair and found your boyfriend frowning like a child. It made you feel the teeniest bit sick. “Sorry. Your feelings aren’t silly.”
Clark grumbled incoherently and crossed his arms, before saying more clearly, “You can’t tell me he doesn’t follow you around like a dog.”
“Sure he does, I’m his supervisor! I’m just trying to teach him how to survive, it’s a pretty cutthroat place to be. He’s just a kid. You were just a kid only a couple years ago. Can’t you have a little bit of sympathy for him?”
Clark peered down his nose at you, seeing your sweet eyes and smile and struggling not to agree with your every word just because you sounded so pretty speaking them. He frowned harder out of spite. “I get a bad feeling about him, bunny. He’s after something.”
You couldn’t contain your sigh of aggravated humor. “He’s after a career. Really, Clark, I understand your concern, but I feel like you might just be seeing something you want to see,” you reasoned. “I think he’s just eager to please. He trusts me. And he hasn’t said anything weird or done anything to convince me he’s got any motives, so why worry? He’s a sweet kid. I really think he’s just gelling to me, y’know?”
Clark shuddered at the very implication. Only he could be gelled to you. “I still don’t like it.”
You smirked and whirled your chair back around. “I’m sorry, Clarkie, but it’s as much your choice as it is mine. Perry gave me the job. I’m gonna do it.”
Easy for you to say, he thought between two incredibly knitted eyebrows, you don’t know what it’s like to see a punk trying to steal your girlfriend.
Clark was still glaring at your computer when you glanced over your shoulder, swatting his hip. He startled. “Huh?”
You giggled softly and jerked your chin in the direction of your monitor. “You’re frying my server, honey.”
Clark looked at your desk to find he’d projected enough radiation in his glare to make your computer start smoking. He flushed red as a cherry and circled around to his desk, sitting quickly to hide his mortification.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
The Eugene dilemma has been causing him ridiculous amounts of undue stress. All he did was worry if the kid would try to make a move on you, or worse, if you’d find something in him worth admiring. You were such a lovey type, always so willing to see the good in people and fall in love with their humor or speech or smiles; it made you gullible and usually heartbroken by the end, and while Clark adored your open heart, he was intent on shielding it from abuse. He simply couldn’t stop worrying.
Chloe had concocted a helper for him when stuff like this happened. With the hormone inhibitors she cracked through some serious studies on red kryptonite alongside Emile in the Watchtower, he found that in manageable doses, Clark could take it for his anxiety. It would work the same as a Xanax, offering him short term relief, but she had been careful to extract the addictive genes in the crystal so he couldn’t get hooked on the medication. It was entirely safe for fast-acting results, and fast-acting was what he desperately needed.
You were sitting back in your desk chair, fiddling with a pencil and reading over a draft Eugene had written. You gave him a scoop under Perry’s nose, insisting you could get it published if he got it done in time– you were trying to give him a leg up, because you were just that kind of person. But Eugene was perched on the edge of your desk, watching you proof it, and cracking jokes. Every few minutes, hidden in the corner by the water cooler, Clark could see you tip your head back in laughter as if the copyboy was the second coming of George Carlin. Sometimes you’d grin with all your teeth, sometimes you’d sit up to show him what you marked in red, and the rest of the time you sat patiently and gave his work all your attention, preciously oblivious to the fact that the kid was absolutely staring down your cleavage. Clark just couldn’t take the stress anymore. He fished the little tin of pills out of his pocket and popped one, washing it down with the plastic-tinged water from the cooler, and he took a deep breath.
Fast-acting was no joke. An instant calm settled over him like a blanket, releasing the tension in his back and neck, and his lungs felt full for the first time in two weeks. He felt so good that he walked right over and stood beside your chair.
“Hi, bunny,” he grinned, eyes glinting. “Hey, Cunningham.”
The copyboy straightened a bit, glancing up the two feet Clark towered over him with. “Hello, Mr. Kent.”
Clark cocked his head and said, “It’s rude to sit on people’s desks, has anyone ever told you that?”
You fumbled the story in your lap and set it askew on the desk, laughing awkwardly and sitting up straight. “Clark!” you reached to pat his leg, throwing him a side-eye. “Did you need something, honey?”
Clark stared at Eugene until the kid got the hint and stood up, scratching his burning neck. Then, he leaned down, capturing your chin between his thumb and finger, and he laid one big kiss right on your mouth where everyone in the bullpen could see. You let out a hum of surprise, but succumbed to the softness of his lips for the few seconds it lasted. When he pulled away, you blinked as if you were Tom, and Jerry just wacked you over the head with a loving frying pan.
“Just that,” he murmured, drawing back and walking away, hanging a left out of the doors toward the elevators. Where he was going, you had no idea, but you certainly watched him leave.
Eugene coughed a bit, snapping you out of it. He asked, “I forgot you mentioned that you two were, um… together.”
You felt heat creep under your skin and nodded, gathering his story up again. “Oh, yes. Very much so.”
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“That kid’s got it bad,” Lois nudged your elbow, passing you a piece of gum. “I’d be careful.”
You pouted, unwrapping the foil and placing the minty stuff on your tongue. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Does it look like I’m giving him signals? I’m very professional! And I talk about Clark all the time!”
Lois propped her chin in her hand and shrugged, watching closely at the spectacle across the room. Clark was struggling, with gritted teeth and many squeezes of the nose bridge, to show Eugene how to reboot the old desktops. The poor guy had never looked so miserable with any task in his life. “That’s not the point. It’s not you, it’s them. Men. They want what they want.”
“That’s stupid,” you grumbled, stirring your tea with its own bag. Your lunch sat half-eaten next to Lois’. You lost your appetite when the whole thing came up again. “He’s just a kid.”
“A nerdy kid who probably has no idea what to do around women,” she lilted, smacking her gum like it amused her to watch you cringe. “Seriously, if he brings you any coffee, don’t drink it. He looks like the kind to buy a love potion off the street.”
You whined softly and buried your face in your arms, resting on her desk. “This is all so juvenile. Even Clark won’t let it go.”
“Shocker. Guy who loves emotional self-flaggelation doesn’t want to let go of his pretty girlfriend getting flirted into oblivion.”
“It is not oblivion! He’s not flirting!”
Lois ruffled the crown of your head. “Sure he isn’t, cutie.”
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
In hindsight, it was a very bad idea and you’d probably be very angry with him later, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He’d pocketed the lipstick as a backup. A hail mary, if you will. He wasn’t even planning on using it. It just seemed like a smart move when you swiped on that red shade this morning. But when the opportunity presented itself…
It was all Eugene’s fault, anyway. The kid was stupid enough to try. What was Clark supposed to do?
If only you weren’t so quick to laugh. You just burst into these fits of sweet, sing-song laughter at the stupidest jokes, jokes that wouldn’t be funny to anyone but you in a million lifetimes, and it was as endearing as it was agonizing lately. Eugene liked to make you laugh, especially because it made you stumble. You would clutch to a chair or wall when you giggled yourself unsteady. That was his chance. Clark knew because he used the same tricks.
Today, Clark had taken two pills, which made him a bit overly free, but not so free he felt like stealing a motor vehicle. He was so anxious he wasn’t sleeping, so he had to double down. He only insulted Perry by accident, accidentally dented the elevator door, and told the hot dog cart guy down on the street that relish was a hoax by Big Condiments to make pickles unappetizing– y’know, normal red kryptonite behavior. As it stood now, he was tapping his foot in his chair and trying to remember that getting up to throttle Eugene’s skinny little neck in front of distinguished colleagues would be a very bad idea and was the work of the drugs. But there you were, laughing, and he couldn’t fight the effects off.
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t hysterical enough for you to stumble into the copier, but you were sunshine on weak legs anyway. Clark watched in slow motion as Eugene’s hands shot to your waist to steady you, fingertips sinking into the pillowy skin shielded by only your sweater, and that broke the last straw on his hulking camel-back.
You wiped at your eye between cackles as Clark suddenly appeared beside you, tugging you free from the copyboy’s hands and righting you. You drew in a hiccuping breath and beamed at Clark. “Oh, Clarkie! You missed it, Eugene just said the silliest thing about relish–”
“You have to be more careful, bunny, you almost fell,” he chided softly, kissing your cheek and watching the way the kid shifted uncomfortably at the show of affection. It made his chest buzz with pride. He added curtly, “She can help herself. No need to touch, kid.”
“Oh, stop it. I can be a klutz sometimes, you know that,” you faltered, collecting yourself.
Clark used your distracted glance towards the trainee to tuck his hand into his pants pocket and pull out the silver tube. The one you applied before work was silver, too, and you didn’t use this one all that often– only on nights when Clark felt like being a little bad– so he hoped you wouldn’t notice. “Here, sweetheart, you smeared your lipstick.”
You turned back, seeing his thoughtful gesture and softening right up. “Oh! Gosh, thank you,” you blushed, wiping the corners of your lips with two fingers. “Can’t look a mess, can I?”
Clark hummed happily and watched with rapt attention as you uncapped the lipstick and smeared it right on. Eugene shifted on his feet once more before slipping away from the copier, uncomfortable even mere feet from Clark. The reporter saw him leave, debating whether making his pants smoke would be worth the suspension. When he glanced back, you were staring up at him with pupils big as dimes.
“Clarkie,” you purred, tossing the lipstick onto the nearest desk– he quickly snatched it up, damage control– and threw your arms around his neck. Clark didn’t resist your hungry kiss, and was wholeheartedly relieved when you dragged him out of the bullpen doors down the hall to the phone booth.
Despite the fumbling to squeeze inside, you wrangled the door shut and attacked him with kisses. The red kryptonite lacing that makeup was not the same stuff in the pills, and the chemical surge that overrode his veins lit his nerve endings up like Christmas. It was another invention of Chloe’s (like taking a gummy, it would wear off shortly, but had a much more intensive high) and was strictly reserved for the house, but Clark had broken the rule now. It was a dumb rule anyway. He shoved you up against the wooden wall and groaned needily, sliding his palms under your sweater to reach the searing skin.
You squeaked and arched into his touch, gasping for air as his teeth scraped down your plush collarbone. Your brain struggled through the fuzz to ask, “Y-you used… the special lipstick… didn’t you?”
Clark grunted like an animal, taken with the fact you were coherent enough to figure it out. In fact, he felt you needed to match his level. The reporter dragged his wet lips across the valley of your neck, rooting for the tube again and unearthing it from his pocket. When he pulled away, he tugged on your arm and smiled down at you, flashing his sharp teeth. He shoved your sleeve up with haste.
Your glazing eyes blinked slowly while you tried to steady yourself. “What were you thinking?”
Clark twisted the makeup up and pressed the flat, crimson edge to your forearm; in hurried and careless letters, he spelled C-L-A-R-K. “You’re mine, bunny, and that kid should know it,” he cooed, “that’s what I was thinking.”
The toxins seeped right through your skin, suddenly everything burned a million degrees, and you were aching with a desire that had you nearly collapsing to the phone booth floor. Clark laughed as you flung yourself at him, lips and teeth gnashing, and he wasted no time working his hand down your pants.
From the outside, nobody could be sure what was happening inside the phone booth. It was soundproofed for journalist-source confidentiality, seeing as so many anonymous tips were called in directly to the Planet. The glass was frosted, too, on every pane, because the booth was decades old and still carried the styles of the original building. Now and again there would sound a growl or a yelp from inside, and it seemed to shake every so often, but nobody dared get close enough to investigate. They knew better than to pry when they saw Kent and his well-written girlfriend go anywhere together.
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Almost an hour later, you sat back down at your desk to find it covered in neon sticky notes full of phone messages, and a cup of coffee which had a note scribbled on it in a familiar script: YOU’RE LUCKY I COVERED, FREAK! Lois had even been generous enough to leave a half-eaten donut behind, too. Good thing. You would need the sustenance.
The lipstick still stained your arm, but with your sweater sleeve down, no one would know. You cleaned up alright, save for the wild back of your head. Clark, on the other hand, was always a flushed mess after a quickie (if an hour was quick), and his hair and tie and shirt all showed the rumpled signs. He came to sit at his desk across from yours a few minutes later, totally discreet and unsuspicious, rubbing at a red stain near his ear. He grinned at you like an idiot as he sat down, until he hissed, and you had to hide a laugh. Sensitive, you teased silently. You handed him your coffee without a word.
And when the copyboy Eugene came up to you a little while later to ask a question about the copier, you stood up and gave him a hand, just to see Clark’s mouth fall open all over again. Now you were aware of the game, and thought you might play a little. It was only fair.
zuko was the fire lord. a man honed to be entrusted with an entire nation. a man who not only had the ability to lead adequately, but also to speak adequately.
it was rare to get the fire lord into a weak, stuttering mess, but you could do it with just a quick, sultry word or a simple clench of your body.
"fuck," zuko cursed, long strands of black hair falling over his face as he hooked your legs over his shoulders.
he was fucking you so thoroughly, so deep, making sure you felt every agonizing inch. he made sure his cock kissed your cervix with every creak of the large bed in the center of his chambers.
"that's it—my sweet wife," he rasped, his face twisted in sheer pleasure. "gonna fill you up real good. fill you up deep with fire lord seed."
your eyes rolled back in pleasure, toes curling over his shoulders. he always had such a way with words.
"god—zuko!"
"yes, that's it," he breathed. "cry for me, wife. let me hear—"
he choked on his own breath as you suddenly tightened around him, a small, needy whimper breaking from your throat.
"l-let me—fuck, i mean—y-you're so—" zuko scrambled to find his words, his face burning with crimson that had nothing to do with his firebending.
he tried to push back into you, but his hips were moving just as messily as his tongue tripped over itself.
"i'm going to—we're—d-don't look at me like that."
he was embarassed.
the great fire lord, commander of armies and ruler of a global empire, was currently stuck suspended over you, trembling and stuttering like the awkward man you knew before and loved.
"zuzu?"
"i—i am commanding you to—to ignore that," he stuttered again, his voice cracking as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
this was going to be a long night for the poor fire lord.
adult!fire lord zuko x fire lady reader | contains smut | mdni. | wc: 2,9K
summary: in which diplomacy is temporarily interrupted because the Fire Lord and Fire Lady are terrible at pretending they can keep their hands off each other.
content: adult zuko, established relationship, post-canon atla, royal event, fluff, explicit sexual content [kneeling/oral (m/f & f/m), desk sex & couch/divan sex, mutual climax, aftercare], risk of being caught, zuko steams, semi-public, praise, humor, gaang mentions.
note: no proofread!we die like men, and I just really wanted to post it so will take a look at it tomorrow. — title inspired by ‘hold tight’ by sabrina carpenter. fulfilling this request! xx
It took longer for you to undo the ties of your formal court robes than it did for Zuko to pull his cock free from beneath his own.
You stroked him a couple of times, looking up at him from between his thighs taking a second to catch your breath.
“You know, we need a better signal for these types of things,” you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes. “If you keep waiting for me to circle back to you, we’re doomed for the rest of the banqueting season.”
“We already agreed on a signal,” he said, letting out a low moan as you licked him from base to tip. You took the head of his cock into your mouth for a swift second before pulling off with a pop.
“Which was…?” You brought both hands into play, stroking him. You were sure the slick noises were barely audible over the noise of the grand hall outside the doors.
He reached down, tugging the lobe of your ear with hardly any force. “The ear tug.”
“I didn’t see you! We have to think of another one.”
“Yeah... let me think,” he rasped, his hand moving to the nape of your neck to guide you back toward his length.
Under his firm grip, you bobbed your head, supporting his weight with one hand while tasting every inch of him. From this angle, he was breathtaking: his robes were an absolute mess, but the gold shoulder plates of his outer coat made his shoulders look even broader. His eyes flicked down to meet yours, his mouth parted, making no effort to hold back the moans spilling past his lips.
You kept going, gripping him tight and using your hand to complement the thrusts into your mouth, right up until his hand tightened in your hair and pulled your head back.
“Not yet. Get up,” he growled, gesturing toward his large desk.
You obeyed, gathering the slick beaded pre-cum from the corner of your mouth with a tip of your finger. “But we have to be back in—”
“Aang is currently trying to convince the Earth Kingdom delegates not to pull out of the council,” Zuko interjected, his voice thick. “I saw Katara on her way to bail him out. That gives us ten minutes, minimum.”
You licked your finger clean. “I like your math. Plus, Sokka is even chattier than usual after three cups of fermented plum wine… That’s another ten minutes right there. If we hurry, we can—”
Zuko shut you up with a kiss, his hands gripping your hips to lift you onto the edge of the desk. Before you could even catch your breath, he pushed you back until you were lying flat against the cool surface.
His hand cupped the side of your breast through your loosened dress. His lips trailed down the column of your neck, down to your chest, kissing one breast while massaging the other. He lavished his tongue over your hardened nipples like a man starved, alternating between them until you were writhing.
“I love to hear you talk,” he said against your skin, “but I love hearing you moan for me even more.”
He tracked a trail of fiery kisses down your abdomen, hooking his arms under your knees to spread your legs wide until he was kneeling between them. Without wasting another second, he dove straight for your center.
“Agni…” you gasped, your back arching off the hard desk. “Mm, I love—fuck taking a break!”
“Mhm…” he hummed against your heat. The vibration forced your hands to scramble for purchase on the edge of the desk, recklessly scattering parchment and official seals in the process.
Your whimpers only encouraged him. Zuko pinned you steady with a heavy arm across your lower abdomen. His free hand drove two fingers deep inside you, slipping in and out in tandem with the punishing work of his tongue against your clit.
He was rsdiating heat. His breath burned sweet against your skin, his eyes locking with yours through the haze of pleasure, absolutely devoted. You reached down to touch his face, carefully avoiding his hair; the golden Fire Lord crown was still pinned into his formal topknot, holding the half-updo required for the gala you’d just escaped.
Seeing how desperate you were becoming, Zuko suddenly pulled away and straightened up.
“What…?” you pleaded, already missing the heat of him.
“You forget,” he said, a smirk pulling at his lips. “If you want something, all you have to do is ask.”
He reached up, unclasping the Fire Lord crown and pulling the gold pin from his topknot, letting his dark hair fall loose around his shoulders. He shed the heavy red tunic of his state attire, tossing it aside to reveal just his dark under shirt and loose trousers, his cloth belt already untied.
“Wouldn’t want anything getting in the way of the Fire Lady.”
“In that case, lose the shirt already,” you panted, propping yourself up on your forearms. “Oh, maybe that could be the signal. You fixing your collar or undoing a button…”
“I don't think you'd notice that from across a crowded banquet hall,” he teased, unbuttoning his shirt. “Unless you’re always watching me?”
You slid a hand down and circled your own clit a few times under his gaze, making a deep flush creep up his neck to his cheeks.
“I am always watching you, Zu.”
“We wouldn’t even be in this room if it weren’t for my discreet whispers in your ear between greeting dignitaries,” he murmured, leaning down to press a single peck to your clit. “But keep brainstorming…”
He took his shirt off, dropping it somewhere in the study alongside the rest of his discarded attire, and stepped right back into position between your thighs.
The light of the moon, streaming through the grand window behind him, illuminated the flex of his broad, muscular back, highlighting the faint battle scars across his skin as he leaned over you.
His mouth resumed its wicked attack. Without the crown in the way, you finally held Zuko close, burying your fingers deep into his hair.
“Zu—Spirits! Don't stop…”
You pulled his head even closer, rolling your hips into every stroke of his tongue until you were unraveled. The climax hit you hard, shattering your composure as you cried out his name into the empty study.
With a final and lingering kiss to your belly button, Zuko worked his way back up your body, capturing your gasps in a tasting kiss as your high slowly began to settle.
Your hand cupped his cheek, breathless. “I really think now we should—oh!”
Without a word of warning, Zuko scooped you effortlessly off the desk. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and hooked your arms over his shoulders, the remnants of your formal dress draping over his forearms.
“Maybe you could just shout,” he suggested, carrying you across the room.
You laughed. “I don’t think screaming your name is very discreet, Fire Lord,” you teased, pushing a stray lock of dark hair from his eye. “It might attract a little attention.”
“Yes, but…” He lowered you onto the plush divan in the corner of his study, his usual spot for informal tea and private council. “…it would be effective. You could just pretend you dropped something.”
You watched him kick his trousers, your eyes tracking the movement of his hands as he stroked his length.
“I drop things all the time. How would you know which stumble is a signal and which is just me being clumsy?”
“Easy,” he said, kneeling on the divan and straddling your thighs. He gave his cock a few pumps that made your mouth water. “If you drop something more than three times in five minutes, it’s definitely a signal.”
You shook your head, a smile breaking through when he leaned down to kiss you, positioning his head at your slick entrance.
“Everyone would make fun of me,” you whispered against his lips, guiding his tip to your center.
“Next thing you know, the High Council will be debating the Fire Lady's tragic lack of coordination.”
He chuckled and pushed inside you in one deep slide.
Both of your moans were muffled together as your lips locked. When he began to move, you could have sworn he was even larger than before. You were so tight around him, wringing sounds from his chest with every heavy thrust.
Zuko leaned his weight onto his hands on either side of your head, his face burying into the crook of your neck as his pace picked up. You closed your eyes, your hands gripping the skin they could find like his back and shoulders, your nails digging in hard enough to leave marks as he drove you wild.
He moved, grabbing both of your legs and hooking them over his shoulders. He thrust once, twice… so hard and so deep that a loud scream escaped your throat before you could stop it.
“Fire Lord?”
Your eyes flew open. You slammed a hand over your mouth. Zuko froze, towering over you.
Normally, if an attendant interrupted, he’d quickly bring you to a hand finish, help you smooth down your clothes, and play the stoic ruler.
Instead, his eyes locked onto yours, and he drove his hips forward in another thrust.
Your eyes squeezed shut, your hand pressing against your lips to muffle the cry that tore from your throat.
“Fire Lord, are you in there?” the attendant called out, knocking.
“Zuko,” you whimpered against your palm, “maybe we should—ah!”
Another deep roll of his hips. You bit down on your hand. Outside, the knocking stopped.
“I’m not stopping,” Zuko stated in a whisper. “Not yet.”
“… Fire Lady?” came another voice from the hallway.
Zuko kept up a merciless pace, giving you just enough time between dragging thrusts to keep from screaming aloud. The only sound in the dimly lit private study was the slap of skin against skin and the heavy sound of his breathing. The fullness of him inside you was overwhelming, to say the least.
“They’re not in there,” the first attendant's voice said.
“They’re probably in the grand kitchen. The Fire Lady mentioned wanting spiced plum cake earlier. Let’s check there..”
The footsteps faded down the corridor. With the threat gone, Zuko lost all restraint. He seized your hips with both hands, pounding into you with force, watching the exact point where his body met yours. You rolled your head back.
When he finally pulled out, he reached down and grabbed your hand, hauling you up into his lap. He caught you in a messy kiss, his hands massaging your hips with a eager heat.
“I could send an attendant to fetch you,” you panted, resting your forehead against his as you sat straddling his lap. “Something official, but not suspicious.”
He stroked your thigh, encouraging you.
You took hold of his cock, guiding him back to your slick entrance, lowering yourself down his length.
“That’s good,” he rasped, his fingers digging into your waist as you took him all the way in. “We could use a code word... Like, ‘The Fire Lord requires a delivery of fire flakes.’”
You stopped mid-motion, looking at him incredulously.
“Are you serious? I’m riding you right now and you’re thinking about snack food?”
Zuko let out a laugh, his hands urging your hips to move. You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips as you began a rolling rhythm on his lap, swallowing his groan with your mouth.
“I can’t think straight when you’re close to me,” he admitted, eyes half closed.
“That’s a bit of a problem considering we’re married,” you teased, setting a rhythm that made his head fall back against the divan. “And I happen to like being close to you. Exhibit A…”
His hands roamed over your bare skin. His heat was rising, radiating from his skin like an oven.
You picked up the pace, riding him harder, feeling the coil in your gut tighten to a snapping point.
Zuko’s hands clamped tight onto your waist, guiding your movements, his hips snapping up to meet yours.
“Spirits… right there!” you gasped, tossing your head back.
He let out a growl against your neck, his thrusts becoming erratic. The friction was electric. You came around him, your internal muscles pulsing tightly against his length, which pushed him over the edge.
With a groan, Zuko poured himself inside you. The sudden release sent a wave of heat rushing through his veins, steam rose off his shoulders and chest in the cool night air of the study.
He held you against his chest, both of your heartbeats hammering together in the quiet room as the steam dissipated, leaving you collapsed against him in blissful exhaustion.
He didn't pull away or rush to sit up. Instead, his fingers trailed lazily up and down the curve of your bare spine, pressing tender kisses to the top of your head, your temple, and finally your lips.
“You okay?” he whispered against your ear.
“More than okay,” you hummed, pressing your face into the still warm crook of his neck. “Though we’re going to be hopelessly late getting back…”
“Let them wait,” Zuko said, his smile pressing into your collarbone. He smoothed back a lock of hair from your forehead, his thumb resting on your cheekbone with an understated tenderness. “I’m in no hurry to go back out there.”
For a few quiet minutes, you stayed wrapped in each other's body. Yours naturally rocked against his in slow pulses, savoring the friction and radiant heat of him inside you, enjoying the rare stillness away from the overwhelming demands of the court.
Zuko sat up, taking your hand to help you gather your discarded robes. There was no desperate scramble at all, he helped you drape the heavy silk back over your shoulders, his fingers taking their time to tie the intricate waist sashes for you. You returned the favor, leaning in to replace the golden flame coronet into his topknot and smoothing down the structured collar of his coat.
As your fingers touched his tunic, you looked up into his eyes and double tapped the flame crest embroidered on his collar.
Zuko raised his eyebrow.
“What’s that?”
“Our signal,” you whispered, smiling with pride. “Next time we're stuck at one of these long banquets, I’ll find a way to walk past you and double tap your crest just like this. It means you have ten minutes to clear your schedule, find a private room, and wait for me.”
Zuko’s lips curved into a smirk, he reached up to cover your hand with his own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“Consider your signal officially approved.”
Before you could kiss him again, three loud knocks rattled the doors of the study.
“Hey, guys!” Sokka’s booming voice carried right through the thick wood. “Aang’s speech went great, Katara didn’t have to freeze anyone, and I’ve successfully eaten my weight in Fire Nation food! But the delegates are asking where their hosts ran off to!”
You both looked at the door, then back at each other.
“...Unless you two are doing 'official Fire Nation business' in there? Because if you’re making me stall the Earth Kingdom council by myself, I’m drinking the rest of the good plum wine!”
Zuko closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
“We’ll be right out, Sokka!” you called back, trying to keep a laugh out of your voice.
“Take your time! Just make sure your crown isn’t crooked, Zuko!” Sokka teased, his fading footsteps echoing down the hallway alongside his triumphant laughter.
You giggled. As for Zuko, instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer.
“Ready to face the court?” he asked, his thumb trailing a path over the inside of your wrist.
You turned your head, pressing your lips in a touch right to the sharp angle of his jaw.
“Anything for you, Fire Lord.”
Zuko’s breath hitched. His gaze dropped to your mouth.
“Is it too soon for you to tap my crest?”
note: hii!! sorry for going mia 🫶 i’ve been busy as usual, and on top of that i’ve had a lot of family events lately. i wanted to post this as a little thank you for being so patient while i disappeared.
next up will be the too little too late-inspired one shot, which i’m super excited about!! hope you liked this one! thank you so much for reading and for all your support. xx
🏷️my dear taglist (based off your approval in the last whaletail island series - always open!xx): @highlady0239 @xoxocelestial @eepypupy @maee67 @keropiiko @yeonatingz @magnificentlyrainythunder @solarlovesxyz
Clark Kent who creams his pants almost immediately after touching you.
He’s spent the better half of a year yearning for you, so when he’s got you in his lap, grinding on his rock hard cock through your panties and his work pants, he lets out a couple of whimpers, his face scrunched up, and makes an absolute mess of his boxers.
If anyone has any smutty blurb requests pls send them my way?
Clark who, after the tiniest of interactions with you, has to go jerk off in the bathroom before he literally jizzes his pants in the middle of the office.
He's locked himself in the bathroom, his breathing quick and labored.
He glances down at the tent in his pants, his cock painfully hard, and he groans, grabbing his face in his hands.
He can’t believe that just a conversation with you got him this aroused.
And now he has to fix it.
He shouldn't. He shouldn't even be thinking about it. He hates that this happens every time he talks to you. He wishes he was better than this, but he can't help it. He just likes you so much.
He tries to push down the guilt he feels by rationalizing that if he doesn't do this, he'll be hard all day in the office and everyone will see. It's not just him jerking off, it's him solving a problem so he can go back to work. Right?
He hastily undoes his pants, his heart beating hard and fast, more blood rushing south at the promise of release.
He pushes his pants and his boxers down, just past his hips, and his cock springs free. The tip is a dark, angry red, precum smeared over it. He spits on his hand before wrapping it around himself, feeling the way his cock throbs with need, and he starts out slow.
He feels guilty every time he does this, mostly because it makes him think about you and that makes him feel like a huge pervert. But he really can't help himself.
He likes the way you did your makeup today. The soft gloss on your lips was shiny and it smelled sweet, and he imagines it smearing on his cock while you suck him off.
He groans quietly. You'd look so pretty on your knees, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes, your mascara smudging as tears fall down your face.
He squeezes himself harder, jerking faster. Droplets of precum spill from him, landing on the floor. “Fuck,” he hisses quietly.
That skirt you're wearing is so pretty. He'd have it bunched around your waist, holding it there with one hand as he ate you out. Or maybe you'd let him hide under your desk, that skirt concealing his head while he lapped at your sweet pussy in the middle of the office.
His cock twitches in his hand, that searing heat in his lower abdomen growing unbearable, winding tight.
And that blouse of yours…fuck, he'd pop open the top buttons, just enough for your tits to spill out. He wants to bury his face in them, leave marks over their soft skin. He wants to suck on your nipples and bite them until the sensitive peaks are swollen. He wants to spill his cum on them and then lick it off. He wants to watch them bounce as you ride him, watch them jiggle as he fucks you…
Clark braces one hand on the wall as he jerks himself faster and harder with the other. Fuck, he's gonna come.
He can imagine your beautiful face caught in ecstasy, that perfect mouth open as you moan and gasp his name. He can imagine your soft thighs wrapped around his waist, your pussy tight and wet as he fucks into her.
You'd sound so sweet when you’d come, you'd look so beautiful. And you'd feel so good, wet gummy walls wrapped around him snugly and milking him. He'd fill you with his cum, spill all of it in you until it's dripping out of you. He'd keep you full of it until you got swollen with his baby. He'd make you his. Completely his.
He grunts, gasping as he comes, the white, sticky ropes of his release spilling onto his hand, coating the wall, dribbling down to the floor.
He's shaking from the force of his orgasm, sweat beading on his brow. It takes him a minute to come down, but when he does he's immediately cleaning the mess, embarrassed and guilty.
He walks out of the bathroom, his cheeks tainted a faint pink, and he hopes he manages the rest of the day without having to get off while thinking of you again.
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
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𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
