when FIRELORD ZUKO takes a liking to AVATAR AANG'S mysterious new BRIDE.
TORN BETWEEN TWO ROADS ! — aang x reader x zuko
PLOT. republic city is finally at peace, and for once, katara allows herself to hope—maybe now, after everything, she and aang can finally become something real. but when aang returns after eight months, he isn’t alone. he comes back with you at his side, introducing you as his wife. suspicious yet helpless, his friends do their best to welcome you, even as nothing about this sudden marriage makes sense. but while everyone else keeps their distance, one person doesn’t. and perhaps Zuko gets a little too comfortable with the avatar’s new wife.
CHARACTERS. AANG and ZUKO.
CHAPTER WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, angst, bad father, takes place 10 years after atla, age gaps, reader is 21, established relationship, fem reader, atla spoilers, no spoilers for legend of aang, not proofread.
(please check the story masterlist for the story warnings.)
WC. 5.2k
masterlist : story masterlist
chapter nine
a/n: if you hated the last chapter, you will despise this one.
When Gen had left, your mind had wandered everywhere except toward your rescue. You had not stood there praying for Aang or your father to find you.
The pain spreading through your body had already become too large to fight directly, and so your thoughts had drifted elsewhere, searching for anything that could keep you awake long enough to survive it.
You had thought about the estate.
About the servants whispering in the kitchens once the truth reached them, their voices trembling between disbelief and horror because Gen had belonged to this household nearly his entire life.
He had grown up beneath the same rooftops, moved through the same halls, earned the manor's trust so completely that everyone had stopped noticing he was only a servant.
The younger maids smiled whenever he spoke to them. Even your father had once claimed the boy carried more discipline than men twice his age.
You had wondered what would happen when all of that shattered.
How would they look at him once they learned what those careful hands had done to you?
How would they reconcile the image of the calm, obedient boy who stood beside your brother throughout his life with the man who had stripped the daughter of the house of her dignity only hours later?
Your thoughts had circled every possibility.
Perhaps your father would have him arrested and dragged through the streets in chains so the people of Hujiang could spit at his feet.
Perhaps the guards would beat him bloody before throwing him beyond the city walls.
Perhaps your father himself would put a sword through his throat and send him into the afterlife, praying your brother's spirit would finish what remained.
Those thoughts had kept you conscious while your arms started to numb and the night began to fall. They had given you something to hold onto until Aang finally found you.
Yet the truth standing before you now looked nothing like the vengeance you had imagined.
The crack of the slap still rang inside your skull.
Your head had snapped to the side from the force of it, the taste of iron flooding your mouth while heat spread across your cheek.
For a moment, you could only stare at the ground beneath you, unable to understand what had just happened, because your father had never struck you before.
Not once in your life.
Slowly, your eyes lifted toward him, burning with tears that refused to stay contained because you had to swallow the bitter reality.
This was his reaction.
Not rage for what had been done to you, but only fury directed at you for daring to speak it aloud.
This was how he reacted to speaking your truth?
The moment your father spoke of Gen informing them of what had transpired, the very last thing you expected was to see Gen himself descend from one of the carriages moments later.
He looked devastated.
His eyes appeared swollen red beneath the torchlight while his trembling hands clutched tightly around the silks that had once covered your body, the same robes he himself had stripped from you hours earlier before abandoning them purposefully along the roads leading away from the marketplace.
The sight alone made something cold twist inside your stomach.
Then your father looked toward him, and in that instant, you understood.
Gen had already spoken first.
"He informed us that you and the Avatar had disappeared together for several hours!" Your father continued sharply, his voice lowered to avoid carrying toward all who stood nearby though the anger beneath it was undoubtedly heard by everyone/
"When neither of you returned at the promised hour, he set out searching for you himself. He claims he discovered your discarded robes abandoned along the roadside."
Your lips parted weakly as you attempt to defend yourself.
"That is not true..." You whispered.
Your father barely seemed to hear you.
"He returned to the estate in distress," he pressed on. "Terrified that harm had come upon you."
Harm.
The word nearly made you ill.
Because Gen had indeed looked distressed when he approached you within the marketplace earlier that afternoon.
Panic had covered his expression so convincingly that concern seized you immediately the moment he reached your side, his voice hurried beneath the noise of the crowded merchant streets.
You could barely understand half the words leaving him.
He had kept glancing over his shoulder anxiously while insisting he needed to speak to you somewhere quieter. And when his hand wrapped urgently around your wrist to guide you away from the crowds, suspicion never once crossed your mind.
Not even once.
You remembered turning your head instinctively toward where Aang still stood nearby helping a merchant, ready to call out to him before following Gen any farther.
Then everything had happened at once.
Gen's hand hand covered your mouth, a cloth pressing against your face.
The unfamiliar scent had flooded your lungs that had made panic explode instantly through your body.
You had struggled desperately against him.
For nearly a full minute, you fought to pull free while your vision blurred unevenly around the crowded marketplace surrounding you both. Through the narrow opening between buildings, you could still see Aang searching frantically nearby, confusion already settling across his face upon noticing your disappearance.
You remembered trying to scream.
Trying to force your body toward him despite Gen's grip tightening harder each second.
Despite the ruckus, no one around you noticed.
The marketplace remained alive with merchants shouting over one another and customers crowding the stalls, far too distracted by entertainment and trade to pay attention to one frightened woman being dragged into a secluded alleyway.
You held onto hope for as long as you could.
Hope that Aang would look toward you, that he would notice.
Hope that he would turn around before the darkness swallowing your vision consumed you entirely.
But the last thing you remembered seeing before consciousness abandoned you was Aang disappearing farther into the marketplace searching for you in the wrong direction.
Everything after only came to you in fragments. You had felt the rough texture of an old robe being thrown over your body. The overwhelming dizziness stealing strength from your limbs.
And the horrible awareness of yourself being lifted helplessly onto one of the ostrich-horses, your unconscious body slumped against the very man who had done this to you.
Every part of it had been Gen.
Aang's attention remained fixed upon you even after your father pulled you away from his side.
Something about the way Lord Shuren held you unsettled him deeply.
The older man's grip appeared far too harsh against someone already struggling to remain upright, and when you stumbled slightly due to the exhaustion weighing your body down, Aang instinctively stepped forward.
"Wait—! She can barely walk—"
His movement halted almost immediately once Prince Jinhai had stepped into his path.
The two guards accompanying the prince positioned themselves silently at either side of him while torchlight they held flickered across polished armor and embroidered royal silks, casting long shadows against the dirt roads.
"This has become a rather unfortunate turn of events." Prince Jinhai remarked calmly.
Aang reluctantly dragged his attention away from you, though even while facing the prince, his concern kept pulling toward where Lord Shuren had taken you farther beside the carriages.
"Is she going to be okay?" He asked honestly.
The question seemed to catch Prince Jinhai entirely off guard.
For the first time since Aang had met him, the carefully composed stoicism cracked across the prince's face before a brief laugh escaped him in genuine disbelief.
"It appears the two of you have grown rather close within a remarkably short amount of time." he observed, amusement still lingering faintly beneath his words.
"Though perhaps you remain unaware that the lady is my betrothed."
"I know she is," Aang answered immediately. "And I'm not trying to—" He stopped himself with visible frustration before correcting his words properly.
"I admire her. She's kind, and she helped me when she really didn't have to. But that's all."
That response seemed to surprise Prince Jinhai further. The prince studied him carefully before speaking once more, his amusement now subtle though no less formal.
"Then I confess myself somewhat confused."
Aang frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I had understood Air Nomads to practice celibacy until marriage." Prince Jinhai continued thoughtfully.
"Though I suppose your rather tragic circumstances may have altered certain customs over time."
Aang immediately disliked the direction of the conversation. Still, he forced himself to remain silent.
"Even so," the prince continued, "the lady ought to have exercised greater restraint despite her existing betrothal. This entire matter is deeply unfortunate for all involved."
Aang's confusion sharpened instantly.
"What are you talking about?"
Prince Jinhai looked genuinely puzzled by the question itself.
"You fled together, did you not?" he asked plainly. "Surely I need not pretend ignorance regarding what occurred afterward."
Aang stared at him, then realization struck against him and anger surged instantly through his chest.
"What?!" he exclaimed. "No! I didn't touch her—"
The rest of his words vanished beneath the sharp crack of a slap echoing through the night air.
The sound had silenced everything.
Aang and Prince Jinhai turned at the exact same moment alongside nearly every guard surrounding the carriages, their attention snapping immediately toward the source of the strike echoing through the outskirts.
Your father still stood before you with his hand outstretched from the impact.
Meanwhile, you remained frozen several steps away from him, one trembling hand clutching your cheek while shock spread visibly across your face.
The force of the slap had nearly knocked you sideways, and in your disorientation, your weakened fingers instinctively loosened around the red robes wrapped tightly across your body.
The fabric slipped from your shoulders at once enough for the thin inner robes beneath to become visible, the delicate material clinging unevenly against your body while the bruises scattered across your throat and chest revealed themselves in cruel clarity before everyone present.
You saw your father's expression darken instantly at the sight.
It wasn't disbelief or horror that struck his countenance.
It was disgust.
The sneer curling faintly across his face struck harder than the slap itself.
Aang felt anger ripple through him instantly.
"Hey—!"
He moved without thinking.
The moment he stepped forward, Prince Jinhai's guards reacted immediately, both men crossing their spears sharply before him to block his path while the prince's calm voice followed only a second later.
"It would be wise not to interfere, Avatar Aang."
"He just hit her!" Aang snapped furiously, struggling against the crossed spears barring his path.
"Why aren't you stopping him?!"
Then his eyes caught movement near one of the carriages.
Gen.
The moment Aang saw him standing there clutching the discarded silks against his chest while avoiding everyone's eyes, something inside him twisted harshly making his snarl.
"You."
The word left him cold.
A burst of air exploded outward before either guard could react properly, the force sweeping both men entirely off their feet while their spears scattered uselessly across the dirt roads.
Several guards nearby shouted in alarm immediately, though Aang barely heard any of it while striding toward Gen with barely restrained fury.
Gen stepped backward instinctively.
Too late.
The earth beneath him had shifted with Aang's hands.
Stone and dirt surged upward around his ankles in one swift movement, hardening instantly around his legs before locking him firmly into place. Gen cried out sharply in panic the moment the earth constricted tighter around him, the sudden force wrenching him downward hard, making his collapse painfully onto his knees.
Aang stopped directly before him.
"You think you can do something like this and just stand here pretending to be innocent?!" He shouted, fury finally breaking openly through his voice.
"She trusted you!"
Gen looked genuinely terrified.
The silks slipped from his grasp entirely while fear overtook his expression, his hands clawing uselessly against the hardened earth trapping his legs in place.
"I—Avatar—I swear—"
"What exactly were you planning to tell them happened inside that house?" Aang demanded, stepping even closer.
"That she begged you to drag her there too?!"
"Release him at once, Avatar Aang!"
Lord Shuren's voice cut sharply through the chaos while he strode toward them from your side, fury and alarm both visible across his face.
Aang turned toward him in disbelief.
"Why?!" he exclaimed. "After what he did to your daughter, why would you want him walking free?!"
Lord Shuren stopped only a short distance away from Aang, anger still visible despite the effort he made to compose himself before the guards and the royal company surrounding them.
"That boy," he said sharply while motioning toward Gen's restrained form, "was the one who returned to the estate in panic once the two of you vanished. He came seeking aid while you remained absent for hours alongside my daughter."
Aang stared at him in disbelief.
"He was the one who—"
The words caught in his throat.
You stood only several feet away. Your trembling body, still wrapped in his robes, the bruises still fresh beneath them.
Aang could not force the words aloud while you remained there listening.
Then your voice broke through the silence instead.
"I speak the truth, Father. He was the one who touched me."
The words came quietly, trembling as if you already knew his response.
Tears continued slipping silently down your cheeks while your fingers clutched weakly around the slipping robes, your voice shaking harder with every word spoken toward the father refusing to look at you.
"Why will you not believe me?"
Shuren did not answer. Not even once did he turn toward you.
Several steps away, Prince Jinhai had approached closer during the confrontation to overhear everything despite Shuren's earlier attempts to keep the matter contained.
The prince remained silent, though the slight narrowing of his eyes revealed a genuine fracture in his calm composure.
Still, it was Shuren who spoke again.
"I do not know what precisely my daughter has told you," he said coldly toward Aang, "but that boy has served my household faithfully for years. She ought to know better than to cast such monstrous accusations upon him after being discovered in such circumstances."
Aang's anger spiked.
"She's not lying!"
"Release him."
"No."
The refusal came immediately.
Aang did not even hesitate.
The earth surrounding Gen's legs tightened instinctively beneath his anger, forcing another pained sound from the kneeling man.
Lord Shuren's face darkened even more.
"This is how the Avatar repays the hospitality shown to him within my estate?" He hissed.
"You call this hospitality?!" Aang shot back furiously. "Your daughter is standing right there telling you what happened to her, and you won't even listen!"
Shuren said nothing.
Since the confrontation began, uncertainty crossed his face for the first time while his attention shifted toward Gen kneeling helplessly in the dirt.
He refused to lift his head, his breathing uneven beneath the weight of every eye focused on him
Then Prince Jinhai finally stepped forward.
"Avatar Aang." he called calmly, and authority in his voice immediately quieted the surrounding tension.
"If the accusations prove true, the boy will not escape punishment."
Aang did not move, and Prince Jinhai continued regardless.
"However, if you continue restraining a citizen of Hujiang through force before witnesses without formal investigation, this matter shall become far uglier than it already is." His eyes settled briefly upon you before returning toward Aang once more.
"And I suspect the lady has suffered enough humiliation for one evening."
That seemed to reach him.
Aang's heart tightened as his anger visibly struggled against reason for several painful seconds before the earth surrounding Gen's legs finally loosened.
The earth cracked apart.
Gen collapsed forward into the dirt with a sharp gasp before quickly scrambling backward away from Aang, fear consuming him.
Lord Shuren wasted no time.
He strode directly toward you before taking hold of your arm firmly to pull you toward the carriage, ignoring the quiet sob escaping you at the movement.
You offered no resistance anymore, too exhausted to fight while he guided—nearly dragged—you toward the waiting carriage bearing your household crest.
Behind you, Gen shakily rose onto his feet before hurrying toward the second carriage after first bending down to retrieve your discarded silks laying forgotten.
You noticed it, and the sight made you sick.
Aang watched silently while the carriage doors shut behind you.
Only once the servants and guards finally began preparing for departure did he turn toward Prince Jinhai once more.
"You believe her, right?" He asked firmly.
Prince Jinhai remained quiet for a moment.
"The evidence upon her body was...difficult to ignore. As were the circumstances leading to tonight." He admitted at last.
Aang stepped closer.
"I turned my back for one second and she disappeared," he said, frustration heavy beneath every word.
"Hours later I tracked her here." He motioned sharply toward the abandoned house looming behind them beneath the darkness.
"And when I found her, she was chained to the wall."
That finally seemed to truly catch the prince's attention.
"The restraints are inside." Aang continued quickly.
"I broke them myself, but the chains are still there. Her wrists were bruised because of them."
Prince Jinhai said nothing. His attention stayed on the abandoned house before he finally exhaled quietly through his nose.
"...Very well," he said at last. "I shall look into this matter personally."
Then his expression settled back into his usual unreadable one once more.
"For now, we should return to Advisor Shuren's estate." He continued calmly,
Aang had been pacing outside Shuren's study for what felt like an endlessly long time.
The corridor surrounding remained silent beneath the late hour, save for the distant sounds of servants moving through the estate and the occasional shifting of guards stationed nearby. Lanternlight flickered softly against the floors while shadows stretched long across the walls each time Aang turned sharply during another restless pass down the corridor.
He could not stop thinking about you.
Every attempt to sit still had failed within seconds.
The image of you standing outside that abandoned house refused to leave him alone no matter how hard he tried forcing his thoughts elsewhere. Your shaking hands, the bruises scattered across your skin, the way your voice had broken when you spoke Gen's name—
Aang pressed both hands briefly against his face before exhaling sharply.
He wanted to check on you.
Spirits, he wanted nothing more than to make sure you were alright, though he already understood such a thing would never be permitted tonight. The moment you returned to the estate, servants and physicians had hurried you away toward your chambers while Lord Shuren disappeared alongside Prince Jinhai into the study without another word spoken toward him.
And Gen...
Aang frowned deeply.
Gen had returned to the estate much later than everyone else. Aang had noticed the second carriage arriving only shortly after he himself had entered the manor, though since then, the servant had seemingly vanished.
Aang wondered whether Gen stood inside the study now alongside them.
Whether he was still lying.
And whether Prince Jinhai believed him.
The pacing eventually slowed the longer the silence stretched behind the closed doors before finally halting the moment the study doors opened at last.
Prince Jinhai emerged first.
The prince paused briefly upon noticing Aang still lingering outside the chambers, though no surprise crossed his expression at the sight. Neither of them spoke. Prince Jinhai offered the smallest acknowledgment of his presence through a restrained nod before continuing past him down the corridor, his guards immediately falling into step behind him without question.
Aang barely waited for them to leave before entering the study himself.
The heavy doors shut softly behind him.
Lord Shuren stood near the large windows overlooking the darkened estate grounds below, one hand resting behind his back while the other pressed lightly against the edge of the carved wooden table beside him.
The exhaustion visible across his face made him appear older, still, when he spoke, the authority in his voice remained unchanged.
"You ought to be resting, Avatar Aang."
Aang ignored the remark.
"Where's Gen?"
Shuren's face hardened immediately.
"That matter no longer concerns you."
"It does concern me, because she was telling the truth." Aang argued, frustration tightening visibly through his voice.
Shuren finally turned fully toward him.
"I do not know what precisely my daughter has said to persuade you into supporting this tale, but I must admit myself deeply offended by the accusations you continue placing upon that boy." He replied carefully.
Aang stared at him in disbelief.
"Tale?" he repeated. "You think she made all of that up?"
"What I think is that my daughter placed herself into circumstances severe enough to invite disgrace upon both herself and this household." Lord Shuren interrupted firmly,
Aang's jaw tightened sharply.
"I didn't touch her," He said immediately. "I swear to you, I didn't do anything."
Lord Shuren finally moved away from the window, crossing slowly toward the chair behind his desk before lowering himself into it with visible weariness settling across his features.
"First," he began evenly, "you are welcomed into my estate and cared for during your recovery. Then, despite refusing my proposal regarding my daughter's hand, which I graciously chose not to hold against you, you proceed to disappear alongside her for hours while fully aware she is promised to another man."
"I already told you nothing happened!"
"And yet she returns half-dressed from an abandoned house while accusing a servant who has remained loyal to my family for years."
Aang took another step forward immediately.
"Because he's the one who hurt her!"
Lord Shuren exhaled slowly through his nose, exhaustion creeping into his posture beneath the strain of the conversation.
"Put yourself in my position, Avatar Aang. Would you so easily accept such accusations?" He asked quietly.
"Yes," Aang answered without hesitation.
The response made the older man off look at him carefully.
Aang continued before he could interrupt.
"If she were my daughter, I would believe her." He said firmly.
"Because she's my kid. And if my child came to me crying, saying someone hurt her, I wouldn't stand there wondering if she'd made it up."
Silence settled heavily across the study, and Shuren lowered his eyes toward the desk before him, his face morphing into one of sorrow, one more uncertain than anger this time, though whatever thought crossed his mind disappeared with another long exhale.
"I..." He stopped, visibly exasperated.
"You are young, Avatar Aang. There are certain realities you do not yet understand."
Aang frowned immediately.
"What realities?"
Shuren leaned back slightly within his chair, exhaustion settling heavily across his features beneath the dim lanternlight surrounding the study.
"Had Prince Jinhai not accompanied us tonight, this matter may have unfolded...far differently." He admitted carefully,
Aang stared at him in disbelief.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, that it would have been significantly easier to turn a blind eye toward tonight's indiscretions had the Crown Prince himself not witnessed it." Shuren continued evenly.
Aang's expression hardened instantly.
"You wanted to ignore what happened to your daughter?"
Lord Shuren's composure finally cracked slightly at the accusation.
"It was no secret my daughter had developed an attachment toward you." He replied, irritation sharpening his tone. "The entire estate observed it plainly."
"She was helping me. That's all she was doing." Aang argued immediately.
"And I took great pride in that." Shuren answered.
"Do you imagine I failed to recognize the honor attached to my daughter standing beside the Avatar himself? Spirits, I believed perhaps your continued closeness would eventually lead you to reconsider the proposal I once placed before you."
Aang blinked, confusion crossing him before frustration overtook it entirely again.
"She never showed any interest in me." He said firmly.
"And I never gave her any reason to think— I mean...we became friends. That's it. I'm grateful to both of you for helping me, and I care about her, but not like that."
Shuren remained silent for several moments, then he spoke quietly.
"Yet I observed how quickly you grew close regardless."
Aang opened his mouth to argue further, but Shuren continued before he could.
"When you refused my proposal initially, I chose not to resent you for it," he said calmly.
"You are the Avatar. Your life does not belong entirely to yourself. I understood that much. But once I witnessed the attachment forming between the two of you, I believed perhaps time would alter your perspective."
Aang looked unsettled.
"And instead, you disregarded her position entirely and bedded a woman already promised to another." Shuren continued, disappointment lacing his voice.
"For the last time, I did not touch her!" Aang snapped, and the force behind the words echoed harshly through the study.
Aang took another step forward afterward, anger and disbelief both burning openly across his face now.
"And Gen did this! You were the one who sent him with us!" He exclaimed.
Shuren's brows tightened.
"I instructed him to accompany the two of you precisely to prevent impropriety." He replied coldly.
"Then why are you acting like this is somehow our fault?! You trusted him enough to send him with her, and he hurt her!" Aang demanded.
Shuren's jaw tightened visibly.
"Or, he stumbled upon two young people allowing emotion to overtake reason and returned horrified by what he witnessed." He countered quietly
Aang looked utterly stunned.
"You can't seriously believe that."
The older man stood from his chair, slower this time, his posture seemingly burdened by the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders.
"I do not know what to believe tonight." He admitted at last.
"I know only that my daughter's reputation hangs by a thread, Prince Jinhai has witnessed enough scandal to threaten years of careful negotiation, and the household servant accused of this crime has remained loyal to my family since childhood."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"And I know that if these accusations prove false, then an innocent man shall suffer for nothing more than standing between two reckless young people."
"An innocent man—"
"This will harm your reputation as well, Avatar. Perhaps it is best you leave Hujiang altogether." Shuren interrupted him.
Aang could only stare at him, struggling to comprehend how calmly these words continued leaving Lord Shuren's mouth.
The man spoke of reputation more than suffering.
He prioritized his negotiations more than truth.
He only thought of propriety more than his own daughter trembling beneath bruises inflicted by a man everyone trusted.
And perhaps the worst part of it all was that Shuren believed himself reasonable.
The realization made Aang's heart lurch in his chest.
For the first time since arriving within Hujiang and meeting you, he truly understood how trapped you must have been long before tonight ever happened.
Your life had already been decided for you years before you were old enough to understand what betrothal even meant. Your future had been negotiated between powerful men while everyone around you praised it as fortune.
You would get a palace, a lovely prince.
A crown someday resting upon your head.
And yet no one seemed to care whether you yourself desired any of it.
Aang suddenly could not imagine you remaining here for the rest of your life without feeling your true self slowly disappear.
And beneath all the anger boiling inside him was something far uglier.
Guilt.
He could have avoided the storm, but he was impatient.
Appa's injuries existed because he failed to protect him properly.
Momo remained missing because Aang had brought him into danger.
And now you...
Aang lowered his head, the guilt piercing painfully through his chest.
If he had never fallen into Hujiang, none of this would have touched your life at all.
You would still be walking peacefully through your gardens. Still arguing playfully with your maids over tea.
Instead, your entire world had shattered within the span of a single evening because his existence crossed your path.
Part of him wanted to leave immediately.
He felt as though leaving would simplify everything.
No Avatar, no more scandal.
Then there would be no reason for suspicion to continue circling your name.
But the thought vanished almost as quickly as it arrived, because if he left now, who would stand beside you?
Your own father refused to believe you. The servants would follow his judgment without question. Prince Jinhai remained uncertain at best.
And Gen—
Aang's jaw tightened immediately.
Gen would walk freely through these halls while you remained alone carrying the shame of what had been done to you.
No.
The thought alone made him feel sick.
"I'm not leaving," he said suddenly.
Lord Shuren looked toward him.
Aang straightened fully before continuing, determination settling visibly across his expression despite the exhaustion dragging at him.
"I don't care if you believe me right now, but she shouldn't have to go through this alone." He said firmly.
Something unreadable crossed Lord Shuren's face.
He studied him silently for several moments before speaking at last, his tone calmer now though no less careful.
"You speak with admirable conviction, Avatar Aang. Though conviction alone rarely shields a woman from the consequences of impropriety." He said quietly.
Aang frowned slightly.
Shuren continued regardless.
"A woman's reputation, once fractured publicly, seldom recovers entirely. Particularly when circumstances place her alone beside a man not her husband." His attention lingered thoughtfully upon Aang afterward.
"The world tends to care less for truth than for appearances."
Aang remained silent.
"And yet, appearances can occasionally be repaired...provided the man beside her possesses sufficient honor to assume responsibility for them." Shuren added slowly.
Aang said nothing after that.
The air between himself and Shuren felt too heavy for further argument, and whatever words still remained inside him no longer seemed capable of reaching a man so devoted to preserving appearances that he could not recognize his own daughter's suffering.
So instead, Aang simply turned and left the study.
The corridors stretching through the estate remained dim, though he no longer needed servants guiding him through the manor halls. His feet followed the same path you had once shown him when his greatest concern had merely been reaching Appa safely.
The memory stung now.
When he finally reached the infirmary chambers, the guards stationed outside immediately straightened upon noticing him approach. Their orders had been strict, no one permitted entry without either yourself or Lord Shuren accompanying them personally.
Still, none of them attempted stopping the Avatar.
Inside, the room remained peaceful beneath low lanternlight.
Appa slept heavily across the joined mattresses arranged beneath him, his breathing deep and slow while fresh bandages wrapped securely around the injured leg still healing beneath weeks of treatment.
Aang crossed the room quietly before lowering himself beside the sky bison's massive body, leaning back gently against the familiar warmth of Appa's fur as fatigue finally settled heavily through him.
For a long while, he simply sat there listening to Appa snore softly beside him.
Then Shuren's words returned.
A woman's reputation, once fractured publicly, seldom recovers entirely.
Aang frowned deeply.
What was he even supposed to do now?
Part of him tried imagining what Sokka would say in a situation like this. Another part wondered how Zuko would handle it, though that answer honestly worried him slightly.
Katara, however—
Aang suddenly straightened.
Wait.
"Katara!" he exclaimed aloud, eyes widening instantly as the thought finally struck him.
chapter eleven coming soon...
a/n: shorter chapter, i knowww! but i needed the next events to happen separately. chapter eleven is the last chapter of this flashback sequence, and it is where the story changes.
I AM SO EXCITED!
[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)
Zuko works hard sometimes forgetting to attend his bride what if one day Zuko accidentally walks in on his wife pleasuring herself
♯┆reader x husband!zuko .ᐟ 18+!
ᝰ.ᐟ being the fire lord isn't easy—everybody knows that. but being the wife of the fire lord? you'd argue it's harder. cw! use of pet names (my love, baby), f!masturbation, fingering, praise, fluff (?), missionary, no protection
a/n: hello guys i didn't expect my zuko fic to get 2700 likes LMAOO i really appreciate all the support!! i wrote ts in one sitting on the bus so i'm really cracking up at it being my most popular work as of right now. is this a sign to convert to a zuko writer full time? (i appreciate u guys so much)
the past few weeks have, unfortunately, followed the same routine. you're gently woken up way too early by zuko's soft voice, murmuring affection and apologies as he gets out of bed—promising his schedule will be clear soon—before leaving you to fall back into your slumber. this is followed by the next 14 hours, in which, you barely catch a glimpse of your husband while finding ways to entertain yourself while simultaneously juggling your own responsibilities. and finally, when it's time for bed, you get yourself ready to pounce on him—only to be fallen asleep on as soon as you get him into bed.
of course, you won't fault him for it. he's been very, very busy, and you're not a fiend—so what if you haven't had sex in...how long has it been now? whatever! irrelevant. zuko's more important and if he needs sleep, that's all he'll get. that short nightgown you wore to bed the other night? of course it wasn't to seduce him! it's just hot these days. the way you press yourself against him at night, leaving kisses along his neck? it's only because you miss him so much. the long, lazy, kisses you give him in the morning when he leaves? exaggerating as you moan into his mouth? pfft, please. god forbid you want him to sleep in for once—it's just concern.
yup. you're totally okay with his absence. you're independent—crafty, even. lounging lazily on your bed, you roll onto your stomach and groan. you're bored out of your mind, and the heat has been getting worse lately. even in your almost nude attire, you still feel sweat clinging to your skin, thighs sticking together. the external heat you feel, however, is nothing compared to what's been brewing on the inside—arousal so desperate that you feel it almost sharply.
with a frustrated exhale, you rise to your feet, padding over to the bedroom door. you take a quick peek into the hallway to ensure that it's empty before shutting the door, returning to your bed. flopping onto your back, you part your thighs, leaning your head back against the pillow. your thoughts drift to your husband whilst your hand snakes down beneath your clothes, grazing your stomach.
you wonder to yourself what he must be doing right now—how he must be feeling—as your fingers seek out your clit, a soft exhale leaving your lips. having completed your duties for the day, you owe yourself this moment of relaxation—a gentle reprieve from an all too overwhelming position of power.
unsurprisingly, your line of thought shifts to more...intimate memories. the feel of his breath against your neck—your head tilts to the side. his chest pressing heavy onto yours as he settles against you—your legs fall open just a little more. biting your lips, you focus on the memory of his fingers stretching you open as your own try to recreate it.
a small, breathy, sound escapes you when you curl your fingers up, pressing against your spongy wall. you start to move your fingers in a rhythm that feels familiar, but not the same. your thumb rubs messily at your clit, free hand sliding under your shirt to squeeze your breast. lost in your pleasure, you don't hear the footsteps in the hall until the heavy door opens. you freeze, eyes snapping to see who the intruder could be.
an immediate mixture of relief, anticipation, and embarrassment hits you at once when you see the real zuko, standing in all his glory. he pauses at the door, eyes focused on your hand between your legs, a slight pink dusting his cheeks. he quickly snaps out of it, clearing his throat and shutting the door—locking it this time. you keep your hand where it is, watching him through half lidded eyes as he slowly approaches you—gait almost predatory.
he exhales shakily as he sits down on the edge of the bed, gently pulling your hand away from your pussy. he brings it to his face, pressing soft kisses against your knuckles before taking your fingers into his mouth. your clit throbs painfully from arousal, your brows furrowing in desperation. "my love," he finally murmurs, nuzzling his face against your palm. "were you enjoying yourself?"
you can't help but chuckle slightly, cupping his cheek. "i was trying to...but i didn't expect you to be free this early." you respond breathlessly, thumb dragging across his lower lip. he looks down at you, a soft smile gracing his face. "no? have i been too busy as of late?" he whispers, leaning down. you hum out a "mhm" as he presses a kiss to your forehead. his smile grows as he starts kissing you all over your face, eliciting a giggle out of you.
"a little." you admit, trying not to let your disappointment show. you're not disappointed in him, but you know he'll take it as a personal failing. he already feels terrible about how him being the fire lord has impacted your lives, and you're sure that he'd take on a lot more stress to make more time for you if he felt as though he was being negligent.
however, despite your (alleged) nonchalant response, you see the guilt bleed into his expression in real time. panic flooding you, you grab his face and pull him into a rough kiss. he makes a sound of surprise against your mouth, hand shooting out to settle on the bed next to your head. he kisses back, and you slide your hands into his hair. "working too much to keep up with me, hm?" you mend, lifting your hips up to grind against him.
your words and actions make his mind fuzzy, his previous guilt fizzling out and being replaced by extreme lust—so extreme that he can't believe how hard it hit him all at once. he nips at your bottom lip, letting out a murmured curse as he breaks the kiss. "mm, i suppose you're right. leaving my poor wife in such a state..." he breathes, hand sneaking down to run his fingers through the slick collecting between your legs. you whimper desperately at his touch, hips bucking up.
"mhm..." a pleased hum leaving you. "shhh, it's okay..." he whispers, fingers slowly sinking into your heat. "m'sorry, baby. it's okay." he murmurs against your neck, fingers beginning to work you open. his lips against your throat, paired with the practiced rhythm scissoring you open, is so sensual—so perfect. "zuko..."
"yeah, that's it...just relax, my love. can feel how bad you needed this." he coos, also starting to work your clit—keeping it slow so as to not overwhelm you. you whimper, grip loosening in his hair, your entire body becoming boneless as he takes care of you. your thighs, however, stay tense—legs shutting around his hand. he shifts his body to nudge your thighs apart, settling between them.
he gently slots his mouth against yours, the soft kiss a contrast to how you'd roughly grabbed him a few moments ago. it's not long before you start to grow needy, body writhing beneath his, whining into his mouth. "zuko, i need you." you plead breathlessly, panting as he breaks away from you. "m'right here." he replies, kissing your cheek. "i want this to be good...don't wanna rush." he continues, starting to change the pace of his fingers.
your mouth falls open, a long drawn out moan leaving you. zuko kisses your cheek, grinding himself against your thigh while he focuses on your pleasure. experienced and observant, zuko is able to bring you to your peak in record time, mumbling words of affection as he works you through it. you look up at him, dazed from your orgasm, panting softly. he smiles, kissing the corner of your mouth.
"that's it...are you satisfied?" he murmurs teasingly, just wanting to hear you huff. you pout, draping your arms around his neck. "yes and no. i want you, zu...please." you breathe, pulling him into a kiss. he hums, melting into you while he undresses himself. as he settles back down over you, you feel his cock nestled between both of your bodies, pressing against your thigh. he's in no rush, though—continuing to make out with you slow and lazy.
every inch of your body is buzzing with need, you grab his cock almost roughly, drawing out a whine from him. "fuck, wait..." he pants, breaking the kiss to look between your bodies. "can't." you groan, stroking him quickly. he gently pulls your hand away, replacing it with his own. "haah...been too long...i'm sorry." he whispers, nuzzling your cheek as he starts to push in. "fuck, stop apologizing-" you whine, gripping his shoulders. "y'sound so hot..."
he flushes a little at that, huffing. "that's perverted." he breathes, bottoming out. you bite your lip, wrapping your legs around his waist. "uh huh," you reply distractedly, too focused on how deliciously your walls are stretching to fit his cock. he chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "next time you feel this way, tell me. i'd drop everything for you." he promises, pulling out to thrust back in. "mm, i...know." you whisper, clutching at him harder as he starts thrusting. "just don't wanna- fuck! don't...wanna overwhelm you..." you continue.
"you're the only thing in my life that doesn't overwhelm me." he responds, soft voice a contrast to the dirty sounds of his cock drilling into you. the way he's making love to you is so sweet, so intimate—you don't know where you end and he begins. you mouth at his neck when he drops his head to your shoulder, whimpers and gasps forcing themselves out of his mouth. "come on, that's it. you're getting so- ahh fuck...s-so tight..." he stammers.
"mhm- sososo close...don't stop, pleaseee." you plead, tensing around him on purpose. he moans loudly, hips stuttering momentarily before picking back up. "fuck, don't know how i went so long without this...gonna be on my mind for the rest of the day..."
the more he continues to talk against your skin, paired with his thrusts, the closer you're getting. you want to delay it—want to live in this moment for just a little longer, where it's just you and him—but your orgasm hits you so suddenly that you're gasping, back arching up. he moans again, his thrusts slowing but not stopping, a mess against you. as you come down, your body is still twitching a little, finally satiated after weeks of frustration.
he gives you a few more thrusts before stilling against you, spilling into your womb. he gently rolls off you, gathering you into his arms. you drape yourself over him, panting against his chest. "mm, god...i needed that." you whisper. "yeah, me too." he whispers back, gently running his fingers through his hair. "i...actually took a break today to ask if you wanted to go for a walk in the garden but, i think i'd rather lay here." he admits.
you hum happily, shutting your eyes. "you should take breaks everyday."
˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚ a pledge to keep series masterlist ˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚
summary: getting knocked up by your older brother’s fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.
pairing: frat!kuna x reader
content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more
dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by lorinmower
chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!
chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks
chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents
chapter seven: graduation \ epilogue
series oneshots/drabbles:
1. stinky feet bandit ❀ 2. late night feeds ❀ 3. daddy's little poop monster ❀ 4. baby carrier experiment ❀ 5. yuji loves his baby cousin
౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader
[adult boutique au] - ongoing series
❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue:
you're a virgin.
you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞
౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is 24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. mild love triangle with gojo. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. sex toys & explorations of safety in kinks. smut & piv. virginity loss. see masterlist for full cw.
౨ৎ wc ; 9.4k.
౨ৎ art ; ackshuallyvalerie
main masterlist || series masterlist || next ⪢
There comes a point where you have to wonder if you just aren’t meant to be applying for jobs. The amount of rejection emails and calls you’ve gotten is staggering, and that doesn’t even begin to touch on the amount of applications that simply haven’t gotten a reply.
‘We regret to inform you’ feels like a personal attack at this point.
Sitting outside this particular store, however, has you questioning if maybe you just aren’t cut out for work at all.
It’s not like you expected a paying gig right out the gate when you moved to the big city to chase your dream of becoming a musician, but you at least figured you would be able to get something that pays in the meantime.
At this point, every rejection is a shot straight to the heart.
You applied to every store you could find with a hiring ad. Both online and in-person, skipping over the occasional store that you felt you weren’t cut out for. Now, it’s come to the point where you don’t have the luxury to be picky.
Still, the shoe store that wouldn’t hire you? At least you have shoes, even if they’re worn-in Vans and Converse for the most part.
The reception job at the law firm? It’s not like you have a degree or can cite any, but you know general laws.
This? You sigh as your gaze traces the letters across the failing light box, deep red letters spelling out Adult Boutique.
It’s not that you have anything against it.
It’s that you’ve never used a sex toy.
Hell, you don’t know the first thing about them.
You’ve never even had sex before.
Sighing, you throw your head back against the headrest of your old rusting sedan and take a moment to breathe in the harsh disappointment of chasing your dreams. Your hands settle in your lap as you set aside any reservations you have, snatching your resumé from the passenger’s seat and shutting the door behind you. You walk with as much confidence as you can muster into the shop, but it’s almost humiliating how far out of your wheelhouse you are when you’re met with the interior. For as confident as you are, it drains from you in an instant.
Humiliation is a kink though, right?
“ID?” You pause in the doorway before you can get much of a look at the store, staring at a man with piercing blue eyes and white hair. He’s handsome, maybe a year younger than you, and his friendly smile is horribly infectious.
You stand like a deer in the headlights, your lips caught in an embarrassing ‘o’ before your mind catches up. ID. You’re in an age-restricted store. Right.
“Shoot–” Your hands fly down to your pockets, reaching for the wallet…
… That you left in the car.
Your jaw hangs ajar at the realization, warmth climbing from the back of your neck to the tips of your ears as the handsome clerk’s startlingly blue eyes pin you in place.
You shut your eyes, biting down on your lower lip. “I’ll be right back.”
In the midst of your walk of shame back to your car across the street, every thought reminds you that you could just leave. You could forget this ever happened and simply accept you aren’t getting the job. The fact that your wallet is so empty that you left it in your unlocked car in a shady part of town serves as a reminder that, again, you don’t exactly have the luxury of being picky.
With a forlorn sigh and a drag of your hands down your face, you put on your best confident smile and make your way back inside. The clerk grins as you hand over your ID, leaning over the counter on forearms that you swear you’re not staring at.
They’re just veiny.
And incredibly hot.
“Sorry,” you sigh as you pocket your ID again.
“Don’t worry about it,” there’s a small wave of his hand to brush you off, and when you look up to meet his eyes, there’s a particularly sultry look to his gaze. It’s enough to warm your cheeks again, and you can only pray he doesn’t notice how much you’ve been staring. “Looking for anything in particular?” He bears a lopsided tilt to his grin that sets your nerves further alight as your stomach ties in knots under the handsome stranger’s gaze.
It’s gotta be a bad combination to be clueless on everything around you and thinking about the hot man in front of you rather than the job you’re applying for.
Shaking your head to center yourself, you put on your best smile. “Yeah, actually.” The man’s expression changes to intrigue as you hand over your resumé. His eyes skim it, brows raising.
He gives you a once-over, setting the paper down with a more genuine grin. “We could use the help,” he admits. “The owner’ll be in tomorrow morning, I’ll have her give you a call.”
That’s the most positive response you’ve received to an application thus far. Although you find yourself nervously eyeing a bottle of G-Spot Stimulating Gel on the counter that you don’t know the first thing about, you’re honestly relieved that things could be looking up. You can handle this job with a bit of research, surely.
“That would be great,” you offer a smile. “Thank you.”
–
So, the good news is that you have a job. The bad news is that you still don’t know the first thing about what you’re selling. Admittedly, you probably should have done some research or looked over the product offerings on the store’s site, but somewhere between preparation for a new job and trying to sleep through the train shaking your apartment every few minutes, you forgot.
The kind woman who interviewed you over the phone and the store’s owner– Jillian– greets you at the door as you push into the store. Her graying hair is curled tightly at her roots, her eyes wrinkled at the corner and kind. She wears a pale pink wool sweater that compliments her lip gloss, standing at about the same height as you. She’s old enough to retire and still gorgeous all-the-same.
“Welcome, dear,” she smiles brilliantly at the sight of you, ushering you towards the front counter with a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate the help, it’ll be nice to step back from the counter and keep my job behind-the-scenes.”
“I’m happy to help,” you reply with a kind grin, keeping up your best customer service attitude. As she leads you behind the counter, your eyes flick to the two tall men standing behind the counter. You recognize the first as the hot white-haired man who accepted your resumé. Cheery, charming, and strikingly handsome with toned muscles visible from under his white t-shirt.
The man beside doesn’t bear the same welcoming nature. In fact, they’re the definition of polar opposites.
Standing a couple of inches taller than the one you recognize, he has black hair that must be dyed, pink roots standing out like a rose among thorns. His ears are pierced in a multitude of ways with matching brow and lip piercings and tattoos that travel up the back of his neck, reaching his jaw. He’s in far darker and more casual clothes, arms crossed over his broad and built chest with his hip leaned on the counter, and a look of mild disinterest that does no favors for your nerves.
Where the white-haired man bears a friendly smile and a button-up that makes him look ready for a job in a cubicle, his black-haired colleague is very clearly assessing your every move, and looks like he could be on-stage at a dingy bar.
She introduces you to the men, earning a grin from the one you recognize and… nothing from the man with black-dyed hair.
“I’ll be in every couple of days to do the cash deposit,” she explains. “I’ll also drop by to check on the office and put together paperwork, but Satoru–” she points to the white-haired man who casually salutes in greeting, “and Ryomen–” her hand waves towards the frowning man who doesn’t react save for a glance at the older woman, “will train you. Satoru usually does the opening shift and Ryomen does the closing shift. We’re closed Mondays and Tuesdays, but you’ll work the rest of the week.” You’re grateful for the consistency, if nothing else. “You’ll take the midday Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, you’ll be alone for a bit while the boys are in classes, and you’ll take the closing shifts on weekends to help Ryomen during busy hours.”
His gaze, a crimson so striking you have half a mind to wonder if they’re contacts, flicks to you, indiscernible, then back to Jillian.
“You won’t be alone while you train of course though, the boys and I will cover until you’re comfortable being alone.” She pats you once on the shoulder. “Does that work for you, dear?”
“Not a problem at all,” you nod. You clasp your hands together politely.
“Perfect!” She claps once in glee, clearly happy to step away from serving customers. You can understand that sentiment. “I’ll grab your paperwork.”
Satoru’s gaze follows her as she heads for the back room, then turns cheerily to you. “Hey, newbie!” He steps forward from the counter, outstretching his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Shaking his hand, you match his grin. “Well, by name anyway.”
You turn your expectations to Ryomen, who doesn’t move from the spot he’s standing in. His weight shifts to the other hip, still leaning against the counter when he juts his chin out in less of a greeting and more of an acknowledgement. “Hey.”
“Nice to meet you, Ryomen.” You give him a little wave.
“Sukuna,” he corrects you. His words aren’t sharp per se, but they carry a blunt edge. “Only the old lady can call me Ryomen.” His voice is as gruff as his style and stature, fitting of the brutish impression he gives off. His slightly narrowed eyes give off the notion that he’s evaluating you. Reading you.
With a tight-lipped smile, Satoru scratches at the back of his head. He shoots you an apologetic glance as you uncomfortably gather that this isn’t unusual for Sukuna.
“Got it, sorry.” You offer an apologetic smile, which he accepts with a nod.
Satoru steps forward to save you from the interaction, motioning with his head out to the store’s floor. “Why don’t I show you around?”
You nod gratefully, letting him lead you away from the counter. Sukuna’s gaze is quick to drop to the counter as he leans over a book of some sort, his chin resting atop his hand. You turn your attention back to Satoru as he leads you through the long back area of the store
A colorful assortment of dildos and vibrators line the walls of the first aisle, anything from glass to silicone in different shapes and size varieties. The light in the far corner flickers when you step into the aisle, faux wood creaking under-foot. The store has that sort of old strip mall feel where, although well-maintained, its age is evident in the old fixtures and failing lights.
“Sorry about him,” Satoru’s voice is a near-whisper as he shakes his head. His hair falls in front of those striking blue eyes as he leads the way down each aisle. You’re not sure you’d really call it showing you around, but you’re certainly walking the floor. “He’s uhhh–” he waves his hand through the air as he searches for the right term. “Moody, or something.” He chuckles. “I don’t know, you get used to it. Don’t take it personally.”
“He doesn’t seem like a customer service person,” you admit sheepishly, keeping your voice down.
Satoru does no favors keeping his own down as he barks a laugh. “No, not really, hey? He’s Jillian’s friend’s son, so–” he shrugs as you mentally connect the dots that landed him this job. “It’s an easy enough gig and honestly business is slow.”
“That’s a shame,” you offer, mostly for Jillian’s sake, although you don’t mind it being slow.
“I said it was slow, not bad,” he grins, eyes narrowing to that sultry gaze he shot you when you dropped off your resumé last week. “We have a lot of regulars. People who spend a lot. You’ll recognize them in time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It’ll be nice to have some company for the end of my shifts,” he adds, tilting his head to eye you. He crosses his arms over his chest, catching your attention as you glance at his muscles just long enough to consider yourself caught. He takes the opportunity and swings with it. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” His voice drops a tone, the flirty lilt warming the tips of your ears.
“Yeah, it’ll be nice to get to know you too.”
Jillian returns with paperwork before Satoru can take the opportunity to flirt any further– but you get the feeling he will. It seems to go hand-in-hand with his personality. Once everything is signed and Satoru has headed off for class, Jillian leaves training in Sukuna’s hands as she retreats to the back to file your paperwork.
Sukuna’s gaze is a slow drag down your form as he evaluates the dark blouse and nice jeans you chose to wear. Admittedly, you now feel a little overdressed given his relative comfort and ripped jeans, but in spite of the judgement clear as day in his eyes, he keeps it to himself. At least, as long as you don’t count the frown he bears. You can’t really tell if that’s meant for you or if that’s his neutral expression.
With a sigh, he shuts whatever book is on the counter behind him and gives you a rundown in short, clipped sentences. “Floor work first, cash after. You worked cash before?”
You nod, though the register looks fairly old here.
He gives a hum of approval. “Good. The floor's pretty self-explanatory. Everything is ordered by brand, then color. Shipments Mondays and Thursdays. Back room for any overstock.” He points over his shoulder to where Jillian disappeared as he lays out instructions like facts. “No clock system. Just work when you work. Pay is every second Friday. You’ll get a check.”
Again, you nod.
His gaze travels the length of your figure, but it doesn’t feel as though he’s checking you out. It’s an evaluation. And you’re pretty sure you’re failing before you’ve had the chance to start. “I don’t care what you do when customers aren’t around. Study, read, go on your phone. I don’t give a shit.”
“Oh, okay. That’s kinda nice.”
His tone is apathetic as he hums in agreement. “I didn’t have time last night and I know Satoru’s lazy ass didn’t clean this morning, so I’ll get you to organize the shibari while I put some shit away.”
You nod, slipping away from the counter onto the floor. His gaze tracks you as you very unconfidently thread through the rows in search of shibari. To your horror, nothing is well-labeled, which means there isn’t a distinct section with some big flashy sign to point you in the direction of a kink you don’t know the name of.
“It’s at the back,” Sukuna’s low voice calls out. Biting down on your lip, you move towards the back of the store, your gaze trailing along the wall. There are a number of bondage devices you can’t name, ropes that you assume go with bondage, and chains and whips that all feel bondage-adjacent.
So, more or less, you’re still at a loss.
Really failing that evaluation now.
Behind you, Sukuna is replacing products that were atop the counter at the front, but his movements stop when he fixes you with his narrowed gaze. “The ropes,” he points them out on the wall with displeasure prickling around the edge of his sandpaper-scraped voice. Now that you look at them, it feels obvious given how out of order they are.
“I know!” Heat flares beneath your skin in all the wrong places. Still, you won’t let him get to you. “I was just looking.”
He doesn’t reply, his crimson gaze boring into your expression so hard that you’re pretty sure he can see right through you.
At least you can’t fuck up the organization of the ropes.
Quietly sucking in a breath, you turn to the wall, pulling down the plastic-covered rope bundles that are out of place.
“So,” you turn your gaze over your shoulder. “You’re in school?”
“Mhm.”
“What are you taking?”
“Business.”
He’s difficult, too. Great.
Once the ropes are in a more sound order, you spin on your heel to face him. He’s already turning away, moving to a different area to put away a vibrator.
“Can I–”
“Here.” He tosses a bottle of lube at you, caught clumsily in unexpecting fingers. “Put that away, too.”
Pressing your lips into a tight line, you nod, more to yourself than him. At least you know what lube is.
You search the store for the spot where it belongs, twisting it on the shelf so the label faces out, then make your way to the counter where Sukuna’s already standing over his book again. Before you have the opportunity to speak, the bell over the door rings as a customer walks through the door. She’s around your age, and quickly flashes ID towards Sukuna, who nods.
A regular, you suppose.
The tattooed clerk’s eyes trail to you, jutting his chin out expectantly towards the customer.
Making your way up to the woman with cute blonde hair cut short, you fall into your customer service voice. “Can I help you find anything?”
“Hi!” She beams at you, her smile putting your first day nerves at ease. “Thank you, but I know where most things are,” she waves you off politely. “I appreciate it, though!” She moves past you towards the back of the store, whirling around suddenly as her gaze shifts between you and Sukuna. “Oh, actually, did you get any more of the cherry stimulants in?”
You turn your attention to Sukuna, who fixes you with a lazy unsure expression. “She can check for you.” He leans his hip on the counter again, arms crossed over his chest as he faces you. “It’ll be in the back. They come in a box with a cherry logo on them.”
Worrying your lip between your teeth, you nod as you make your way to the back.
Truthfully, the cramped room is a bit of a relief from the uncomfortable tension Sukuna just seems to naturally exude. Him and Satoru are big personalities in the most opposite way you can possibly imagine, but at least Satoru is willing to chat.
Jillian glances over her shoulder from an old computer at the back of the room. “Everything going well, dear?”
“Yeah,” you grin, though truthfully this already feels like a disaster where you’re being scornfully judged by your colleague and accidentally making enemies on day one. With one of the only people you work with. So that’s great. “There’s just someone looking for stimulants.”
She shifts in her chair, doing a once-over of the boxes. “Not back here. There’s an inventory list on this computer that you can usually use, but I don’t want to lose progress on your files. Can you ask Ryomen to check the holds drawer? Satoru might have put some on hold if he knew they were looking.”
“Sure, thank you!”
With a grateful smile, you head back to the front and relay the information to Sukuna.
“Holds drawer’s there.” He points to a handle on the lower inside of the counter. Within are a number of boxes and small sachet packs. “Mm, there they are.”
Clearly one of the sachet packs is what she’s looking for. Unfortunately, they all fail to say exactly what they are on the front with bright and bold brands rather than descriptors or even a damn cherry logo, which means you haven’t the faintest clue what you’re looking at.
“The orange one,” Sukuna adds when you’re still paused staring at the drawer. There’s an unimpressed lilt to his tone that has you wincing before you pull the sachet pack from the drawer. You do what you can to keep your expression neutral and feign confidence when you stand upright again.
The whole situation is tense and embarrassing. It might at least be tolerable with Satoru, but Sukuna either enjoys your suffering or he’s an asshole.
The unfortunate third possible option is both.
His grimace as you set the pack in his hand isn’t lost on you, although you choose to head towards the register in hopes that he can at least teach you how it works and you can get on with this day. He chooses not to say a word to you as the customer finishes looking around, returning to the front with a rose-shaped vibrator.
“Ooh, thank you!” She grins as she spots the packet at the register.
Sukuna nods, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re paying attention. “Just type the amounts into the register,” he explains, putting both prices from the stickers into the old machine. Once he hits the equals button, the cash drawer pops open as he gets the total and it calculates tax for him. The customer flashes a card, so Sukuna shuts the drawer and types the amount into the machine to his right. “While she pays, get the serials on each tag and write them here,” he explains, pulling the number from each barcode and writing them on a pad of paper left of the register. Once her payment is processed, a receipt prints, which he hands to her, keeping the second copy under the till. Finally, he bags the items.
She thanks him, giving you a polite little wave and retreating out the door.
You let out a breath, nodding. “The register seems easy enough,” you try more friendly commentary in spite of his half-assed teaching, but you suppose by now you shouldn’t expect Sukuna to be receptive. He hums, a judgemental flash in his eyes as he pins you in place with a narrowed gaze like he can see something you can’t.
He works his jaw in a slow grind of teeth like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, dropping your gaze. “I’ve got to study. There’s not much else to the job besides that, so keep yourself busy.”
Thankfully the rest of the day passes without much of a hitch and you’re able to leave as evening hits, with Sukuna staying to close the store.
He doesn’t give you another word for the remainder of the day. He doesn’t expect you to handle customers. He handles the till. He doesn’t even look at you as you let him know your shift is over. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or dread the rest of your shifts with him, but thankfully you’re able to spend more time with Satoru tomorrow.
Given that you’re off a couple of hours before close, you use the opportunity to stake out local bars with stages and take note of a small pub tucked away in a little corner. The outside has a sign that doesn’t light up in the night’s cover, but within it’s rather warm, with string lights hung over a stage in the back. While you work on your online presence, it’s the perfect spot to get your stage skills up.
The thick metal of the door is cool on your hand, creaking on its hinge as you press through to the interior warmth. There’s a small two-man group on-stage performing low-energy grunge that seem to be garnering decent attention from onlookers and groups you would be willing to bet are regulars based on the way they move around the small scene.
Adjusting your jacket over your shoulder, you make your way to the bar. The bartender looks to be a couple of years senior to you, with short brown hair kept neat aside from a couple of stray strands that fall over his forehead. He has a prominent nose and sunken eyes that give him an overall air of tiredness.
The apron he wears over a clean-cut button-up pulls taut across his chest as he reaches overhead to set a bottle of whiskey along the back wall before turning his attention to you with a polite smile. “What can I get for you?”
“Oh, um, actually,” you begin with a polite smile, “I was wondering who I need to impress to be up there.” You point to the grunge band at the back as his gaze follows you.
He hums, his calm demeanor shifting from the routine of bartending to something more friendly. “I can give you the owner’s email. If you fit in with the crowd, he’ll work with your schedule.”
Casting another glance at the two men on-stage, you nod, chewing on your lip in an effort to hide your giddy smile. “That’d be great. So… what– a little moody, kind of chill? Maybe some minor chords in there?”
The bartender chuckles, picking up a glass like routine simply fills his subconscious. “Sounds to me like you’ve already got the gig.”
Leaving behind the smell of drowned sorrows and shared laughter, you can hold onto the fact that while your day took a turn for the worst, it’s just a job. Once you leave the building, you don’t have to think about it and can focus on music. Sukuna isn’t the end of the world and if you can manage to stay out of his hair, surely you can find some sort of common ground with him.
–
Wind whips too fast across the street when you lock your car behind you. Your unzipped coat flails in the wind, leaving you with a flustered expression as the shop door slams shut behind you.
“Hey newbie,” Satoru greets you with an amused grin. You flash him a smile as you smooth down your outfit, far more casual than the previous one with jeans and a band shirt. “How was yesterday?” He asks, wiping down the counter and tossing the wipe in a garbage as he claps his hands together to brush them off.
The chuckle that parts your lips is half-hearted as you drop your laptop bag atop the front counter. “Kind of a disaster?” You wince, shaking your head. “Is he seriously always like that?”
Satoru stands upright, running a hand through white locks. “He gets better when you get to know him, but yeah he’s kind of an asshole,” he laughs brightly, unbothered. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.”
“Sure, if the chips are sour,” you mutter.
Satoru snickers, nodding. “What happened anyway?”
“I didn’t immediately know where everything is without being shown,” you wave a hand through the air, letting it hang there for a moment in disbelief.
Satoru, unphased, grins. “Oh, yeah. Sounds like a classic case of not running on Sukuna’s schedule. You should really get on that.”
You throw your head back with a sigh, giving a dismissive wave of your hands. “Whatever, it’s a new day, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad today.”
Satoru teasingly sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry newbie, but my sources are telling me today’s weather is looking cloudy in Sukuna-land.”
Satoru’s unseriousness helps settle a modicum of your nerves as you find yourself laughing at his charm.
“But hey, you’ve got me for a couple of hours first.” He grins, settling the balls of his palms atop the counter as he leans his weight back. One of his sleeves, rolled to the elbow, slides down his forearm to his wrist. “What did he go over with you, anyway?”
You laugh loosely. “Like, nothing. He gave me a thirty second run-down of the till and told me I don’t need to clock in or out.”
“That’s gold,” Satoru shakes his head in an effort to get hair from falling into his line of sight. “I thought he’d be nicer to a pretty girl like you.” His face lights up as you avert your eyes, smiling at the scuffed floor underfoot. He keeps the conversation flowing like it’s second nature. “Tell you what, I’ll actually try to show you around before he gets here, and you can tell me what brought you to the city.”
Recovering quickly, you fix him with a humbled expression at the callout. “Is it that obvious that I’m not from here?”
Satoru barks a laugh. “Yeah. You’ve got small town energy.”
“Small town energy? What does that even mean?” You follow him out from behind the counter as he leads the way to the back room first.
“Just vibes,” he shrugs. “It’s good. Cute,” he grins. You get the feeling he’s a bit of a flirt through and through, but truthfully you enjoy the attention.
Plus, he’s hot.
“Thanks,” you murmur with a bashful smile, chewing on your lip. “I uh– I wanted to give my dream a shot before tying myself down in a career I hate.”
His eyes light up as he turns to you with a palm on the door handle for the back room. “Oh yeah? What’s your dream?”
“Singing. Music,” you admit, feeling just shy enough that you avert your gaze in spite of your giddiness.
“No way.” He’s grinning widely now, his hand leaving the door handle as he chooses to lean against it instead, arms crossed tantalizingly over his chest. “I feel like I’m obligated to be the annoying guy who asks you to sing for me now.”
You laugh heartily. “At least you know it would make you that guy.”
With a chuckle, he finally turns around to lead the way into the back room. He peppers actual explanations of the job’s inner workings between personal questions.
After explaining the inventory system on the back computer and how boxes are organized, he leads the way back through the aisles, pointing out different sections as you walk. “So, do you take gigs between shifts?”
“When I can,” you nod. “I’m trying to put together the money to get some studio time soon. I have some self-recorded stuff, but I don’t think I’m much of a producer.”
“Will you at least tell me what genre?”
“Um,” you shrug thoughtfully, “I guess like punk or indie rock?”
“Oooh, so you’re a moody guitar girl. I like it, I like it.” He nods his approval with a wide grin. The faintest of dimples forms at the corners of his lips, giving him a charmingly boyish smile.
Your genuine shared laughter sends flutters to the pit of your stomach, warm and welcome, as you finish threading through aisles and head back to the front counter. Satoru pushes up on forearms that flex under his weight as he settles atop the counter. You follow suit on the opposite counter, head tilting as you inquire about him.
“Jillian mentioned you’re in school, what are you taking?”
“Business,” he replies with a lopsided smile.
“Oh, like Sukuna?”
“Damn, you got an answer out of him?” Satoru chuckles. “Yeah, he’s a year ahead of me but we’re in the same program. I think he wants to do the whole company startup thing though, I’m looking to kinda take over for Jillian and eventually buy this place if things work out. She’s holding out until I finish.”
Your brow raises as you fix him with an inquisitive look. “You wanna take over here?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he chides, gaze lidded with an almost-cocky attitude. “Don’t get me wrong, I know it doesn’t seem busy even with online orders, but I actually think there’s a huge untapped market here.” He straightens and you can see the passion and drive gleaming in his eager gaze. “I think the way sex toys are sold both online and in-stores is outdated and makes a lot of people feel uncomfortable and I want to try to do something new to help people feel more comfortable and open in terms of sex.”
You blink, nodding at the insightful way that he goes on to explain the ins and outs of his opinion on the industry and how, although he loves Jillian, he can see a lot of ways to use his knowledge to improve the business and hopes to change the way kinks are viewed.
It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to you just how inexperienced you are, but as you nod along to his passionate explanation, it occurs to you just how experienced he is. He doesn’t say it outright, but he talks about the way condoms are made and how bad they can be for some people, how he hopes to bring in products for people who struggle with medication killing their sex drive, and even the intricacies of what products work well and which don’t and how he would love to stop stocking them altogether.
It shouldn’t come as a shock– it doesn’t– after all, he’s hot and flirty, but it certainly gives the butterflies in your stomach an edge that you aren’t sure what to make of. It’s not uncomfortable– Satoru’s still kind and has a welcoming personality– it’s closer to inadequacy. Like you should know more, and not just for job purposes. It doesn’t sit well.
But you shouldn’t be thinking about your coworker like that anyway, right?
Thankfully, before you can think too hard about the subject, Sukuna walks through the door with a heavy step to his boots.
Maybe ‘thankfully’ doesn’t suit his arrival, though. His gaze flits briefly between each of you before he heads straight to the back, giving you both a noncommittal wave as you greet him.
When the door shuts behind the brute, Satoru turns to you. He grimaces, faux empathy shining in cerulean seas. “The weather report was right.”
The day passes so quickly with Satoru even without a single customer entering the store that the rest of the day feels like a slog without him. Or maybe it just feels like a slog because Sukuna makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you. He even stayed in the back until Satoru had to leave in spite of the changes in their regular schedules just to train you.
He’s not even that unfriendly with Satoru either from what the kinder of the two told you. He tried to reason that your tattooed co-worker simply isn’t fond of new people, but you’re pretty sure your inexperience grates on his nerves.
And unfortunately, every little slip up seems to tack on. Your shifts with Satoru are a breeze that leaves you grinning bashfully over your new crush while your shifts with Sukuna have you questioning every life choice you’ve ever made.
Your first weekend closing shift with Sukuna, you’re pretty sure you confirm your suspicions that he simply doesn’t like you.
The bell rings overhead as a tall man with dark hair walks through the door. You greet him and offer a hand, but his gait is purposeful as he heads into the back after flashing ID. Passing the time by fiddling with a pen as Sukuna stares blankly at the door with a hand lazily strewn over his textbook page, your gaze lifts when the man returns.
“Excuse me. Do you know the difference between this–” he shows you a bullet vibrator, “and this?” He holds up a hitachi wand next, “aside from size?”
Your jaw hangs open stupidly as you try to formulate a response but find yourself at a loss when size seems like the reasonable answer. Feeling your face flush, you glance sidelong at the business major.
If looks could kill.
The worst part? It’s not even glare.
It’s the most unfiltered and raw disappointment you’ve ever seen.
He huffs, pushing up from the counter. “The bullet is discreet but weak. It takes batteries and they usually only last for five hours overall. It’s still a good amount of use, but they might be watch batteries, which can be a pain.” He shoots you a pointed stare that makes you wonder if you would rather have just embarrassed yourself in front of Satoru in spite of your crush. “The wand is rechargeable, way stronger, lasts about fifteen hours, and has a lot more vibration modes,” he explains confidently.
The man nods, setting the bullet aside as he brings the wand to the counter. Over the course of the past few days, Sukuna’s taken most of the floor-related duties away from you in spite of the fact that you have tried to do some research and are getting to know the sections and general genres of toys. That question simply didn’t come up. Yet for all of the times he’s made a motion for you to take over cash, he doesn’t even offer it this time.
You get the feeling this goes beyond his usual irritation.
You can practically feel it radiating off of him in waves of negative energy.
The moment the customer walks out the door, Sukuna’s palm splays across the counter as he turns with frustrating evenness to face you. Somehow his ability to keep his actions level while being visibly affronted is worse than if he would have just yelled.
“Do you think you’re cute for making my job harder or did you just apply for the wrong fucking job?”
Okay. Fuck this guy.
“You can’t be serious right now.”
He lifts his hands in a loose shrug. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He replies, dry and even with venomous fangs.
You scoff, but relent nonetheless given that he is close to the store’s owner and you can not afford to lose this job.
Literally.
You can’t call a scoop of peanut butter dinner again.
“Look, I’m sorry, this is just–” you hesitate, your mind muddled as you search for an explanation. Sighing in exasperation, you throw your hands up, letting them fall to your sides with a plop against your jeans. You settle on the truth before you take too long to reply. “Sex toys are new to me.”
His jaw ticks as he leans his hip back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. Somehow, he makes Satoru look small– not thin or short, but small– given how much bulkier he is. He’s hot too, but his personality stands as a bit of a wall between you. His jaw works, eyes narrowed as he takes in your words.
At last, he chuckles. Dry and devoid of any amusement. “Why the fuck did you apply here if you don’t know anything about the shit we sell?”
“Because I need a job?” You reply incredulously.
He huffs a sigh. “Just my fucking luck.” He turns back to the register, haphazardly tossing the receipt into a small bin under the counter before he grabs the bullet vibrator and heads out onto the floor. “Figure that shit out,” he calls sourly without looking back at you. “Watch porn or buy something, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t make my job harder.”
Leaning back against the counter where it meets the wall, you let your head fall back in disbelief.
Asshole.
–
You wish you could say your first month passes seamlessly, but Sukuna makes the seams painfully obvious.
With Satoru, they’re subtle but you still feel them.
They both present separate problems.
Sukuna is an outright asshole and you want to get things right if only to not hear his virulent voice. The silence is somehow better.
Satoru is kind, open, and caring, but leagues ahead of you in experience and you have a massive crush. There aren’t enough customers in the morning to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you do find yourself wanting to impress him and against your better judgement, you’re pretty sure you’ve given him the impression you know what you’re doing from what little research you’ve done and what you’ve picked up over the month.
At least you’re trained enough that you get a couple of hours to yourself between Satoru’s departure and Sukuna’s arrival now that their hours aren’t extended in order to train you.
“You gonna be okay on your own?” Satoru asks, shrugging his jacket over his shoulder.
“I’ll be fine,” you brush him off with a smile.
He nudges your arm, unknowingly sending goosebumps in a trail up your skin. “Good. Text me if you need something. Or, I dunno. If you’re bored.”
Your heart does a little flip. “Yeah. Okay, thanks.”
You watch bashfully as he leaves, offering a little wave. Once he’s out of sight, you lean on your forearms over the counter. With a forlorn sigh, you drop your chin to the vinyl below, staring blankly out the window. Truthfully, it’s nice to have a breather between each man. You need the time to prepare yourself to handle Sukuna.
Your mind’s distraction comes in the form of your phone buzzing a few minutes later.
1:36 PM Satoru || not bored yet? ;)
A distraction to be sure. Whether it’s fortunate or not– yet to be determined.
The door seems to be opening more and more with him these days and as giddy as that makes you, nerves are beginning to show more and more at the seams. It’s foolish really, and you know that, but you find yourself constantly coming back to your lack of experience.
1:37 PM You || Give me like 5 more minutes and then I will be
You can practically hear the laugh he barks, having grown fond of his company.
You’re still casually texting back and forth when Sukuna’s shoulder presses on the door. He moves confidently through the shop, casting a single glance at you before dropping his bag off in the back room.
He’s still a pain in the ass, but Satoru was right that you do get used to it. You’re not sure that you’d call that a win, but at least you’ve come to some sort of silent agreement with him out of sheer necessity.
He didn’t leave you with many options after realizing just how little you know about the industry. When he got in the following day and returned your greeting with a painfully mild ‘don’t bother’, you had to figure out some sort of system that would prevent him from interacting with you altogether if it means his attitude is milder.
That’s how you landed here. He handles the floor and questions, you handle cash. You can tell he hates the arrangement given that he’s not a chatty guy, but at least you aren’t pinned in place by his vile appraisal every time you interact.
He’s civil.
Civil enough.
Most of the time.
For him, anyway.
He’s less judgemental, at least, and when you are able to help on the floor, he tends to leave you be more often than not. It’s like the loosest form of appreciation you can think of.
You’re pretty sure ‘tolerates’ is a fitting word for how he sees you. Like some sort of intrusive insect that sits just out of reach.
When he re-emerges from the back with his coat shrugged off, you’re surprised to see him in a black button-up and slacks, carrying his usual aloof expression as he makes his way to the counter. Admittedly, it’s a good look for him.
It’s unfair that he gets to be hot and an asshole.
“Is there a reason you’re staring?”
Thank god you don’t find him intimidating anymore. He’s a dick. Even to customers from time to time, but you don’t find yourself feeling small under his judgement. Maybe you should, but your ability to quickly bounce back could easily be placed at fault.
Blinking, you avert your gaze. “Sorry. I’m just not used to seeing you so dressed up.”
He examines your expression as though he suspects a lie in your words. “I had a presentation,” he explains, surprisingly open as he offers the explanation willingly.
Holy shit. It’s the first sunny day in the Sukuna forecast.
“What sort of presentation?”
“A marketing pitch.”
“Oh, nice.” You nod, trying to keep the peace. “How’d it go?”
He nods, turning to the counter to open his laptop. “Good. We’re gonna workshop it a bit, but I’m hoping to pitch to investors soon.” There’s pride within the evenness of his voice that has you tilting your head, intrigued to get something genuine from him.
Leaning in, you push to see how much you can get from him. “Like, a startup idea?” You recall Satoru mentioning something of the sort.
His gaze fixes you from over his shoulder. You get the feeling with him that he’s always trying to read you. “Yeah. A platform where people can pitch their businesses to customers within a certain distance without needing social media.”
“Oh,” you blink, mildly surprised. “That’s a really good idea.”
He hums, turning back to his laptop.
“You don’t really strike me as the CEO type, if I’m being honest.”
“I’m not,” he agrees, surprisingly unbothered by the observation. You consider yourself lucky he doesn’t take it as an insult. “I’d be looking for a co-founder to handle the personal, financial, and sales bullshit. I’d run strategy and go-to-market.”
Admittedly, yeah. That suits him. He’s sharp and straightforward, he seems like the type to be more inclined to work on strategy and run everything without the constant need for approval and help from others.
“That sounds more your style. What made you think of the platform idea?”
He doesn’t look back as he replies. “Just seemed like something that would make money.”
You recognize that as Sukuna being polite. He’s shutting you down without a look that makes your skin crawl for once. You suppose it’s as good of a time as any to return to your texts. Your friend from back home has been religiously sending memes during your shifts to get you through the Sukuna days and today is no exception. You laugh at a few of them under your breath.
The day is as uneventful as usual. Sukuna even casts an approving glance in your direction when you correctly answer a customer’s question. He’s not so bad when he isn’t glaring every couple of minutes.
You pray the weather stays sunny in Sukunaland.
Shutting the register as a customer leaves, you turn back inside the store to find Sukuna back to work, hunched over his textbook and regurgitating the information into notes. You opt not to bother him, turning your attention instead to a flickering bulb in the back of the floor. Much like both men have chosen not to mention or fix it, you have too.
Turning your attention back to your phone, you cast a smile at your latest text from Satoru.
5:53 PM You || The weather's looking surprisingly sunny today!!
5:54 PM Satoru || be on the lookout for rain. the weather can change on a dime
5:54 PM You || I can handle a bit of rain
5:55 PM Satoru || i’ll bet you can ;)
There your stomach goes doing flips again. Your thumbs fiddle with the edges of your phone case, pulling at the plastic as you stare at the message with that horrible mix of nerves and your stomach tying in knots. You get so caught up in your own self-doubt, you don’t realize you’re staring at Sukuna, busy with his own phone.
“What?” He gruffs, retaining that hint of annoyance.
“Hm?” You blink, brought back to the present. Before you, Sukuna is leaning against the counter, phone in-hand as his jaw shifts left and right. His lip ring noticeably catches like he’s fiddling with it. “Oh. Sorry.” With a shake of your head, you stare back down at your screen. Your gaze catches on the winky face. The underlying meaning behind it and his text. The impression you’ve probably given off working at a sex toy boutique.
The goddamn butterflies, though. The same ones causing the wave of self-consciousness that you know is foolish. But fuck is it hard not to feel that way when Satoru is undeniably the kind of guy that has people hanging off his shoulder with little to no effort. Your experience shouldn’t matter, but society has taught you to think otherwise.
“Hey,” you speak up on impulse before your mind can catch up to the move your mouth is already making. You can’t be certain whether it’s bravery or stupidity. “You know a lot about what we sell, right?”
His eyes narrow, minute. Just enough to catch your attention. “Yeah. I’m good at my job.”
The dig at your knowledge has you pressing your lips together. God, he’s frustrating. “Asshole.” His brow raises slightly, like something he once deemed uninteresting or unuseful has caught his attention and he’s appraising the situation to find if you’re deserving of it. “Is there, like… a way to improve without watching porn?” You query, worrying your lip between your teeth.
No longer engrossed in his laptop upon noticing your stare, Sukuna’s gaze bores into you. He doesn’t particularly make you uneasy now like he did when you first started, but it is sharp in spite of the evenness behind it. “I told you. Buy toys.”
You suppose you could have been a bit more specific. “No, I know that. A lot of them need a partner, though.”
He waves his hand in disinterest through the air like you’ve already answered your own question and he’s done entertaining any more. “Find one, then.” He’s already looking away as he replies.
You suck in a breath. “I’m from a small town. I just moved here, I don’t really know anyone.”
Sukuna just stares at you again like he expects you to figure it out yourself. His arms cross over his chest, his hip leaned against the counter. It’s not until the air turns stifling, your words hanging a hair too long as you meet his gaze that he cuts the tension with a disbelieving laugh.
“You’re asking me?” You can’t make heads or tails of his expression when it sits somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. It’s akin to the look you got upon calling him an asshole.
“No! Or– maybe? I don’t know.” The wince you shoot him is humiliating as you try to navigate the stormy seas you’ve set yourself sailing through.
“Why don’t you go ask Satoru?” He queries, pushing a hand back through his black-dyed locks like this question was never meant for him. Still, his tone doesn’t give off the impression that he’s irritated by you, so much as something more curious in nature.
Your gaze averts as your jaw hangs open in a frustrating moment of hesitation. Briefly glancing at the texts sitting in your hand is the only tell Sukuna needs, unfortunately able to read you like a book for some god forsaken reason.
“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” he chuckles, airy and amused. He pushes up off the counter, taking a step towards you like he’s laying out a challenge. “You don’t give a shit about the job. You’re trying to impress that fucker.” He rakes his tongue over his teeth, standing over you like he owns this damn conversation.
You cross your arms over your chest, fixing him with your own judgement. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”
He pushes a condescending breath through his nose, smiling with nothing but mockery. “I don’t, but I’m gonna. You two would hit it off.”
Frowning, you opt to not give him the reaction he wants. Your nails dig into the skin of your arm. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk as much.”
“Most people do,” he smirks. He steps forward, hands in his pockets as he leans over you. “You still want me to teach you a thing or two, sweetheart?” His tone drips with condescension now that the person he once saw as little more than a pain in his ass has become something he can toy with.
You roll your eyes. You hadn’t expected your quiet co-worker to be this kind of an asshole. Why couldn’t he just say no and move on? Where did all the theatrics come from? “Why are you such a dick?”
“Answer the question,” he deflects, unbothered and painfully egotistical.
You huff, staring at the lemon-shaped vibrator sitting atop the counter that you’ve been contemplating buying for the last hour. “Fine. Yeah, I do.”
He blows a breath through his nose, standing upright again once he’s gotten your admission in his hands. “What’s in it for me?” The way he stands over you, chin tilted, and eyes narrowed, makes you huff.
You hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. Hell, you didn’t expect to even voice your thoughts out loud. You barely even know enough about him to offer him anything. “I took business as a minor,” you suggest. “I could tutor you.”
“Nah, I’m set.”
You shrug, exasperated. Your hands wave uselessly through the air before plopping back down at your sides. “What do you want, then?”
He regards you with a thoughtful expression. “I’ll train you to close. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, if I ask you to take my shift, you drop whatever you’re doing and take it.”
You shift your jaw to the left, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You expected worse.
“And you don’t tell Jillian or Satoru you took my shift. I keep the money.”
Ah. There’s the ‘worse’ you expected.
Frowning, you give the nerves in the pit of your stomach a moment to settle over making a deal with the devil. You want to say figuratively but you aren’t so sure. “Fine.” You extend your hand, but the man shakes his head, frowning.
“Rules first, then we shake.” He holds up his pointer. “Don’t tell a soul. Not even your friends back home.” Another finger. “No kissing. No making out. No sex.” He holds up a third finger. “This isn’t a little romantic fantasy thing. This isn’t a relationship. Don’t call this shit friends with benefits or fuck buddies, either. We’re not friends. Don’t expect anything cute from me. Got that?”
You don’t bother holding back a scoff. “I wasn’t going to, trust me.”
He smirks, unbothered. “Good.” His hand extends first this time.
For a long moment, you stare. You contemplate your life choices. You debate just ignoring your fears with Satoru and praying you can play the role of having experience. You equally contemplate just telling him you have no experience and that you’re nervous.
But somehow, the way nerves churn your stomach makes the butterflies worse. You want to squash them. You want to impress Satoru.
And you know. You know it’s stupid. You know you shouldn’t have to impress him, but the heart and mind don’t always connect, do they?
Against your better judgement, you clasp hands with him. You go to do the actual motion of a handshake but he keeps your hand in place. When your gaze raises to meet his in a silent question, he’s scrutinizing every little movement in your features.
His expression doesn’t hold the condescension you expect. His gaze is devoid of amusement, fixated on the frown you bear. “You really sure about this?”
You don’t hesitate to nod.
His eyes narrow a sliver. “Well, aren't you full of surprises?” There’s that hint of assholery. “One more rule.” His hand remains unmoving, still clasped with yours as he holds your gaze. “Either of us can shut this down at any time. It still never gets mentioned.”
You nod. “Agreed.”
Finally, he goes through with shaking your hand. “When are you looking to start?”
Your nose wrinkles at the way he makes it sound. “Do you have to say it like it’s a– I don’t know, job or something?”
“Oh, my bad,” he sneers, his grin too proud. “When do you wanna get fucked?”
You shouldn’t have asked.
Pulling your hand away from him, you rub your temples. You’re definitely not about to prod any further, lest he get more vulgar. “I’m free ton–”
“Not tonight,” he interrupts. “I got someone coming over to study.”
Scheduling ahead doesn’t sit right with you either. “Can we just decide during shifts? See how we’re feeling?”
“Whatever suits you,” he shrugs. The mild arrogance to his tone is… another can of worms to unpack, but as your colleague turns back to his studies, you only have one question for yourself.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
main masterlist || series masterlist || next ⪢
౨ৎ a/n ; i hope you enjoyed the first chapter of what will be a VERY kinky series LOLOL. i'm having a lot of fun with these two so far and i hope you are too <3
as a note, i'm trying moving tags to another blog which some of you may have seen due to changes in how tumblr's bot detection system is working, so please bear with me while i figure out how to not get my account flagged while doing taglists 🙃 edit; it's not working. if you weren't tagged, bear with me while i try to figure it out :')
synopsis: Your village tried—and failed—to kill the king of curses, so he razed it in a day. as a last-ditch offering, they gave him you: soft-spoken, well-bred, meant to be a symbol of surrender (or a future corpse). they expected you to cry, beg, maybe throw yourself from his balcony. Instead, when sukuna returns from war two months later, he finds you alive and well: organising his palace, baking for his servants, folding his robes like you belong there. You hate him though, and he hates you. and worst of all? you don’t fear him, not the way you should. He doesn’t kill you. He watches. always. because the god of slaughter was supposed to forget you, now he can’t stop wanting you.
pairings: heian era!Sukuna x war bride!Reader
content/warnings: fire, destruction of home, village destruction, mass death, graphic violence, blood and gore, slow burn, historical fantasy, Heian-inspired setting, fish out of water, grief arc, female rage, reader protagonist, Sukuna x Reader, Uraume buggin
Early Winter, Morning
Akebara: Day of Akebara’s destruction
By dawn, there would be nothing left of your home but ashes and ghosts.
The floor burns beneath your palms as you drag yourself forward through the wreckage. Ash cakes your hands black. Your fingers slip across what used to be polished cedar wood—your mother’s low dining table, perhaps, or one of the veranda doors that rattled softly during storms. It is impossible to tell now. The grain has burned out of everything. What remains is blackened, smooth, brittle as old bone left too long beneath the sun.
A beam somewhere above groans like a dying animal. You flinch instinctively, the movement sending pain lancing through your shoulder. Dust sifts from the ruined ceiling in pale streams, settling in your hair and lashes. Smoke crawls into your lungs with every breath, carrying the bitter stink of charred wood, burnt bodies, and something…
Something copper-sweet.
Blood.
You do not remember falling, however, you do remember running. That much is certain. The slap of bare feet against polished corridors. Shouts splitting the night apart. A villager crashing into you hard enough to send both of you sprawling. The crack of timber, the screams of a child somewhere beyond the garden bridge.
Your mother’s voice—No—not her voice. Only the faint memory of it torn to pieces before it could ever reach you whole. After that came heat. Heat so fierce it swallowed the air from your lungs.
If you stopped moving, even for a moment, the flames would devour you whole. Now there is only silence. Silence, and the distant ringing of shrine bells somewhere beyond the smoke.
“Mama,” you try, and the word breaks apart halfway out, splintering against your throat. You cough hard enough that it aches, one hand braced weakly against the floorboards, but it does nothing. The smoke clings stubbornly inside your lungs. “Mama…?”
Far beyond the ruin, you think you can still hear the village screaming. Men shouting over one another. The shrill terror of frightened oxen and sheep. Yet all sounds strangely distant, muffled beneath the violent ringing inside your skull. It whines endlessly in your ears like a living thing burrowed deep behind your eyes.
You crawl anyway. There is no thought left in you now, only movement. The stubborn animal need to survive. Your sleeve drags through soot and shattered plaster, the pale fabric turning black at once. Heat radiates from the ruined floorboards beneath your knees. Your vision pulses strangely, the edges of the world blurring in and out as though you’re sinking underwater. A support beam collapsed across the corridor ahead, split clean through the middle. You push weakly against it with trembling hands. It does not move, so you drag yourself around it instead.
“Papa…” you whisper this time, quieter than before, as though he may be close enough to hear if you don’t frighten him away.
Only then do you realise your lips have split open somewhere along the way. When you lick them, the taste of iron spreads across your tongue. Nothing around you looks right anymore. The house has become something monstrous and unfamiliar. Walls lean where they should stand straight. The roof has caved inward like the ribs of a rotting carcass.
There is something low to the ground near the remains of the veranda.
A chest, perhaps. Or bedding.
Or—
Your thoughts stop short as your hand catches suddenly against something soft. You freeze. For one terrible, hopeful moment, warmth floods your chest so quickly it hurts. Fabric, you think wildly. A sleeve. Someone is there. You turn at once, blinking through smoke and tears, straining to force the shape into something familiar.
But there is nothing waiting for you.
Only charred cloth collapsed into ash, blackened and hollowed through, crumbling apart beneath your fingertips. Empty. Like everything else. You don’t know where you are anymore. Whether this is still your home or merely the bones of it, every corridor looks the same now—burned black, collapsed inward, stripped bare of shape and memory.
You could be anywhere.
You could already be dead, and this a cruel hindsight by the gods.
“Mama,” you whisper again. This time, the word barely leaves your mouth at all.
“It’s her!”
Before you can make sense of the words, rough hands seize you beneath the arms. You cry out as your body is hauled upward so violently that your breath leaves you in a broken gasp. Your feet drag once against splintered floorboards, then lose purchase entirely. Panic overtakes thought.
You kick wildly, twisting in their grasp like a trapped animal. Your heel strikes something solid and one of the men grunts. Instead of loosening, the grip on you tightens painfully. Another hand clamps around your arm, iron-hard, hauling you higher until you are pinned between bodies that smell of sweat, smoke, and scorched leather.
“Hold her,” a man says.
Your vision stutters as they turn. The world comes apart in flashes. Burning beams collapsing inward with showers or sparks. Through the smoke, you glimpse what remains of your home.
Or, what had once been your home.
The outer walls have already caved inward, the veranda is gone entirely. Fire pours through the structure greedily, licking through. You stare at is as they carry you past. You cannot stop staring. The night has opened wide above the village, vast and black and terrible, streaked orange by firelight. Nothing hides the destruction here. Not walls. Not shadows. The fields beyond the homes glow faintly beneath drifting embers, and smoke rolls across the earth in thick grey waves.
A woman stumbles through the mud clutching a child to her chest, her hair half-burned away. An old man kneels beside a collapsed house muttering prayers beneath his breath, over and over, though whether to the buddhas or the kami, it is useless.
Your thoughts cannot keep pace with any of it. You do not know who these men are. You do not know what they want from you. You only know the dreadful certainty gathering cold in your stomach: whatever comes next will not spare you, you hope they’ll kill you after.
Your feet leave the ground once more.
Then suddenly—
You are dropped.
The impact slams through your body hard enough to empty your lungs. Pain flashes white-hot through your knees and palms as you hit the earth too late to catch yourself properly. Mud and ash smear across your hands. The taste of iron floods your mouth again where your teeth strike the inside of your cheek. The world lurches violently sideways. First, the man kneeling before you. He is bent low against the soot-black earth, forehead pressed into the dirt as though in prayer. His posture is not reverence.
It is surrender. Around him, the village burns. Rooflines collapse inward in bursts of sparks. Smoke climbs slowly into the heavens in obscene twisting ribbons. Firelight flickers across shattered beams and broken walls. The place where your home once stood has become unrecognisable—a smouldering heap of blackened timber and ash.
Gone so completely it almost feels as though it had never existed at all.
Then…more of the figure behind him comes into view. Tall and wrong. Not merely in height, but in proportion, as though the body itself had been shaped according to rules different from those of ordinary men. Four arms rest in terrible stillness at his sides, and somehow that stillness feels more violent than movement ever could.
Even the fire seems unwilling to draw too close. He does not look at the burning village, nor to you. His eyes rest solely upon the kneeling priest as though the man’s death has already happened and only the body has yet to realise it. The men behind you shove you forward roughly once more.
Every instinct inside you screams to flee, yet your body feels nailed to the ground. Lord Sukuna.
You lower your gaze at once in cowardice. The earth beneath your trembling hands is damp with something warmer than rain. Blood, perhaps. You don’t allow yourself to look closely enough to know. Instead, your eyes catch upon the hem of his robes—silk dark as fresh ink, embroidered faintly with gold thread now blackened by ash.
The kneeling priest trembles so violently his sleeves shake against the dirt. Only then do you recognise the bastard.
Not by his face. His features are smeared black with soot and sweat but—but his voice.
That same voice that once recited sutras during spring rites while children slept against their mothers’ laps beneath paper lantern light. The same voice that scolded your father for missed offerings. The same voice that looked upon your family with eyed disapproval whenever your mother spoke too boldly. The village priest.
“M’lord,” he stammers, pressing his forehead deeper into the ash. “Please—please accept this offering! S-She is untouched, pure—her family line is respectable, h-her mother educated her properly, her father served the military and s-shrine f-faithfully, and—and—”
Beside you, silk rustles softly. The sound nearly stops your heart.
The priest continues in frantic bursts, words tumbling over one another so quickly they scarcely sound human anymore.
“She is obedient—soft-spoken—a suitable woman, m’lord. Strong hips for bearing sons, healthy besides. She can serve you well, she can—”
The wet sound comes suddenly. You don’t understand what has happened, until you see the priest come apart. Your breath catches painfully beneath your ribs as half his body topples sideways into the dirt. The rest folds forward a moment later with a heavy spill of torn flesh and shattered bone. Blood rushes black-red across the earth in steaming sheets, creeping toward your knees.
Something hot surges violently into your throat. You clamp your mouth shut hard enough to hurt. The smell reaches you a heartbeat later. Fresh blood. Opened flesh.
Do not breathe. Do not breathe and perhaps he will forget you are here. Your lungs ache at once, already scraped raw by smoke and heat, but still you force your chest still. Panic claws beneath your skin. Your pulse pounds so hard you fear he must surely hear it.
If you suffocate quietly enough, perhaps death will take you before he does. Perhaps death by your own body is kinder than death by his hands.
Then Lord Sukuna speaks. The voice is low enough that you cannot make out the words themselves, yet the command inside them is unmistakable. Footsteps answer immediately. The two men behind you barely have time to react. A sharp movement cuts through the dark. Warm blood spatters suddenly across your cheek. One body collapses beside you hard enough to shake the earth beneath your palms. The second falls moments later with a choking noise cut brutally short midway through.
Behind you, the village still burns. Timber cracks apart beneath flame. Somewhere in the distance, someone screams once before the sound vanishes abruptly into the night.
Yet around Lord Sukuna there exists another kind of quiet entirely.
A dreadful stillness.
You gasp hard enough to choke, smoke tearing through your lungs the moment your mouth opens. The burn is immediate. A fit of coughing doubles you over, tears sting your eyes at once. When your vision finally steadies, there is someone kneeling before you. You don’t remember them approaching. One moment, there had been only blood and fire and Lord Sukuna’s dreadful silence. The next, this stranger.
Their skin is almost colourless beneath the shifting firelight, untouched by soot despite the ash drifting endlessly through the air. White hair falls neatly to their cheeks, cut blunt and straight. You cannot tell whether they are a boy or a girl. Young, certainly. Mayhaps your age, mayhaps younger.
Their face is lovely in the way winter rivers are lovely. A hand enters your vision, clean, impossible clean. Around you, the earth is soaked dark with blood. Ash drifts through the air like black snow. Bodies lie cooling only a few paces away. And their fingers remain untouched by any of it, pale and steady as carved ivory.
“It would be best,” the stranger says softly, “if you did not resist.”
The offered hand remains suspended between you, though the choice no longer belongs to you at all.
———
Early Winter, Dawn
Shiranui: The Palace of Ryōmen
The room is extremely clean. That is the first thing you think as you lie staring up at the ceiling. Dark cedar run overhead, polished smooth by years and years of careful hands. Not a speck of dust hangs between them. Not a single cobweb clings to the corners. No ash, no soot, no smoke.
Instead, the room smells faintly of something floral you cannot name. Everything is clean. The rush mats between your cheek are pale gold. The walls are unmarked. A bronze incense burner sits upon a low table, polished brightly. The tears slip soundlessly into your hair. Another. Then another. At some point, the pale stranger had brought you here. The journey remains scattered through your memory like a broken pottery.
Polished floors that reflected lanternlight in wavering gold ribbons. Cedar pillars thick enough that three men together might not have wrapped their arms around them. Painted screens depicting cranes standing amongst reeds, foxes disappearing into forests of red maple, great waves curling beneath silver moons.
Servants had appeared wherever you looked. Men. Women. Folk not much older than yourself.
Every one of them dropped instantly to their knees as the pale stranger passed. Foreheads lowered. Eyes fixed upon the floorboards. None dared look directly at him. Beyond him either.
The walk to this estate was even longer. You remember staring at the back of his white head for what felt like an eternity. “Are you a boy or a girl?” you had asked.
He glanced back, “A boy.” Then he turned forward again. And that was all. You hadn't bothered to even learn his name.
Beneath your robes, your skin aches. Dried blood tightens across your arms and shoulders. Every movement pulls at it unpleasantly. Smoke still lives in your hair. You can smell it whenever you breathe. No matter how many times your fingers drift upwards to touch the tangled strands, the scent remains.
Your hand rises to your mouth, pressing your knuckles hard against your lips. The tears continue anyway. There’s no village sounds here. No sound of barking dogs waking you up, nor chickens scratching through the dirt; no cart wheels rattling over uneven roads; no neighbours calling to one another across gardens; no sounds of children’s laughter.
Only silence. A different silence than the one surrounding Lord Sukuna.
Just then, the door slides open with a whisper of wood against wood. Your eyes follow the sound.
A woman. Her black hair is drawn into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, secured with a simple wooden pin. Her robes are plain beside the silks you glimpsed throughout the estate, yet they are finer than anything you’ve ever owned. Not a wrinkle mars the fabric. Not a loose thread escapes the stitching. She kneels immediately.
“My lady, the bath has been prepared.”
The title strikes you harder than the sight of the burning village. My lady. You nearly laugh.
You drag yourself upright with stiff, trembling limbs. Your knees protest immediately. One buckles before catching itself. The dried blood upon your skin cracks as you move, smoke-blackened sleeves hang from your arms. Soot stains your hands, your neck, your face. It stains everything. The servant says naught, though you’re sure the sight of the dirtied mats trouble her more than you.
She rises to her feet and waits. You follow because there is nothing left to do, out the door, to the halls.
The corridors seem endless. They wind through the palace like riverways through a forest, turning corners only to reveal more corridors beyond. In the distance, water trickles over stone. The sound follows you…a small, peaceful sound. You find yourself hating it. Servants move through the corridors as silently as ghosts. Some carry folded robes. Others lacquered trays. Every one lowers their eyes the moment they see you. None speak.
At last, the servant stops before a pair of doors, upon sliding one, you’re met immediately with warmth. The bathing chamber stretches beyond. Your breath catches. The room…it’s enormous. Massive wooden beams cross the high ceiling overhead, darkened almost black by years of steam and heat. Lanternlight dances along pale stone walls polished smooth as river rock. At the chamber’s centre rests the bath.
A pool, you’ll say. Sunken deep into the earth itself, perfectly round. Water laps gently against smooth stone edges worn soft by time. Pale petals drift across the surface in slow circles. Lanternlight shimmers beneath them, turning the water molten gold wherever it catches.
You forget yourself, but just for one terrible moment. It is beautiful. It doesn’t belong in the same world as the village. Only hours ago, you had crawled through smoke and blood and burning timber. You’d watched men die, watched homes collapse into embers. Yet, here the air smells of cedar and flowering plum. Here the stone floors have been scrubbed clean. Here petals float upon warm water whilst servants bow and avert their eyes.
The contrast makes your stomach feel strangely hollow.
The servant withdraws towards the wall and lowers her gaze. You remain standing for several moments, staring at the water as steam curls around your ankles. The robe hangs from your shoulders. Smoke has worked itself into every thread. The fabric smells of ash. Of your village. Of home.
Home.
Slowly, your fingers find the ties. The robe loosens and slips from your shoulders. It falls in dark folds around your feet. Soot stains the pale fabric in dozens of places. A torn sleeve hangs by loose threads. Dried blood darkens the cuffs.
Barefoot, you step forward and descend the stone stairs. The water reaches your ankles first, your knees, then finally your waist.
Heat wraps around you immediately. A shaky breath escapes before you can stop it, your body feels heavy suddenly. You hear the servant exit the room, so you take the opportunity to sink deeper.
The water rises over your ribs, your shoulders, your collarbones. Petals brush softly against your skin before drifting away again. Your hair spreads across the surface behind you in dark ribbons. For a few moments you simply sit there, staring across the bath.
Before you can let your tears fall, you draw a breath and slip beneath the surface. Water closes around you at once. The world vanishes. Everything does. Your hair lifts weightlessly around your face.
The image of the priest still lingers somewhere within your mind, even that seems farther away beneath the water. His voice. The spray of blood across your cheek. The sight of his body collapsing into the dirt. You remain there longer than you should.
Perhaps this would be a fate easier than Lord Sukuna’s hands.
Something disturbs your stillness. Even through the water, you feel it. Above you, distorted by rippling gold light, blurred figures move beyond the surface.
Reluctantly, you rise. Only enough for your eyes to clear the water. Everything else remains submerged beneath the drifting petals. Women stand gathered at the bath’s edge.
Four of them.
All dressed alike in layered robes pale as cream, the sleeves embroidered with delicate plum blossoms picked out in silver thread. Their dark hair has been pushed smooth until it gleams beneath the lanternlight, every strand pinned precisely into place. Even their faces appear nearly identical. White powder softens their features. Their lips are painted red. Red strokes of black accent the corners of their eyes.
Their conversation dies the instant they notice you watching.
“My lady?” one asks after a hesitant pause. Her voice is soft enough that it barely disturbs the stillness. “May we know your name?”
You say nothing. Water laps quietly against stone.
The woman waits a moment longer before lowering her gaze. Another kneels beside several folded cloths and a collection of small ceramic jars arranged neatly upon a lacquered tray. She reaches towards one uncertainly.
Your eyes remain fixed upon them. The woman slowly withdraws her hand. A third servant shifts awkwardly where she kneels. “Were you injured during your journey?” she asks. “If my lady is in pain, we can summon a physician.”
The women exchange brief, uneasy glances. One clears her throat. “My lady? Are you able to speak?”
You continue staring. The youngest servant lowers her voice, though terrible whispering. “Perhaps she cannot hear us.”
“No,” another whispers (terribly, might you add). “She looked when you spoke.”
“Then perhaps she is frightened. I would be frightened too.”
A third woman shoots them both a warning look. Their whispers cease immediately.
The unease remains. You can see it in the way their hands fidget within their sleeves. The way one repeatedly smooths wrinkles that do not exist from her robes. The way another keeps glancing towards the door as though expecting someone else to arrive and solve the problem for her.
“...P-perhaps we should call Lady Yorozu?”
One of the older attendants shakes her head. “Lady Yorozu departed just this morning.”
The relief vanishes just as quickly. At last the oldest woman lowers her gaze respectfully and folds her hands within her sleeves.
“My lady must rise. We cannot bathe you otherwise.”
When you do not move, a flash of uncertainty crosses her painted face. “My lady?”
The title sounds less confident this time. Almost questioning.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact until the very last moment, you rise from the water. Droplets trail down your skin in silver rivulets. None of the women look directly at you now. Their eyes lower almost immediately, trained carefully upon your hands, your shoulders, the stone floor. You wade towards the bath’s edge in silence.
You turn your back to them and wait. After that encounter, they approach more carefully. One kneels behind you with a wooden basin resting atop folded cloth. Another dips a ladle into warm water, pouring it slowly across your shoulders. The heat runs down your spine in shimmering streams. A third works powdered azuki beans and rice bran into a soft paste before rubbing it gently along your arms.
Her fingers work patiently over your skin, loosening soot from your elbows, dried blood from your wrists, ash from the curve of your neck. Grey water trickles down your body and disappears back into the bath.
Beneath its surface, bruises emerge one by one from beneath the grime. Dark stains bloom along your knees. Purple shadows wrap around one wrist where fingers had once seized you too tightly. A scrape runs the length of your forearm.
You can see one of the women notice it. Her eyes pause, immediately lowering, ashamed to have looked.
In Akebara, women bathed together from childhood until marriage. Shoulder pressed against shoulder in riverwater cold enough to numb the calves. Mothers washed daughters, sisters washed sisters. Old women scrubbed children’s hair whilst gossip drifted between them as naturally as birdsong. No one thought much of nakedness. Flesh was flesh, bone was bone. Yet, these court ladies move around you as though your bare skin were something sacred.
Their ears glow faintly pink whenever they accidentally took too long. They avert their eyes whilst washing the very body they have been commanded to tend. You study them.
All four wear layered kosode beneath their outer robes, the fabric so fine it catches the lanternlight like water. Their sleeves are long enough to brush the floor when they kneel. The woman seated to your left reaches for your hand, gently turning it over to rinse the soot gathered beneath your nails. There’s a mole beside her mouth. A small thing, even naught the powder can hide.
“Your name.”
The woman freezes so suddenly droplets spill from her ladle and patter against the stone. “Shimamoto no Mika, my lady.”
You consider this. “It suits you.”
The woman beside her glances up briefly before looking away again. You turn towards the youngest among them.
She cannot hide amongst the others no matter how carefully she imitates them. Youth clings stubbornly to her face. Her sleeves are slightly too long for her wrists. Every few moments she pushed them back only for the fabric to slip forward again. A faint dusting of freckles peeks through the powder across her nose.
You point at her. “And yours?”
The girl startles outright. The ladle in her hands nearly stops. “Y-Yoshimura no Kame, my lady.”
A small laugh escapes you. “All noble names.” The women become very still as you glance from one painted face to the next. “Have they truly set daughters of the court to scrub soot from a peasant?”
Complete silence follows. The young woman beside you resumes pouring warm water down your arm. Her hand trembles ever so slightly. A few droplets miss entirely, splashing against the floor. No one answers your question. That, more than anything, feels like an answer.
“How many years have you seen, Kame?”
“...F-four and ten years, my lady.”
So young. You think suddenly of village girls chasing dragonflies through flooded rice fields in midsummer, shrieking with laughter as their hems soak through. Fourteen is for flower-viewing, not for kneeling inside the palace of Ryomen Sukuna while corpses cool beyond the walls.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper before thinking better of it.
Another lady lowers her head. “This one serves willingly—”
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” you snap at the lady, looking back to Yoshimura. “Would you return home, if permitted?”
That stills the chamber entirely. Not one woman moves. Steam curls upward between you all, thick enough to veil the lanternlight. Somewhere water drips softly into stone. Kame’s fingers tighten around the cedar dipper. Her eyes flick sideways toward the eldest attendant before lowering once more. You understand. A different woman kneels before you and takes your hands into hers. Her fingers are cool despite the warmth of the bath. Small, fine hands.
She studies your hands, staring at the calluses, the cracked skin, the traces of dirt still caught deep within the creases. Then, she begins her work. A damp cloth passes over your fingers. A small carved tool slips beneath each nail to loosen the grime hidden there.
The woman notices and immediately bows her head lower, though her hands continue. “Forgive me, my lady.”
Again, she presses too harshly beneath the nail bed. You draw your hand back from your grasp. “That will do.”
No one moves. Perhaps they mistake your meaning. Court women are expected to protest delicately before allowing themselves to be attended once more. The thought irritates you. The attendant reaches again for your wrist.
You stare at her. “I said enough.”
This time the women glance toward one another openly. You see now how carefully ordered this place must be. Nothing here moves without instruction descending from some higher mouth first. Even dismissal requires permission. Irritation rises slowly and cold through your chest.
The woman nearest you bows until her forehead nearly touches the floor. “My lady, we have been instructed to complete your preparations.”
You rise slightly within the bath then, water slipping down your skin in quiet streams, and the attendants avert their eyes at once. Not one dares look directly upon you now.
“I have dismissed you.” You explode. “What manners has your lord taught within this palace, that women no longer know how to obey?”
At once, the women bow so low their sleeves spill across the damp stone like pools of silk ink.
“Hai, my lady.”
None depart. They obey you [insofar] as they are permitted to obey you. Nothing more, nothing less. Somewhere above them rests another command, stricter than your own, and no amount of temper from a soot-strained low villager will loosen it. The realisation irritates you afresh. You turn away before they might see it plainly upon your face.
The air smells different from Akebara’s fields. The water here tastes of minerals when it touches your lips, drawn perhaps from some deep spring hidden. You take up the cloth beside the bath and scrub hard at your own skin.
One of the women shifts from where she kneels, though none dare interrupt again. You rub until your skin reddens beneath the heat, until the last streaks of soot dissolve into the bathwater. The smell lingers.
Smoke and opened flesh. Burned mats. Wet blood steaming upon dirt. You scrub harder. A hand-sized bruise blooms ugly along your forearm where someone seized you earlier. You stare at it awhile before lowering the cloth slowly back into the water. The anger leaves you as quickly as it arrived. In its place comes only exhaustion.
When you speak again, your voice sounds roughened by more than smoke alone.
“I should not have spoken so…harshly.” The women glance toward one another in visible surprise. You keep your eyes fixed on the surface of the bath as you continue. “It has been…a confusing day. To lose one’s home before sundown and wake beneath another roof before moonrise. Surely, you all would understand.”
No one answers you. Perhaps nobles within this palace do not apologise to attendants. The very notion unsettles them more than your temper did. Alas, Mika bows her head.
“This one understands that my lady has suffered greatly.”
“Do you?” you ask quietly.
The youngest, Kame, lowers her eyes further. “Many ladies come to the capital unwillingly.”
Marriage, political fostering, religious service. Daughters are traded between houses like folded letters sealed with wax. You know enough of noble custom to understand that much. Your mother made certain of it. You think suddenly of your mother’s hands guiding yours across paper years ago.
“From where do you come, Kame?”
“Shizukage, my lady.” The Silent Shadow Vale.
“And you?” you ask Mika.
“Kurobane.”
The women answer more readily after that. One from Hoshikage, where astrologers and omen readers serve mountain shrines older than the capital itself. Another from the outskirts of Yamishiro, where fortified estates crouch behind black pine forests and snow lingers longest upon the hills.
Scattered daughters gathered beneath one monstrous roof. Interesting.
“Akebara’s rice is spoken of quite favourably in the provinces. My father always claimed no village grew finer grain.”
“And the persimmon groves,” Kame blurts suddenly. The words escape her so quickly that seems surprised to hear them herself. “Forgive me…”
“There is nothing to forgive,” you smile.
Colour rises faintly beneath the powder on her cheeks.
“My father travelled there once during tax season,” she admits. “He brought persimmons home afterwards. I was very young, but…” Her fingers tighten around the cedar dipper. “I remember liking them very much.”
You find yourself remembering the groves. Rows of twisted trees stretching over the hills beyond the village. Orange fruit hangs heavy amongst the branches each autumn. Children throwing stones to knock the ripest ones loose whilst their mothers shouted at them from below.
You wonder if the roads still exist, or the village shrines. If the river where children gathered smooth stones each summer now runs black with ash and blood. Or has Lord Sukuna gotten rid of it all?
You ask them of everything. Which gardens bloom latest into water. Which corridors are forbidden after dark. The attendants answer carefully, then as easy as the steam softens around you, so do the women. They speak of moon-viewing festivals held upon the eastern terraces, of poetry gatherings amongst the noblewomen during autumn rains, of hidden shrines tucked deep within the palace grounds where foxes are said to gather. Mika speaks carefully, arranging each word before releasing it. The eldest attendant avoids superstition altogether, favouring practical answers and old traditional etiquette. Kame tells you there are corridors even servants avoid.
“Some halls have been abandoned since the old reigns. Some say spirits remain there.”
The eldest clicks her tongue. “Yoshimura.”
But the girl continues, drawn onward by your attention now. “Old ones. Sometimes, lanterns are seen burning where no servants have gone.”
You rest your cheek against the cedar rim of the bath. “Has Sukuna wandered those halls?”
Immediately, the chamber stills. The silence that follows is so sudden you hear the soft drip of water sliding from your own fingertips back into the bath below. You swear you see their face goes whiter beyond their powdered makeup. The eldest lowers herself immediately until her forehead nearly touches the damp floor. The others follow immediately.
“M-my lady,” the older woman whispers, “you must not—”
“You must never speak his name aloud,” another breathes.
You blink at them. For the first time since arriving within this palace, believe it or not, genuine confusion overtakes you. In Akebara, mothers spoke his name to frighten children into obedience. Farmers muttered it beneath their breath when tribute collectors arrived too early before harvest. Priests lowered their voices when discussing him, yes, but they still spoke it. Here they behave as though you have uttered something cursed.
The attendants do not even look toward the doors as they panic. They look upward as though the palace itself might hear you.
Kame presses trembling fingers hard against her sleeves. “Please,” she pleads quietly. “Do not say it again.”
“Then what do you call him?” you ask.
No one answers immediately. At length, Mika speaks without lifting her eyes.
“The Disgraced One.”
Another murmurs, almost inaudibly, “The Lord of Calamity. Our Lord.”
“His Excellency,” says the eldest carefully, choosing the safest path of all.
The palace does not merely obey him, it seems they worship him the way villagers worship the sacred tree praying for rain for their crops. You think then of the village priest neatly split in two before he could finish speaking. Of blood spreading hot across dirt.
“How strange,” you murmur, leaning your cheek lightly against the rim of the bath.
You hear the sound before you feel the cold. The air enters the compartment right away. The pallid figure from earlier is framed at the doorway, standing still against the shadowy hallway outside. His complexion is nearly colorless in the lanternlight. He surveys the room once.
“As though I entered a shrine during prayer…” he hisses. “You may rise. The bath should be concluded by now.”
Annoyance sparks hot beneath your ribs. You have been dragged from the ruins of your home, carried across provinces like tribute grain—now this creature dictates how long you’re permitted to sit in water.
You rise. Water slips from your skin in slow streams as you stand fully within the bath, bare beneath lanternlight. The attendants lower their eyes instantly toward the floor, though you catch Kame flushing red beneath her powder before she manages it. You don’t cover yourself.
The water trails down your body onto the stone steps as you ascend from the bath. One attendant rushes forward at once with layered drying clothes of soft woven hemp, though she hesitates before touching you, uncertain now whether permission must first be granted.
“The robes prepared for her,” he says at length, directing the words toward the attendants without once looking away from you. “Use the lighter junihitoe. His Excellency dislikes excessive fragrance.”
“Hai.”
You wonder suddenly whether anyone within these walls possesses preferences untouched by that man’s shadow. Uraume turns then as though to leave, pale sleeves whispering softly against the floor.
At the doorway, however, he pauses. Without facing you, he orders quietly, “You should learn the customs of this palace quickly.”
———
Early Winter, Three Days After Akebara
Shiranui: The Palace of Ryōmen
Morning arrives cold on the mountain. Mist gathers thick beyond the palace verandas. Somewhere below the cliffs, temple bells carry through the valleys in the long mournful notes. You wake before the attendants arrive, though you scarcely remember falling asleep at all.
Your new bedchamber prepared for you is larger than your family home in Akebara. Screens painted with cranes divide the room into graceful partitions. Silk hangings stir faintly each time mountain wind slips beneath the shutters. Even the bedding beneath you feels impossibly soft.
You hate that you slept well.
When the attendants come, they dress you in subdued layered robes suitable for mourning, though no one names it as such. Soft greys, faded cream. No cosmetics are offered beyond a touch of lip colour, perhaps that boy’s instructed restraint. Could it be the palace hasn’t decided what you are meant to be? A bride, a hostage, or an offering. The uncertainty is loud.
Morning has fully entered the palace. Servants move soundlessly along the walkways carrying trays and folded cloths. Incense flows from bronze braziers stationed near the open halls. Kame walks half a step ahead of you, visibly eager despite her attempts at composure. Today, she wears robes of soft willow-green delicately.
“This corridor leads toward the eastern residences!” she explains while guiding you around a corner lined with painted screens. “Most visiting nobles are housed there during their stay.”
Mika walks upon your opposite side in silence, her own robes darker and more restrained. Deep purple layered beneath charcoal silk. She speaks rarely unless necessary, yet when Kame falters over details, Mika supplies them quietly without correction enough to embarrass the young girl.
“And these?” you ask, pausing beside a row of hanging plaques inscribed with flowing calligraphy.
“Poems,” Kame says brightly. “His excellency has them replaced seasonally.”
You lean slightly closer to study the inkwork. Expensive paper; one poem compares winter plum blossoms to snow gathering upon a lover’s sleeve. Another mourns autumn ending before the speaker finished composing under the moon.
“Oh, this one is my favourite.” She points to one of the plaques. She clears her throat, then she reads:
“The river leaves the mountain
Though it longs for the snow.
What waits below,
Only the sea may know.”
The poem means little to you. The characters themselves are little more than beautiful shapes across expensive paper.
“That one has been here for years,” Kame says. “The steward says it was written by a wandering monk.”
“A drunk monk,” Mika giggles behind her sleeve.
“A monk nonetheless.”
Mika’s mouth twitches faintly. “A drunk monk who lost all his money gambling and attempted to pay his debts with poetry.”
The younger girl looks scandalised. “He did not.”
“He did.”
Kame turns toward you as though seeking support. “Well, I think it’s beautiful.”
“It can be beautiful and written by a fool.”
“A fool can still write beautiful things.”
Mika considers this.
“Occasionally.”
The younger attendant beams as though she has won some great victory. Neither woman notices that your stare remains fixed upon the poem. The river leaves the mountain, though it longs for the snow.
Beside you, Kame shifts from one foot to the other. “Would my lady like to hear another?” she asks eagerly. “There are several good ones further down the corridor.”
You turn towards her. “Hear another?”
“If my lady wishes, we would be pleased to read them for you,” answers Mika.
“Many noblewomen learn poetry before they learn proper household management,” Kame explains. “There is no shame in it if—”
“My lady is from Akebara, the opportunities available there are not the same as those offered at court.”
Not the same. A graceful way of saying it.
Beautiful, you wonder how many villages starved whilst these poems were written. How many farmers bent their backs in muddy fields so some nobleman might spend an afternoon mourning the passing of autumn.
The luxury of people who had never worried where their next meal would come from. Speaking of meals…the scent of cookfire smoke and rice and soy broth and—Yes.
You stop walking so abruptly Kame and Mika nearly collide with you. The corridor ahead widens into a bustling lower passage unlike the polished quiet of the upper palace. Servants move here carrying baskets of winter greens, barrels of pickled plums, sacks of grain slung over bent shoulders. Somewhere nearby, knives strike rhythmically against wooden boards whilst water boils loudly in iron pots.
“The kitchens?” you ask.
Kame blinks in surprise. “Yes, my lady.”
You turn toward the sound immediately.
“My lady!” Mika shouts, “the kitchens are not usually—”
The warmth hits first upon entering. The great kitchen chambers spread wide, beams blackened by decades of smoke. Fish glisten silver upon cutting boards. Baskets overflow with daikon, burdock, root, mountain greens packed in winter straw. Conversation dies instantly when you enter.
Fires still crackle beneath the iron pots, and broth continues simmering. The servants bow their head lower and faster than you’ve seen before.
You realise now what you are. A strange ‘noblewoman’ wandering where noblewomen seldom wander.
The kitchens themselves stretch far larger than you expected, sprawling through interconnected chambers lined with shelves and heavy storerooms built partly into stone. Heat gathers thickly beneath the smoke-darkened rafters overhead. The air smells richly of miso broth, river fish, damp straw, and freshly steamed rice. Servants move quickly between the hearths in muted robes with sleeves tied neatly back, their hands red from hot water and winter air alike.
Your eyes drift slowly toward the storerooms where sacks of grain stand stacked in careful rows taller than a man’s waist. Each bundle bears the black-brushed markings of its province upon rough woven cloth, tied shut with cords. Hisame. Kurotsuki. Aokiri.
Your eyes move absently across the names first, little more than habit born from childhood harvest tallies and years spent watching your father bargain over tribute inventories.
Akebara.
For a moment you simply stare. The characters sit plainly upon the nearest grain sack, dark ink bleeding slightly into the woven fibres. Akebara rice. The kitchens blur at their edges suddenly, lanternlight softening into gold haze as memory rises swift and merciless beneath the surface of your thoughts. You see your mother standing knee-deep in flooded paddies during early planting season, skirts gathered high above her calves while dragonflies skimmed low across the water. You remember the ache in your shoulders from carrying harvested stalks beneath autumn heat, the smell of wet earth after rainstorms, the careful counting of grain stores each winter when snowfall came too early.
You remember your father arguing with tribute officials by lanternlight long after midnight, his voice disguised by fear, he dared call frustration instead.
Too much taken!
Never enough left behind. Now, those same harvests sit stacked neatly within palace walls untouched by famine or fire, reserved for silk-clad nobles who compose moon poetry whilst villages ration their feed bowl by bowl. Fed upward toward the mountain, the fields below starve.
Around you, the kitchens slowly begin breathing again, though quieter now than before your arrival. Knives resume their measured rhythm against wooden boards. Steam curls upward from iron cauldrons in soft white clouds. Somewhere a servant kneels beside a brazier turning skewers of river fish over open fire whilst another grinds sesame into paste.
Toward the nearest preparation tables where women work swiftly beneath the kitchen overseer’s eye, lined trays of pickled plum, salted greens, dried sardines and freshly steamed rice are arranged with care.
“So much food,” you whisper. The nearest servants freeze at once, startled perhaps that you address them directly. You glance toward the broad iron pots suspended above the central hearths. “For what meal?”
An older woman with burn scars, who you assume to be the kitchen mistress, lowers herself into a quick bow before answering. “For the morning, my lady.”
You suppose you wouldn't know, you refused to leave your room for three days. You smile faintly despite yourself. “And all this is prepared each morning?”
“Hai.”
The smell is almost overwhelming now that you stand amidst it fully. Fresh rice. Fish broth rich with mountain herbs. Soy simmered with root vegetables. Smoke from cedarwood fires clinging warmly to everything it touches.
You step closer to the lady before thinking better of it. “May I assist? Or help?”
Servants exchange uncertain glances immediately. One young cook nearly drops the knife in his hand before recovering himself. Even the kitchen mistress hesitates. Mika steps forward smoothly before anyone else may answer.
“My lady, the kitchens are servant quarters. It is not proper for a lady to involve herself in such labour. Less so, for the wife of His Excellency.”
You turn toward her. Mika’s posture remains composed as ever, sleeves folded nearly before her. “Wife?” You let out a short breath through your nose. “I planted rice three days ago. Four days ago, I would’ve been helping them already. And I am no wife to Sukuna.”
The name lands…and every sound in the kitchen dies. A servant carrying stacked bowls nearly stumbles outright before catching himself. Several attendants lower their eyes instantly toward the floorboards. Others glance nervously toward the open corridors beyond the kitchens, as though expecting the mountain itself to react. No one speaks.
Even the fires seem quieter.
Mika bows her head at once. Beside her, Kame’s eyes widen with genuine alarm before she quickly lowers them too, sleeves tightening nervously between her fingers.
Again.
“May I help?” you ask again, softer this time so that you won’t scare the servants.
The kitchen mistress blinks at you in visible confusion. “My lady…”
“I know how to prepare morning rice, and if your cooks ruin river fish the same way ours did during the season, I know how to salvage that too.”
A few servants exchange startled looks at that. One older cook coughs into his sleeve, poorly disguising what might almost be laughter before immediately remembering himself.
Kame looks horrified. “My lady,” she whispers quickly, stepping nearer to you, “you truly need not concern yourself with kitchen duties. We can have whatever meal you desire brought directly to your chambers.”
Mika presses her lips together faintly at that, though you catch the briefest flicker of amusement crossing her face before composure smooths over it once more. The kitchen servants remain uncertain still, glancing between one another and the kitchen mistress as though awaiting permission to breathe.
You step closer toward the preparation tables yourself. One of the cooks begin hurriedly clearing space at the edge of a preparation table. Another offers fresh cloths for your sleeves.
“My lady may sit here, if it pleases—”
“No need.” You reach instead for the ties at your wrists, beginning to fold back your sleeves yourself.
Kame looks as though each movement pains her physically. “Mika, surely this cannot be proper?”
“But if someone sees—”
The door slides open. Servants straighten in alarm so quickly that one of the younger boys nearly overturns a steaming pot entirely. Bowls clatter softly against lacquer trays. Every head lowers at once, the movement instinctive and immediate in a way no court etiquette alone could explain.
You look toward the doorway. And to no surprise, the pale creature stands there once more. The corridor behind him lies dim with winter light, mountain mist curling faintly through the open passage beyond, yet none of it seems capable of touching him. His robes remain immaculate despite the damp air and smoke-heavy kitchens alike. White layered silk falls cleanly to the floor without a single crease out of place.
His eyes immediately seem to settle upon you. Upon your loosened sleeves and the space cleared at the preparation table.
A pause follows, he is clearly disappointed. Kame drops instantly into a bow so deep her forehead nearly strikes the floor. “Forgive us!” she blurts out before anyone else can speak. “She only wished to look, we did not intend disrespect, I should have guided her elsewhere—”
Your eyes remain fixed upon the white-haired figure standing near the doorway, calm as snowfall whilst the room trembles around him. “Kame, do not apologise for me.”
Around you the servants lower their gazes further and return frantically to their work with desperate concentration. Someone begins chopping daikon so quickly the knife strikes the board in uneven frantic rhythms. Broth spills over one pot’s rim unnoticed. No one dares intervene. You fold your sleeves slowly back down over your wrist.
“Do you follow me through this palace by habit? Or has someone assigned you the task? Sukuna?”
Kame inhales.
“You should watch your tone.”
“Answer the questions asked of you.”
Something flashes in his eyes then. It could be surprise, you suspect defiance is hardly common within these halls.
“His excellency extends considerable patience toward you, be grateful he didn’t kill you along with the rest,” the boy says at last.
“There is generosity in allowing me to breathe after slaughtering my village?”
Several servants physically flinch at that. Kame whispers your name is quiet horror. The creature’s face hardens slightly for the first time since entering the kitchens. “You speak carelessly—”
“Everyone here speaks—”
“Fear is what keeps people alive,” he bickers.
“—as though terrified of their own shadows—Oh, does it? It didn’t keep Akebara alive.”
The pale creature studies your face a moment longer. Then, without another word, he turns and steps back through the kitchen doorway. You find yourself staring at the empty doorway.
Three days have passed since Akebara burned. Three days of attendants bowing and calling you my lady. You hadn’t left your room in three days. Men dragged before Lord Sukuna did not survive because he possessed a hidden kindness. You had seen enough in a single night to understand that much. Whatever purpose had spared you thus far, it had finally reached its end.
Kame slowly lifts her head. “Has he…left?”
“...No,” Mika whispers.
You know she’s right almost immediately. A few seconds later, multiple footsteps return. He reappears flanked now by two broad-shouldered men dressed in dark layered robes. The pale creature stops just inside the doorway once more. Then, with infuriating calm, he gestures toward you.
“Our lady appears tied, perhaps she should return to her chambers.”
The men hesitate only briefly before obeying. One reaches carefully for your arm. The moment his hand closes around your sleeve, something in you snaps entirely.
“Do not touch me.”
You wrench backward violently enough that the guard nearly loses his grip outright. The second man moves immediately to assist, catching your other arm before you can pull fully free, and rage erupts through you all at once—hot, humiliating, animal.
“I said let go!”
Your heel catches the edge of a wooden stool and sends it skidding sharply across the floorboards. Bowls rattle violently against nearby preparation tables. One servant yelps softly before ducking his head lower over the vegetables he is pretending desperately to focus upon.
The men tighten their hold. You (try to) twist hard enough that your sleeve tears faintly near the seam and lash out blindly with your free hand, nails catching against one man’s jaw. He curses beneath his breath in shock more than pain.
Kame gasps outright. “My lady!”
“Do not drag me like some animal!” you snap, struggling harder. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
Several kitchen servants abruptly become fascinated with their rice washing. One older cook begins stirring broth with such intense concentration, he may as well be worshipping it.
Mika moves quickly toward you, keeping her voice low and urgent. “Please,” she murmurs, trying carefully to catch your wrist without worsening the scene. “Please do not fight them here.”
You plant your feet hard against the floorboards and nearly succeed in wrenching one arm loose again before the second man catches you around the elbow. Fury burns white-hot beneath your ribs now, tangled with panic so fierce it leaves your vision sharp at the edges.
"I am going to kill all of—"
———
Early Winter, A Week After Akebara
Shiranui. Your Chambers
You stand motionless for three breaths. Four. five. Six. your hands still shake from where the men held your arms. Finger shaped aches pulse faintly beneath your sleeves. Slowly, you turn your head and look around the room prepared for you. The sight of it makes rage bloom so suddenly inside your chest you nearly choke on it. Everything is immaculate.
You start mumbling to yourself. “That…pale little mountain leech creeps through hallways wearing nothing but funeral robes. I’m going to slice his spine from his corpse and hang it from the gates.”
You stumble back from the door and drag both hands through your hair so forcefully that it pulls terribly at the roots. With the gold-painted cranes on the folding screens, the bronze incense burner emitting delicate ribbons of plum smoke, and the ridiculous untouched bedding patiently waiting in one corner as if this place already belonged to you, the thoughtfully designed chamber now swims before your eyes in flashes.
You make a sound halfway between a growl and a gasp, grab the lacquer tray closest to the low table, and throw it across the room. It strikes a painted screen with a tremendous crack.
You seize the nearest cushion and hurl it next. Still, no matter how much you throw, the room refuses to look ruined. You cross the chamber in three quick strides and sweep both arms across a writing table. Brushes scatter across the floorboards. A ceramic water dish shatters. An inkstone follows, spilling black ink across the pale tatami in a spreading stain that reminds you unpleasantly of blood soaking through snow.
Your eyes catch upon the window. The shutters stand partially open. Far from the mountain, hidden amongst forests, lie roads. Villages. Rivers.
The rest of the world.
You hadn’t thought much of the window before. Why would you? Slowly, your anger begins giving way to something else.
For the first time since arriving at Shiranui, you smile.
༄ synopsis: aang breaks his promise to you, but spends an entire night doing everything in his power to make it up to you.
༄ tags/warnings: contains explicit smut mdni 18+, you and aang are newlyweds, heavy angst, a yearnful aang (ultimate weakness), soft!dom aang, unprotected!sex (aang: “pull out? why? don’t you love me?”), mock sympathy, some nasty passionate missionary, praise (mostly male!receiving), body worship, manhandling, oral!sex/female receiving (ugh just love an eater that eats for his pleasure), good ol’ fashioned grinding, aang becomes a glow stick yay!, headboard!breaking, improper use of air and fire bending, basically you two get in a fight kiss make up and start repopulating the air nomads, pregnancy!mention, fluff at the end, brief mentions of zutara & sukka!pairing (pls don’t bring any ship wars over here i just want aang for myself), contains elements from the legend of aang movie (so beware of spoilers if you haven’t seen it!)
༄ author’s note: crazy how a bald pretty boi can make me come out of retirement after a 5 yr hiatus… this must say some things about me. (but i mean, aren’t we all still stuck on him going “i’m the last airbender” ? like we can start repopulating right now–) ahem. uhhh anyway! tbh, i haven’t written nor posted a thing for some yrs now so i’m extremely rusty. not to mention this is my FIRST atla fic ever (pls go easy on me. im an og fan, just never written anything for the fandom heh…) eng is also not my first language sooo if you see any mistakes or if anyone’s a bit ooc, just pretend you don’t see it and enjoyy xxx
w.c: 28.1k no beta. we die like my social life.
“you don't have to promise me the moon or the stars, just promise me you will stand under them with me.” – danielle p.
“It’s just one month. I’ll be back sooner than you think! No. Hmm…that’s not right... How about, sooner than you can blink!”
“Aang…”
“Trust me, you’ll see.”
“Promise?”
“As the Avatar and as your husband, I promise to come back to you. Don’t worry.”
At least, that was what Aang had told you.
But that was two months ago without a word from him since.
Republic City was many things. Boring was not one of them.
The capital was full of life. It had its usual hustle and bustle from lively merchants advertising their businesses, mischievous children darting through the streets, and the abundance of song and dance that carried through the city as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Daylight was quickly giving way to twilight, and it was thanks to the lanterns that littered the streets that helped you follow the path further into downtown.
Republic City held undeniable beauty during the day. It was a city of life and wonder where all things were made possible, but it was towards nightfall when it was truly able to shine through.
The people of the city twirled to the ratta tap beat of the music, clearly enjoying the presence of one another. They were free to love who they wanted, benders and non-benders alike, and could live however they so chose. In hindsight, it wasn't much but it was reason enough for them to express their happiness and gratitude through singing and dancing.
You were merely thankful that Katara had agreed to stay back and live within the capital instead of with her father and brother at the newly established Southern Water Tribe. She was a part of the city council, like you were, and was your closest friend. If she wasn’t here, you weren’t sure what you would have done without her.
In fact, that was where you were headed now.
Her home was only a couple of blocks away from yours and your husband’s, which you were very thankful for. Even though Republic City was, more or less, safe within its own measures, there was still crime here and there. People that stole from the market square and ransacked shop owners. Not to mention the fact that the Denied remained a pressing issue. It was why Aang never liked when you would leave after dark by yourself. It was dangerous. Even though he could be a bit overprotective at times, he meant well and was right.
Truthfully, that was what made having Katara live so close by such a relief.
Subconsciously, your arms stiffened around the warm basket of food that you cradled against your chest as you moved quickly through the dimming streets.
When you turned another corner, your eyes gleamed, looking up at the towering building in front of you. Katara’s home was three stories high, and had several lanterns strung up. It was a lot of space for just one person, but she tended to have company over so it was actually quite convenient.
You could smell the fresh scent of jasmine and the warmth from the hearth inside. You didn’t waste another second and stepped up to the door, giving it a clean knock in three’s.
A few seconds went by before the door swung open. When her familiar face peeked from behind the door, a smile quickly found its way to yours.
“Hey! Took you long enough. Get caught up in all of the usual festivities?” Katara teased, giving you a fond smile back before she pulled you into a hug.
Not giving you a moment to respond, she ushered you in and closed the door behind her.
“Sorry about the mess. I’ve been moving some things around. Sokka said he’s bringing some things from home and begged me to make room so–” She spread her arms out to show her progress with a sheepish smile. “I made room.”
Katara had a unique style about her that was unlike anyone you had ever met. She was creative and stylish, yet had this comforting homey feeling about the way she decorated her home—something that never failed to fill you with dread when it was time to part ways.
There were several pieces and such that were previously made sprawled around the large space. They were all from her home, things that meant something to her. Things that were given to her by the children in the villages, and trinkets that Sokka made for her. He liked to tell her that they would become useful someday. Usually, they didn't but she appreciated his little farewell gifts either way.
You could tell that some of it was put up, but it would seem that she’d managed to keep the more meaningful ones out in view. A beautiful pot of jasmines sat comfortably in the window that was near her balcony. They had been a birthday gift from you. Something for her to look after and care for while she remained apart from what was soon going to be her new future.
You were enlightened to know that the flowers were flourishing.
“Yeah,” you exhaled, catching her gaze. “A lot of room, I see.”
Katara shrugged, some of her long dark hair falling over her shoulder. “Well, you know. Sokka asks, I deliver.”
You hummed and nodded with a knowing smile on your lips as you followed the familiar path to the cooking area of her home.
“Oh, yeah. Of course. I mean, you making all of this space has absolutely nothing to do with your betrothed. The same one that is on his way here from the fire nation as we speak. No, no. Surely not,” you jested, settling the still-warm basket of baked goods down on a nearby surface.
You didn’t need to look over your shoulder to know that she had followed you with her lip fit between her teeth and that flustered glint in her eyes. She was easy to read whenever it came to her and Zuko’s relationship.
Speaking of which, it was never made clear when Katara and Zuko became a thing.
Toph once mentioned that it had happened a year or so after the hundred-year war ended. Sokka had taken a more…romantic approach. He preferred to remember it as love at first sight. Or, more knowingly when Zuko first arrived at the Southern Water Tribe, looking for the Avatar. Katara never bothered to correct nor deny either of them. When asked, she simply said,
“Zuko and I… Let’s just say that there was a mutual understanding between us, even as friends. Time is a funny thing. You really start getting to know someone when the world is ending. Or…beginning, I should say.”
At the time, you didn’t know him all that well but Zuko on the other hand…
“Katara is the moon, a light and beacon when the world around me got too dark to see. She has anchored me and I only wish to remain by her side, for as long as she will have me.”
Aang, on the other hand, was the most surprising one.
His support of their relationship had always confused you. Of course, you’d joined the group well after the war and the building of Republic City, but you became close enough to understand their dynamics and history together. His feelings for Katara was made out to be quite strong. Strong enough to see a future together. You could never understand what had happened between them and why they were not still together, but it meant little to you when you'd realized how happier they were apart.
Not to mention that, within a few months, Katara was going to be fire lady of the fire nation. Added that she would also continue to act as one of the council members for Republic City as well as back at the Southern Water Tribe.
It was clear, for both her and Aang, that there were no romantic feelings between them. They died the day they realized they wanted different things but, in place, something else was born.
A friendship that they knew would last several lifetimes over.
It was never like you needed the reassurance of knowing that they no longer had feelings for each other. It was never about that. You loved Aang, but always wanted the best for Katara. So it warmed your heart to know that she was happy.
She deserved it.
“Spirits, enough about me. We have to talk about you.”
Your expression fell a bit, feeling the color drain from your face. The last thing you wanted to do nowadays was talk about you. In fact, keeping all subjects away from you was what, somehow, helped make the days bearable.
Except, Katara had this way about her that wasn't exactly intrusive because she cared about you and could feel when things were off with you. However, she tended to meddle more than you wanted. Especially when she knew that something was wrong, even if you promised her differently.
And well, she was never exactly wrong. It wasn't as if things had been all that great since...
“If this is about Aang, then–”
“Yes. It is.”
You paused.
"Katara.”
“Come on–”
“I honestly would prefer not to really talk about it.”
There was a sharp finality to your tone that made Katara give you a puppyish look. You let out a heavy breath, feeling exhaustion seep into your bones like it'd belonged there. Then again, did it not?
At least it made you feel something other than hurt or angry.
“Aang does this all the time," Katara tried to reassure you. "He’s the Avatar. He’s a busy guy. A lot of people are counting on him to help keep the balance of the world. Without that and peace, I’m not sure where things would be right now. There’s also a lot of people that need him–”
“And I don’t?”
Your interruption made her stop and blink.
You should've stopped it then and there, but there was an impulse inside of you. It felt like it was trying to claw its way from your throat, and you weren't able to catch it in time.
"I know the Denied are an issue and I knew that there were going to be people that would need his help along the way but it’s been two months, Katara. No letters, no word. I don't even know if he's okay or not. I don't know anything, and that’s what hurts me the most."
The silence between you and her managed to smother the sounds of the crackling hearth from the other room. The longer that you stood in silence, the easier it was for a wave of regret to burrow itself down deep into your chest.
There was nothing that you loved more than being by Aang’s side and supporting him through all of his endeavors. This was his purpose, his reason for existing. You knew this, and yet—
You knew how that had sounded. It was…selfish, on a grand scale of things. Aang was the Avatar. He was who the people of the world depended on the most, even for the most minute of reasons. If they called, he answered, always. But, for some reason, the importance of who he was—
It was taking a toll on you.
“Sorry. That was completely unnecessary.” You turned and pressed your back against the edge of the counter, your eyes glued to the floor. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No,” Katara shook her head, and walked over to place a gentle hand on your arm. She sighed. “You don’t need to apologize. You have every right to feel the way that you do.”
When you looked up, you were met with soft cerulean eyes that gave you more reassurance than you felt you deserved.
“You love him and miss him, a lot. I know the feeling. So don’t invalidate yours by apologizing for something that you can’t necessarily control.”
“I do,” you agreed, fighting the inner turmoil within you. “I do love him, but that still shouldn’t excuse how I’ve been feeling. He’s out there, alone. Sure he can handle himself but he’s...”
A sting to your eyes, a burn to your nose and suddenly your vision started to blur. It only frustrated you more because there was nothing worse than feeling sorry for yourself than crying when you felt you were wrong.
“To me, he’s not the Avatar, Katara.”
You looked at her, ignoring the way your unshed tears made you see the look on her face.
“He’s my husband, and I want him home. I don’t care about the Denied or any other group of criminals. I just want Aang home.”
Katara felt her heart tug down to the shallows of her stomach.
“Hey…”
She pulled you into a hug, feeling your tears dampen her shirt.
“I know,” she nodded. “I know.”
Because if anyone could understand where you were coming from, it was always going to be Katara.
For the past two months, Aang had been on a long and arduous mission somewhere in the Earth Kingdom trying to find out more information on the exact location of the Denied.
Within the last year, there had been several reports that began to surface across entire villages within the Earth Kingdom that were quietly siding with the Denied. Murmurs of a mutual understanding and rebellion against the benders of the world. There were also reports of supply routes disappearing and the Earth Kingdom officials who were being threatened or worse, vanishing completely. No one knew who was leading them, only that they were growing bolder and larger.
Aang was analytical. He knew that they never tended to stay in one place for long so he figured that if he could find their hidden headquarters, he would have access to their current whereabouts or, at the very least, know their next move.
That was what his last letter said to you before they had stopped coming altogether.
Perhaps that was what aided the storm that had been brewing inside of you. The same one that had been creating a monsoon of thoughts and emotions that you would have normally swallowed down in favor of giving Aang your continued patience and support. Even from a distance now forced between the two of you.
And the thing was, you did understand. The Denied were becoming a very serious threat and you knew that he was truly the only one that could sort this without violence and penance.
Your husband was the Avatar, the most important man on the planet. How much more selfish could you be?
“Thank you Katara,” you said and managed to give her a tender smile as you pulled back from her embrace, silently hoping that it was convincing enough to ease her worries.
“Now,” you sniffled, taking a breath. “I believe that we have a lot to talk about with this wedding of yours coming up. Wanna make the tea and I’ll plate some of the homemade sweet buns I brought?”
For a split second, Katara’s brows twitched inward. As if it had been the trick of the room's gentle glow, she smiled warmly and gave you a nod.
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
When you turned to do just that, her face fell.
She knew that look all too well. You were doing it again. You were letting that vulnerable part of yourself decide to crawl back into the cold shadows of your mind where you felt it was safest. It always hurt when you did it with her. She wanted you to feel safe enough to tell her how you felt and rely on her to help alleviate the pain you carried of constantly wondering if you were still a wife or now a widow. It was not easy, of course she knew that. But, still...
She watched you pull two serving dishes from the cabinet and place a few of the sweet buns onto them. When you turned to check on her, she made herself busy by snagging the tea kettle from a lower compartment and filled it with water. You sent her a smile from over your shoulder, and she noticed that it barely met your eyes.
Katara smiled back and turned around, sighing quietly to herself.
Aang, she spoke from the confines of her mind, shutting her eyes. Please come home.
After a rather long talk about wedding plans, council member work and bellies full of a few sweet buns and tea, the sky completed its final cycle and descent into nightfall.
It was time to head back home and just like every night since you were left alone, you dreaded it.
Without Aang, home no longer felt like home. It lacked the warmth and luminance that your lively husband tended to bring with him. Where it felt as though the sun encompassed the space, once he was gone, he left behind a cold and dark cloud that seemed to engulf everything within reach. Like a black hole that only knew how to consume until there was nothing left.
The thought of having to return back to that only made your stomach turn. He should be here. He should be home, with you.
But he wasn’t.
When you made it to the foyer of her home, you were pulled into another hug but tighter this time. Katara squeezed you as if she, too, knew what you were you going back to.
“Promise me that you’ll come back over the day after tomorrow,” She said, just above a whisper next to your ear. “Sokka’s going to want to see you and Zuko too. Honestly, not seeing you for a day will kill me but I have that council meeting about the trades from back home tomorrow…”
Slowly but firmly, you circled your arms around her form, giving her a promising nod.
“Don’t worry. I will.”
When you separated and walked out, you could feel pieces of her home trying to pull you back in. It also knew.
Katara sent you a small wave, and watched you disappear back into the streets of the city, headed down the familiar darkened path to what you still managed to call home.
As if the universe was aware of your desolate mood, it began to rain.
You couldn't help but stop where you were, craning your neck up to the sky. It started with a few drops along your cheeks until the rain fell in sheets, soaking you from head to toe. However, you didn't move. Not even when those that were leisurely walking the streets, likely going back home as well, gasped and jogged the rest of the way, seeking warmth and shelter.
It was the middle of fall, and it was raining. Usually the city would see a few snow-scares before winter finally came around but rain at this time of the year was rare.
A brief sigh left your lips as you closed your eyes, and continued to stand in the middle of the street, ignoring the feeling of your clothes sticking to you like a second skin. Then, you smiled.
Memories of the last time you were caught in the rain resurfaced and helped you remember one of the last moments that you'd had with Aang.
༄ ... flashback ... ༄
"What about this?"
Aang took a brief glance at you from over his shoulder before he released an airy breath.
"Not everything's going to be something worth taking back home, my love." He smiled and turned back to what he was doing.
You raised a brow, and studied the artifact for a moment.
Under the warm glow of a nearby lantern, you held up long, thin pieces of metal that were suspended at uneven lengths and had fading, almost smooth-looking air nomad glyphs carved onto them. There were some parts of it that had green weathering areas from decades of mountain snow and rain exposure while others had small dents along the edges. The metal parts were divided by tiny beads that were carved from pale wood and chimed quietly together when the wind stirred well enough. They produced a soft hollow sound. It was almost…haunting.
That was when you heard Aang shift to look at you again but this time, his face paled.
He sucked in a breath and held it as he turned to face you. His eyes were wide and on the chimes that you were still holding.
"Is that..."
You watched the way his fingers twitched at his side, almost as if he wanted to reach out to touch it but was afraid to.
"That's... Those are prayer chimes."
He moved closer to you, and finally raised a hand to gently brush along the dusty beads. His eyes were glossy, even under such poor lighting.
"The monks used to use these for mediation and mourning. I haven't heard the sound of these since before the war. Since I was a child."
His voice was barely above a whisper and if you weren't paying such close attention, you would've missed it.
When his eyes shifted onto you, your heart sunk.
"Oh, Aang..."
He brought a hand up to his temples and rubbed them before turning back around. Memories of his old mentor and best friend, Gyatso, surfaced.
Times where Aang would mediate with him and hear those same chimes from the archway of the room. How, on nights where it was difficult for Aang to sleep, the old monk would let him rest in his room while the soft ringing of the chimes lulled him to sleep, finally ridding his mind of the nightmares that ailed him.
Flashes of the past began to filter through his mind, glimpses of his old friend, of the children that he played with, of the joy and the laughter. All of it came rushing back, the dreams of his memories that had been haunting him every night were colliding with his waking mind. It was so surreal, he could hardly tell what was real anymore.
It was like they were there, all of them; he could hear them as if he was there again, back at the Southern Air Temple, enjoying his youth with his friends and the one monk that never saw him as the Avatar. Just Aang, a boy that met a worldly responsibility at an age where all that should have mattered to him was being a kid. In the face of what truly came to matter, he got scared and ran away.
If he hadn’t run away, if he had chosen to stay and fight what was inevitably coming, would his people have survived or would he have just died trying?
Aang knew that it was pointless to still dwell on. It was far too late now.
And it was because of this that he would always see himself as a coward, the coward that ran away yet still called himself the Avatar.
How foolish, and undeserving he was.
Without another thought, you gently placed the chimes back on the surface where you found them and slid your arms around his waist, holding him. You pressed your cheek against the warmth of his back, and closed your eyes.
"We'll take them with us. We'll take as much as Appa can carry, okay?"
You opened your eyes and tried to peek around Aang's broad form to see his face. You knew that he was crying. You saw it in his eyes before he looked away, and you could see it now. He was still covering his face, but you could see the traces of tears that started to fall. You could also feel him trembling, and not from the draft curling through the room.
It pained him to be here. It pained him to be in any of the air temples but more so with having you riding along with him. He never liked to show you the weakest parts of him, but being in these places... In the places that held the memory of his people that were long gone and only here through his own memories—it was a kind of pain that couldn't be put into words.
"I'm sorry," you heard him say, watching him shake his head. "This was meant to be a bonding trip for us. I didn't mean to ruin it by getting all sad and emotional."
Your heart nearly stopped. You pulled back just to turn him back around so that you could see him clearly. You reached up and pried his hands away, finding his teary eyes and red-splotched cheeks utterly heart-breaking.
You took his face in your hands, and rubbed away the falling tears.
"Never apologize for having emotions ever again, Aang, do you hear me? I can't bear it. You are allowed to feel exactly how you feel. No matter what emotion that is, it's okay."
He looked at you with such softness and vulnerability, it almost broke you into a million pieces.
"My love, we are two halves of a whole. I share your pain while you share mine. I know that you wanted to come here and show me pieces of your past, but please don't apologize when the memories get too much to bear. As your wife, I am meant to carry that weight with you. Never forget that."
A distant rumble of thunder shuddered and rattled around the old temple, causing some of the ancient wood to creak and groan. It coincided with the storm that simmered at the edges of Aang's mind. Yet, looking at you while placed into the delicate palms of your hands grounding him—he felt it all wash away. The darkness that filled him began to descend and retreat back into the shadows of his mind until all he could see and hear was you.
Aang lifted a hand to cover one of yours, giving you a warm and familiar smile.
"What would I do without you?"
"Mmm," you smiled back. "I don't know. Miss me?"
"You're right." He let out a low chuckle before he pulled you in closer, one hand on your waist while the other covered the back of your hand that was still against his face. His big grey eyes were back to their usual playfulness and you knew exactly what was on his mind.
"Aang, its going to storm soon."
"Mhm."
"Sooo."
He smirked, his eyes moving down to your lips.
"Sooo?"
You tried to hold back a roll of your eyes, but ultimately failed. He laughed as you sighed.
"You're such a handful, you know that?"
Aang lowered his head until his lips were just a breath away from yours. You could practically feel the smile on his lips as he said,
"Yeah, and you wouldn't have it any other way."
The moment that you took a breath, he wasted no time and pressed his lips against yours, swallowing it whole. You gave in and melted against him, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. You closed your eyes, and imagined a world where it was just you and him living endlessly, eternally bound to one another until the end of time and the life thereafter.
You knew that you did not hold the power to rewind time and bring all of his people back. But, what you did have was hope. You would help him build back what he had lost the best way you knew how and that was by focusing on what was still here rather than mourn what was now lost.
It started with you, him, and a lot of dusty old airbender relics…which had to be put on pause the moment that you felt his lips trail from the curve of your jaw to your neck.
"Aang," you whined.
"Shhh."
He switched places so that your back was in line of an old rickety table, and placed his hands at your waist to lift you up onto it. When it wobbled and creaked, both of you shared a wide eyed look before giggling together.
"If this comes down with me on it, me and appa will leave you here."
Aang chuckled lowly as he mapped his wide hands along your thighs, moving between them, close to the warmest part of you. His lips ghosted yours again as a mild distraction and without you noticing, he bended the air, parting your legs to slot himself right in the middle of them.
Your breath hitched when you felt him grip your thighs to pull you right up against him, feeling a desperate ache below your navel stir awake.
He hummed.
"Then I'll make sure I'm real gentle. Don't worry," and claimed your lips again, groaning at the muffled whine at the back of your throat with terrible plans of wrecking you and that feeble ol' table.
When both of you were finally dressed again and Aang told you that it was time to head back home, it began to pour with rain.
Before you and Aang had set out in search of ancient airbender relics at the old northern air temple, the sky was clear of clouds and any other indication of rain. Now, there wasn't a hint of blue left. There were just dark grey clouds and buckets of cold rain cascading down.
Once all of the old relics that the two of you could fit in your satchels were full, Aang whistled for Appa. The large bison roared in the distance and came barreling through the sky, landing a few feet in front of you.
"Come on, let's get back home before it gets worse!"
He took your wrist and tried to pull you along but was met with a bit of resistance. Worried and confused, he looked back at you with furrowed brows.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?"
There was nothing about you that alarmed him other than the way you were looking around. Well, then there was the apprehension in your voice too.
"I don't know, Aang. You know what they say about flying in storms like this. Plus, we're going to be soaking wet. I think I'll pass on that."
All of the tension that quickly coiled under his skin fell away. He smirked, quirking a brow.
"What? Scared of a little water? The same woman that managed to hold her own against a fire bender and a few lightning attacks? Who are you and what did you do to my wife?"
Without looking down, he felt your hand tighten around his. There was a new air of determination about you that made him fight back a smile. He always knew how to get to you. He just had to press the right buttons, and so he did.
"Let's go," you muttered and with a faint yelp from him, you tugged him out to Appa and saddled up. When you grabbed the reins and looked down at him wearing an impatient expression on your face, he finally smiled to himself.
"Yes ma'am," and used the air around him to push off on the balls of his feet up onto Appa as well, sitting right behind you. Even though both of you were soaked through, he still wrapped his arms around your waist, suctioning the front of his body against the back of yours. He felt you stiffen, and watched the way your hands gripped at the reins. He smirked again, and looked ahead. "Appa, yip yip!"
And then you were off, headed back home.
༄ ... end of flashback ... ༄
When the memory faded and you opened your eyes, you felt the wind begin to pick up, ruffling your clothes and the shutters on the houses around you.
It was definitely time to head back home.
Once you'd made it through the entrance, you made a face, finally feeling the heaviness of your clothes. Eagerly, you peeled off each article and hung them up in the entryway to dry. With each pad of your feet towards your shared bedroom, you left behind a trail of wet footprints that you made a mental note to clean up when you were all washed and dried.
As you stood underneath the copper rainfall-style pipe and let the warm water roll off of your body in steady trails, you could feel your mind begin to wander.
Weeks of waiting to hear back from Aang, and nothing. No letters from his wind-swallow messenger nor any word from any of your connections in the Earth Kingdom. Not even from the one person that would’ve sent you an update the moment she caught wind of his name. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to dig for information from Toph. She just didn’t have anything worth noting to give you.
It was nerve wracking having to wait. To worry and spend almost every single night curled up in a ball in a bed that no longer even smelled like him anymore. It felt like each day came to erase him, piece by piece, until time left you with nothing but what he was. Not as the Aang you'd come to know, but as the Avatar instead.
You had half a mind to set out to his last known location to search for him, but Katara stopped you before you could do it. She’d told you that she understood why you wanted to go, but that it wouldn’t help the situation. Especially if, when he did come back, he came back to an empty home and to the news that you were dead, thousands of miles where no one would ever find you.
You understood that it was not because you were weak or unable to handle your own out there. It was simply because there was not a single person alive that didn’t know who you were, unless they lived under a rock. Everyone knew you were the Avatar’s wife, which made you worth as much as Aang. It made you into a target.
Katara was truly your voice of reason; why you decided to stay put and wait instead. You couldn’t bear hurting Aang that way or ever at all. Plus, you were brave but you were not stupid either.
As painful as it was to sit and be patient, it was your only option.
When the water began to shift temperatures, you decided that it was best to finish washing up and finally get dry.
Once you stepped out of the stone-clad bathroom and into the main bedroom, it was hard to ignore the emptiness around you.
During Aang’s absence, you’d made several attempts at keeping the space well-kept and full of the same vibrance that he was so naturally gifted with. From leaving a few ancient nomad scrolls in one corner of the room to keeping an incense lit in the other. It was always the same scent. Cedarwood and Juniper. He’d once told you that it would help him quiet his thoughts. To rest his mind so that he could meditate in peace.
Your brows furrowed, staring at the meditation corner. Try as you might, but it would seem that dust was drawn to the places where he lingered the most. Maybe it was meant to haunt you worse than the memories and the nightmares. You see, dust was something that you could see. What your mind often conjured were things that you could blink away or distract yourself from.
Something physical, on the other hand…
It only served as a cruel reminder that you were alone and had been for a while.
Your feet crossed the room without much sound, flitting about the room like you were just remnants of a person; a ghost in your own home. Once your skin was dry and lathered in its usual oils, you spotted something from the corner of your eye. On the dresser rested a folded heap of orange and yellow fabric. Your heart clung to the cage in your chest as you took in a slow breath, and shuffled over. As delicately as you were capable, you pulled it down and watched it unravel before you.
It was one of Aang’s robes. It was one that he wore when he was at home and could shuck off his everyday wear to replace it with something that didn’t remind him of his duties as the Avatar. You’d made it for him one day, and he had worn it ever since.
When you rose it up to the tip of your nose, you could still smell bits of him.
“I just want to know that you’re safe. That’s all.”
Maybe Aang was safe, he just couldn’t send his messenger, but you selfishly wished that he would just so you could know something.
With a sigh, you placed it back in the same neat fashion the robe was previously in before dressing in your night gown. It wasn’t completely see-through but just enough to keep your skin cool from the hot temperatures of your shower and the mugginess luring in from the outside rain.
After you cleaned up the wet footprints from the entryway, you decided that another hot cup of tea would help you rest for the night. Or, at the very least, settle your cloudy mind.
Luckily, you still had some jujube-ginger tea left over from earlier in the morning and heated the kettle up atop the warming flame. It was going to be a few minutes so you crossed back into the common room for a moment, and opened a few windows along with the balcony doors. For a brief second, you stood there and watched the rain fall.
Aang always did prefer some of the windows opened, especially when it was nice outside and the wind was blowing. He loved the home more when there was fresh airflow coming through but with the rain, it felt cold; much like how everything else around you did.
With a sigh, you turned and chose to take a seat near the lowered table on a fluffed cushion. The silence was welcoming, but the emptiness was not. You brought your legs up so that you could rest your chin on your knees, and stared out at the balcony doors.
During the first week after Aang left for his mission, you started looking for him to come dropping back in on the balcony. The two of you had a wrap-around balcony but he preferred to come in where you could see him. So you would wait up, every night, until you began to realize that he wasn’t going to be coming back home anytime soon.
You’d told yourself that every week but when it got to be a month and a half, you stopped looking for him completely. You went about your days as if he was already gone and in a way, that was what it felt like. It felt like a loss, even though the better part of you knew that he was still out there.
Or, at least, you'd hoped so.
Hope was a funny thing sometimes but it kept you from doing something stupid like going out and finding him yourself, despite what Katara said. Who knows if you would like what you found anyway...
Still waiting for the whistle of the kettle, you shifted and was about to reach for a book you’d started recently reading when your eyes caught a few scattered pieces of half-rolled up paper on the table. Your brows furrowed, and reached for them instead.
When you unraveled one of them, you felt a wave of sadness crash into you. It was all of Aang’s letters to you. Well, the ones that he'd sent before they stopped coming.
You sifted through them until you came upon the first one he’d sent and sniffled, pulling a spare blanket over your legs as you started to read through them all over again.
༄ hey baby, it’s me! well…guess you already know that by the bird huh? by the time you read this, i’ll already be pretty close to the border of the earth kingdom. i wish i could give you more than that but you know how easily these letters can fall into the wrong hands. anyway, i miss you… so much. these past few nights have been so lonely without you… momo and appa would bite my head off if they could read this but it’s not the same without you
but i hope the necklace i gave you makes up for my absence, just until i get back yeah?
wait for me. i will be home, soon
– A
As you read through it, you'd subconsciously reached up and fiddled with the necklace that hung around your neck. It was the only piece of jewelry that you never took off, not even when you bathed. It was the only thing that you had left of him, other than his robe.
You didn’t realize that you were crying until you noticed a dark wet spot on the parchment. You cleared the tears away, and shuffled the papers so that you could read the next few.
༄ my love, my sweet love, how are you?
i got your letter, don’t worry, i just haven’t had time to get back to you because guess what? i found a clue on where they are! well, actually, sorry i forgot to mention that i’m here in the earth kingdom now and actually met up with toph. enjoyed seeing her again but sadly she didn’t have any info on you know who sooo, i went out and did my own digging and actually found something!
it was details about another hideout but it really feels like i’m getting closer which means i should be home soon! exciting right? to see your face again, to hold you and kiss you… it’s all i dream about. well, when i get to sleep that is. sleeping hasn’t been all that easy lately…
sorry that this letter is longer than the last. i’ll work on that. just got too excited to talk to you but i know we will talk again and next time, i hope to have better news. until then…
– A
Thankfully, the hearth in the common room you were in had still been on when you’d left earlier to go see Katara. It kept you warm as you sat there, on the floor, reading through old letters and reopening old wounds.
With another quiet sniffle, you moved on to the next and final one that almost made you break down while reading it.
༄ hi love.
i don't want to scare you but...momo isn’t doing well. i’m not sure when he started to feel sick or how or from what and i was close to turning back but he’s in toph’s care right now and i’m closer than ever on the group's whereabouts. appa is doing ok, don’t worry. me on the other hand…
it’s been storming a lot here. you know i’m not a big fan of storms but even without you here to keep me calm, i’ve been managing.
i want to come back home. i really do. it’s all i think about now but i know i cant. i have to make sure this group is no longer a threat to our home, to you. you understand that…right?
pls don’t give up on me. i WILL be home soon. i made you that promise didn’t i? do you still believe in it? pls say that you do.
i do…
i can’t say when i will be able to write to you again but hopefully you’ll see me in person so we won’t have to rely on these little pieces of paper.
i love you. so much. you are my heart and my everything. i know i have already asked so much of you but pls continue to wait for my return.
talk soon,
– A
Before you knew it, you were sobbing.
Horribly.
The letters were scattered around you when you tugged the blanket up to your face, crying into it. It felt like your heart was breaking into two all over again. Every part of you felt hollow and in so much pain, you could hardly move. Your body shook and trembled, curling into yourself until you felt like the smallest thing in the room.
The battle of knowing that Aang held the world on his shoulders as the Avatar but doubled as your husband and was only trying to do what was right, weighed heavily on you. It felt silly to be so upset just because you missed him but you also knew that it was not only that. It was how worried you were for him. He was never someone that would not communicate, even if it was just a two-sentence letter. What if something really did happen to him? What if you’d spent all this time crying and being angry at him when there was a real possibility that he might have been…
You shook your head and dug your fingers into your legs, pushing your face further into your knees. No, you told yourself. Aang was fine. He was strong and more than capable of taking care of himself. He’d fought many to make Republic City into what it was. He’d even fought a spirit just to fight for his claim over the land itself. Even through the times that he lost, he got back up and kept fighting until he won.
That was your Aang. That was the man that you fell in love with and trusted more than anything. He told you to wait. He promised that he would return to you. You knew this and believed in it, in him.
So why were you doubting him now?
Was it the absence? The unknowing of where he was and if he was really okay? The cut of communication and no information from Toph? The same person that Aang said he'd seen in his letter to you before he had just...disappeared?
You tried to rationalize some of your thoughts before they got too dark. Toph, more than likely, didn't give you any deep information on his whereabouts because it came in a correspondence and was not a conversation that was done in person. You remembered that letters were intercepted all of the time. It did no one any favors for outsiders to know that the Avatar was gone and had left his defenseless wife, at home, all by herself.
Toph was looking out for you and her friend, Aang. It was the only thing that made sense.
You gave yourself a few more moments before you decided to light one of the incenses that Aang used, if not to breathe and bring you momentary peace. Once that was done, the tea kettle squealed hot on its open flame, grabbing your attention. When you gathered the letters and placed them back on the table, you went to check on the tea.
As you poured yourself a cup, the aroma whirled around the space and blended with the scent of the incense, calming your mind and your body in one. For a moment, you allowed yourself the opportunity to think of nothing. To stand in place, and just breathe.
The one thing you’d forgotten to do in your husband’s absence was meditate. Frankly, it was something that you did together. You knew it was often best to do it alone, but you loved being near him in a pocket of silence to sit, breathe, and feel the things around you. He once told you that meditating was not always a way to connect with his past lives. He mostly did it for himself. To ground himself when he needed it most.
Aang was far from perfect. He had just as many flaws as the next person and knew, through meditating, he could find himself again. Especially during his hardest moments.
You wondered if he ever found the chance to meditate while being away. If there was time for him to just be alone with his thoughts and connect back with the air around him. To try and reach out to you the way you’d tried with him in your dreams.
The thought pulled a smile from you. You pictured him sitting in a cross-legged fashion, fists together with a particularly concentrated expression on his face before it turned into a cute pout. Maybe the demands around him kept him from truly being able to focus. Upon people seeing him, there was no telling what kind of side quests he was put on. It was like him to get sidetracked in favor of helping those that needed it along the way.
You took the opportunity to splash a bit of cool water onto your face to subdue any puffiness that might come from your earlier moment of crying and took your tea back into the common room, crossing out to the balcony.
The rain had lightened to a soft pitter-pat with a few rumbles of thunder in the distance. It would seem that the worst of it was well over and left behind a soft soothing ambience to close out the night.
You were appreciative. The rain never bothered you. In fact, you enjoyed storms. It provided enough noise to shut out the bad thoughts, and it tended to fill the home in a way that made you feel less alone.
As soon as you were about halfway through your cup of tea, you set it down and glanced at a few pots of flowers next to you. Your eyes softened. Wind lilies. On one of your first trips out to the Southern Air Temple, there were only a few left that were healthy enough to take back with you and since then, they’d been thriving wonderfully. It was only due to your frequent tending that they had managed to survive for so long. Still, most flowers, especially brought from one region to live in another, would struggle to acclimate to a different climate. These, on the other hand…
“Thank you for sticking it out with me,” you bent to meet the lilies eye to eye, smiling. “My little troopers.”
Moments of Aang struggling to remember to water them half of the time almost made you giggle. He had many talents, but tending to flowers was definitely not one of them. Funny, considering he was the master of patience. However,
“C’mon,” Aang whined, half of his lumbering body hanging across the balcony railing. “You know I’m not good at that stuff. Flowers require too much work.” You smiled, rolled your eyes and continued watering them. He then grinned and made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you. “Not that it matters when they’ve got such a good mama to do it though, huh?”
“Aang, you’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, lips against your neck. “I know.”
A sigh left your lips as you studied the flowers a bit closer. There were a few dead leaves that needed trimming and you decided that since you were having some trouble sleeping and was waiting for the tea to kick in anyway, why not cut them now? So, you grabbed a pair of brass trimming shears that were near the flower pots and got to work.
The tranquility of the soft rain, the surrounding city lanterns and the smell of the wind lilies filled your chest with a warmth that you hadn’t felt in a while. You were not often rewarded with nights like this. The ones where you weren’t constantly being haunted and tormented with dreams that would urge you awake, night after night. No, this was one of those nights where you'd almost felt at peace with yourself. Where being at home didn’t feel as though it was draining you. Things almost felt…right.
So, you allowed yourself this momentary feeling of freedom from it all and started to hum as you trimmed, remembering a tune from your childhood. In the stillness of your mind, you'd missed the way the air shifted around you. A breeze that was not there moments ago was now brushing at the ends of your hair like a familiar touch that you’d become unfamiliar with.
Gentle as a breeze, and unbeknownst to you, Aang landed on the other side of the western curve of the balcony that was near the bedroom. He closed his glider, set it to the side, and stepped inside while being as careful and as silent as he could. In truth, it was never very difficult for him. He tended to walk as if his feet hardly ever touched the ground, but he could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him.
It had been a long and grueling journey back home.
Momo finally started to feel well enough to travel so once Aang was able to settle things back at the Earth Kingdom, he knew that it was time to head back. For the first few hours, he had been overly excited. He was coming back home, coming back to you, his sweet little wife, but with the lack of sleep and all of the stress that he had underwent—it was no wonder his footsteps landed on spots in the wood flooring that they normally would not have. They creaked underneath him but he figured that you were probably deep in sleep and wouldn't notice.
When he finally rounded into the bedroom, he discarded all of his damp clothing and slid on a pair of warm loose sleeping pants that he let hang low on his hips. He was fully prepared to slip into bed and cozy up next to you when he noticed that the bed was made as if you hadn't slept yet. It was strangely untouched, almost as if you'd never even acknowledged it at all. Were you not home?
Sporting a small pout, Aang peeked his head into the washroom but was met with the same silence and darkness he'd walked into when he came in.
Softly, he called your name as he moved towards the kitchen area and...nothing. He frowned, but wasn't at the stage of concerned yet. Especially since there was clearly a warm kettle of tea that was left on the warmer. He brushed the back of his hand against it. He was right. You couldn't have made the tea that long ago, so you were close by. He was sure of it.
He was always good at finding you. That was never a problem.
It just helped when he could...cheat a little.
When he stepped into the common area, he circled his fingers through the air, bending the flow of the current to his will so that he could feel for your presence. Since the windows and the balcony doors were open, it was easy for air to travel through the home and wind throughout, being able to cover the entire upper floor before he took his next breath. Suddenly, the torrent of air stopped. His eyes widened, and a warm smile curved at his lips.
There you were.
Before he could walk out to the balcony to you, he heard the sound of paper shuffling to the floor. Curious, he turned and saw what was there. He bent at the knees and with a crease to his forehead, his eyes swept over the pages.
Letters. His letters to you.
Even though he remembered what he had wrote to you, he read over them, ignoring the way his chest flooded with a sinking feeling. They were hard to read, being back home now. He'd missed you, a lot, but didn't want to even imagine how his long and silent absence affected you.
He sighed and dropped his hand, still holding the letters. His eyes traveled over to the hearth that was still aflame, and felt a chill along his naked spine. Maybe he should have rushed the mission. He knew he needed more information on the Denied but was all of it worth it in the end? If you were still up at this late hour and was drinking jujube-ginger tea while rereading all of his letters...
He had been wrong.
He'd told himself that you understood what he needed to do, who he was to the people of the world. You knew he was the Avatar. He had a duty to protect the people and the balance of all nations but more importantly, you.
So did you not understand? Did you pretend to when he first told you that he loved you and wanted to be with you for the rest of his life?
All he wanted was to make sure that the world stayed safe enough for you to live in. It was never like you asked him to take on that responsibility, but he couldn't sleep at night knowing that you were constantly surrounded by danger when he knew that he could do something about it. You deserved what he had to fight for, and that was peace.
But could it really be at the cost of causing you so much pain and unrest?
Suddenly, he was afraid to face you. It felt like judgement day.
Still, no matter what, Aang had to see you. He'd let you cry, scream and hit him if it made you feel better. He just wanted to lay eyes on you. Maybe hold you, if you'd let him. Spirits, he hoped so...
With a firm resolve set in his jaw, he gently placed the letters back on the lowered table and quietly made his way out onto the balcony where you were still chipping away at dead leaves.
Even though you had no bending abilities, you were still able to feel when something...was off. It was like a shift in the air, a turn; a difference. It brushed against your skin like a breath waiting to exhale.
As noticeable as it was, it still didn’t prepare you for what came next.
"You're still awake."
It was as if the world had gone quiet. The rain, the wind chimes, the distant hum of the city below—it all faded into nothing. Even the air in your lungs had abandoned you.
It couldn’t be…
It wasn’t—
But you didn’t turn to look. You didn’t even blink.
Instead, you held your breath and counted down the seconds, hoping that you weren’t having another waking nightmare. Your mind could be terribly cruel that way. It’s enjoyed making you suffer the long and lonely days and nights with your husband gone, tormenting you with memories and phantom touches of his fingers across your skin. It had this peculiar way of creating illusions that it knew you yearned for, if not to silence the thought of losing him.
Aang.
It was him, you knew it. Like the flowers in your palms, this was real; this, you knew. Except, the greater part of you couldn't bring itself to face him.
It was the months of waiting, of spiraling between anger and worry. It took from you until you had nothing left to give.
So, you said nothing.
You resumed snipping at the leaves, and ignored the sharp breath from behind you. By now, he must have realized. How could he not? You'd left things as they were; the bed, the tea, the letters... Oh, the letters. They were the worst. Surely he'd put the pieces together by now. Every fractured part of you was right there in front of him, painfully bare.
Aang had failed to realize the impact of his absence, but he could see it now.
Things were worse than he could've imagined.
After a moment of silence, he took a brave step forward, testing the waters. He let his footsteps create enough sound for you to hear him, but you did not react.
He stepped forward again, and was now close enough to feel your body heat against his own. His eyes assessed what he could see of you. They went from your tensed shoulders to each shallow breath that you took, and down to the rigid way that you were trimming the leaves. His face pulled into a slight frown. He wanted to reach out and touch you, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. You were upset, he could tell, so he wanted to tread as carefully as possible.
But moments like these were handled as they always were.
Aang grinned to himself.
He knew just how to fix this.
He started off by brushing his fingers against your arm, trailing up until they poked against your cheek. Of course, nothing, but he expected as much. He then placed his chin on your shoulder and continued to watch you before sliding his long arms around your waist, holding you against him. Curiosity stirred in his eyes and deep in his chest as he leaned into you, trying to catch your eyes. You were focused, and agonizingly silent.
Aang pouted.
He'd thought that he could fix this the ol' fashioned way.
Guess not.
"Baby... I'm home. I'm here now. C'mon," he closed his eyes for a brief moment, and grazed his lips against your neck. "Talk to me. Please."
He didn't move away, and neither did you. Your mind spiraled as you tried to ignore him. The part of you that was excited to have him back home, safe and sound, had been drowned out by what had lingered after he'd left you in a period of burning silence. You allowed yourself to feel angry, to feel hurt and abandoned because these feelings were coming from a place in your heart where only he occupied.
You didn't love easily. Falling for Aang happened over time. It’d started purely as adoration that eventually turned into something that you knew would ruin you.
It took work to get to where you were with him. He'd spent years pining and yearning after you, courting you with flowers and big gestures that ultimately ended with him proposing to you. You remembered it like it was yesterday. It was beautiful because he had done it privately, just the two of you. That was what made it special.
That was the moment that you'd truly fallen in love with him.
Aang had always been someone that provided you with love, affection, honesty and communication and, maybe, that had turned into your greatest weakness somewhere along the way. You'd fallen so deeply in love with him that a garden of selfishness began to grow. You'd accepted him as the pillar of peace and balance, but that acceptance slowly festered and turned into a nasty thought that wouldn't go away. It wasn't like he could stop being the Avatar. You knew this, but...
You were so selfish. You loved him. You loved a man that was now your husband but still had to give half of himself to a world that would always need him even when you felt you needed him more.
This confliction within you confused you. He needed someone that was willing to be by his side, accept his duties and still love him all the same. You just didn't know how to do that without wanting him all to yourself.
This love for him... It weakened you, and it exposed him. If he decided to choose you over the world one day, what would happen then? Would there even be a world for him to love you in? Would it not go back to the days of chaos and madness? The founding and building of Republic City would be for naught and would fall without his constant influence and protection.
Was it not better this way? To swallow your deepest and darkest feelings lest they come to light and destroy all that you and Aang had built for one another?
A pain twisted in the maze of your heart, settling like a rock in the ocean. Maybe the answer was simple. Maybe it was an answer you knew you wouldn't like.
You paused what you were doing, staring down at the shears clutched in your hand.
When you spoke, you felt his fingers twitch against your stomach.
"Welcome home."
Aang knew he should have been happy. You were talking to him again. However, it was not in the same way that he had become so greedily accustomed to. Your tone was flat, your body was stiff and you still weren't looking at him. His stomach felt twisted in knots. He must've really fucked this up.
The last time you were this upset with him was when he had told you that he was going to the fire nation for a briefing with Zuko and the fire nation council members. There was a border issue that needed addressing and the group behind the incident demanded to speak with the Avatar only. He'd promised you that it was not going to be long before he came back home, and that he would be careful. Except when he did come back home, he was in worst shape than when he'd left. It'd scared you and you told him how the thought of losing him made you feel.
That was the first time, since marrying you, that he'd come to truly realize how deeply and utterly in love he was with you. How it, too, would kill him if anything were to happen to you. It was one of the bigger reasons why he didn't mind being the Avatar. If it meant keeping you safe, then he would choose this path in each and every single lifetime.
Even if it meant having you angry and upset with him more often than not. Much like now, except this...this felt different. He wasn't sure how yet, but it did.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered near your ear, looking at the side of your face like a kicked puppy would. "I mean it. I know I made you worry, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Those words...
It won't happen again.
But, it would, wouldn't it? And you knew why.
When he felt you untangle yourself from his arms and step back from him, he felt his body wash over with sand, pulling him down until it nearly suffocated him from the inside. Rejection sat heavy within him, too heavy for comfort. Then the frown on your face, the hurt in your eyes and the way you looked at him.
Spirits, he truly hated that look.
It made him inhale, feeling his head swell with an emotion that he couldn't quite place.
"Sorry?" You closed your arms around yourself, and shook your head. "No, Aang... You have nothing to apologize for. It's your duty, as the Avatar, to put the people first. The Denied needed to be taken care of. I...understand this now. It's fine. We're fine." Your eyes fell to the city beyond you, watching the rain scatter across shutters and the rocky pathways of the streets. "Just fine."
You could tell that he didn't believe you. Spirits, you didn't believe you. It almost made you cringe, but you tried to school your features to remain as neutral as you were able to.
"I don't believe you."
Your eyebrows twitched.
Aang stepped towards you, fully expecting you to step back again. When you didn't, he released a breath. Relief acted like a sedative to the rejection from a moment ago. Better, he thought.
"If you were fine, if we are fine, then you wouldn't still have that look on your face."
"What are you talking about?" You asked, your eyes finding his again.
The way he was staring at you now, it made you feel so exposed. You never could hide parts of yourself from him. He was very good at seeking them out and making you lay them all out where he could see them, plainly; openly. It unnerved you when you knew he was right to.
When he said your name, it was under his breath and there was a rhythmic tic in his jaw. He looked as if he was trying to keep his composure, but the shiver that ran down your spine could not be ignored. You swallowed, and pushed your teeth into your lip.
"Don't do that."
His tone dropped quietly, familiar in a way that unsettled you more than if he'd raised his voice. It sounded practiced, like something that was said to you during moments where he felt you slipping away from him emotionally, and instinctively reached out to pull you back.
Your breath stumbled over the next.
"Do what?"
His lips pulled into a half smile, his eyes darkening.
"Act like you don't know what I'm talking about. How long have we been doing this now? How many years have we danced this dance?" He took another step forward and you'd only realized, just now, that there was nowhere else to go. The closer he got, the more you had to bend your neck back to look at him. Was he always this broad and imposing?
"I know you," he continued, peering down at you, only a few inches from you now. "I know your ins and your outs. I know what you sound like when you're happy or when you're all sad and angry at me. Or..." He looked over you, finding the gown that you had haphazardly thrown on earlier to be quite...transparent. His smile turned into a smirk. He didn’t need to say it. You knew.
A breeze whirled between the overwhelming heat of your bodies, caressing the front of your gown, prompting your nipples to peak against the thin fabric. It was him; he was always the wind. An unnatural current of air that moved around you, against you. It shouldn't have been possible, but nothing was impossible for him. He knew you knew this. He tended to use that to his advantage, and sometimes it worked.
Another inhale, and you could feel a bit lightheadedness coming over you. Breathing should have made this easier. It did not.
Without knowing it, he was unraveling you, seam by seam. You could feel it.
There was no more fighting it.
"You always do this," you tell him, shaking your head. "You think you can say a few words to turn me on. Touch me a certain way and smile at me, and suddenly things are back to being okay between us. That's not going to work this time, Aang. I'm sorry but its not and maybe, that's how things should be for us."
You moved past him to go inside when you felt his hand close around your wrist, pulling you back. With a stumble, the front of your body collided into his. He searched your eyes for a moment, letting you stand in a pocket of silence before he spoke again.
"And what if I don't want things to be like this between us? I mean, I know I was gone for a while but I'm here, aren't I?"
He thought that he understood you. He thought that he knew you better than you knew yourself but again, he was wrong. How could he not see this part of you? A part of you that had been there, all along. Did he not know you the way that he thought?
“You don’t get it,” you let out a humorless sigh, struggling to process what you were hearing. “I was so worried about you, Aang. Do you know what it’s like to be so far apart from you and to not know whether you’re okay or not? I know you can always take care of yourself but I also know you’re not invincible. You like to make these rash decisions that put you in the most dangerous situations. So, not hearing from you for months and for you to just show up, out of the blue, thinking a bit of humor and soft touches just…fixes things?”
Aang’s hold on you tightened rather than loosening to let you go. It wasn’t like you were fighting him but you grounded him, even when you looked at him like he’d said or done something completely unforgivable.
Well…maybe he did.
In fact, the time that he’d spent not writing to you was time that he took to focus on his mission. He figured that the less time he spent on constantly writing to you and worrying you with every single detail that was going on, the more time that he would have to get what he needed on the Denied. The sooner he could return back home to you. Except…it would seem that no matter what decision he’d made at the time, it would’ve still been the wrong one.
Why couldn’t you see that? Why couldn't you understand that what he'd done, he'd done for you?
“So you’re saying that this is my fault?"
Your eyes widened in the reflection of his whirling grey ones, feeling your skin prickle as gooseflesh settled over it. The air around you whistled through the tension between you and him as if it was preparing for its final curtain call.
The ridiculousness of his question froze you.
Even the way that he was looking at you. Gone was the boyish gleam in his eyes and the soft touch of his arms around you. In its place were hardened eyes and rigidness in the palms of his hands. He did not release you nor did you look away.
“You say that like it’s a question.”
“Yeah, because it is.”
Your eyebrows furrowed with the hitch in your chest.
Breathing had never felt so agonizing.
“I don’t understand–”
“Yeah. I know. Me neither."
Finally, his arms dropped back to his sides and when he pulled away from you, it should’ve brought you a sense of relief. It did not. It only made you feel colder than you already were.
Calling him the Avatar…
You’d never done that before. In fact, he held nothing but memories of you seeing him as just your husband. He found that he didn’t like it. Not when it came from you, someone he loved more than anyone in the entire world and was comforted by knowing that when he came home, he could just be himself. Just Aang, without the weight of the world sitting heavy on his shoulders as the Avatar.
Aang sighed, and turned to face the railing of the balcony, eyes hard-set on the night covered city. His hands rested on the wood, gripping it until the whites of his knuckles pressed taut against his skin.
“Out there, I am suffocated by the world and its expectations for me. I know I’m not like other people. I have a duty, a responsibility to all of the nations to be this symbol of peace and be a protector of it but sometimes… Sometimes I regret ever being found in that iceberg.”
Despite the frantic thoughts that consumed you and screamed at you to say something, you forced it all back and chose to remain silent.
The lantern light stretched across his back, illuminating the tension coiled through his shoulders. The smooth but ripped skin moved against tendon as he let his head drop, and closed his eyes to let his body expel some of the tension that hid between the grooves of his shoulders and spine.
“I am tired, my love. So very tired and I have not even fulfilled half of what is expected of me.”
Finally you felt the pull to willingly move towards him, but your feet stayed planted where they were. He looked as worn down as he'd sounded. His slouched form, the bags underneath his eyes and the weight of responsibility that still sat on his shoulders. It almost made you feel bad for how you were acting. Almost.
“Aang,” his head turned to your direction but he did not look at you. It was enough. “I know the duty, as the bridge of both worlds, comes with a lot of weight." He winced, knowing what you really wanted to say. "I know that most days, you just want to spend them looking for more airbender relics at the air temples, but you have to think about the people. The world. They need you–”
“Why do you sound like Katara?”
You stopped, and blinked.
“What?”
Aang let out a heavier sigh this time, then fully turned back around to you, his dark brows knitted together.
“You sound just like her. I mean, what’s next? You’re going to tell me that I’m the Avatar? You don’t think I know that by now?” He asked you, gesturing a hand across the length of his body to point out the obvious. There was a new fire stirring in his eyes now, something you didn’t often see. He looked like he, too, was unraveling. “And what’s up with you calling me that anyway? Avatar. You never see me as just that so what’s changed? Is my absence the reason?”
He was talking too fast, saying too much. You couldn’t keep up.
He clenched a hand around the railing behind him, if only to steady himself. There was a storm brewing in those grey eyes of his. Fires that looked like it would take more power than you had to put out.
Maybe it had something to do with the way he was getting all defensive that made you finally snap back.
“Don’t pull that shit with me, Aang.”
Your chest heaved with each passing word, feeling the sting behind your nose and eyes. You didn’t want to get all emotional, but fuck it.
“You’re a hypocrite. You’re a fucking hypocrite and I’m sick of it. I know the things that you think but won’t say. At least, not to my face. How selfish I am with you. How I don’t care enough about the people, the cause. How I’m not supportive enough of you. Now I give you just that and what? Suddenly I’m a different person? That's bullshit, and you know it.”
For a moment, Aang allowed you to fill up the space with your anger instead of his. He practiced great strength in his patience and a certain level of understanding when it came to you. Usually, it was why things stayed good between the two of you. Naturally, there were differences. That came with the territory of being different people from different backgrounds.
Even so, he hated when things got like this between you and him.
“Don’t talk like that with me,” his tone was stern and curt, but still had that brush of calm that you tended to love about him. Except, this time, it was like the flood gates had opened. You couldn’t stop, even if you truly wanted to.
“I’ll talk to you however I want. You don’t own me, Aang.”
When you stepped closer to him, it was like you could physically see the way he was trying to hold himself back from reacting. His knuckles went white again and the dip in his brows deepened.
“This entire marriage with you has been so confusing. It’s been full of emotions that I never knew I had to prepare myself for. Had I known…” Your eyes fell away from his. “Maybe I would’ve… maybe I wouldn’t have…”
Before you could even think about how to finish that sentence, Aang was on you. One hand flew to your jaw, curling a few fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back onto his while the other hand tugged at your hip, pulling you against him.
Once again, you were suffocating in the aroma of everything that made Aang who he was to you. The scents were comforting, but it did nothing to thaw the ice corroding your heart now that you were forced to look at him.
Aang towered over you with ease, his back slightly curved and his wide yet still darkened eyes never left yours. He should’ve backed down. He should’ve let you speak, but knowing what you were about to say… It would’ve broken him into a million pieces. He would have much rather died than hear anything like that come from you. Easily.
“What is this, this fight in you? Where is this coming from? You’ve never been this angry with me. Have I really been gone that long?”
Your face twisted like there was something foul on your tongue.
“Why do you still not understand? This isn’t about the stupid mission–”
“Okay, then tell me.”
He searched your eyes again, frantically, hoping that he would find his answer there. No matter what, it was as if you'd closed him off. Not even through your eyes could he see what you were thinking. Another pang in his chest.
Your vision of him began to blur. When did you start crying?
“I think…I think I lo…” It felt like a rock was lodged in your throat. You swallowed what you could down, and breathed. "I think I love you too much, Aang, and that’s the problem. Katara was trying to tell me–”
“I knew it.” His face fell into a hard line, if that was even possible.
You sighed, shaking your head in his hold. “No, she was trying to help me–”
“Help ruin this marriage? Yeah, I’m sure she was just trying to help.”
With that, he started to pull away. This time, you were the one to pull him back.
“When did you start villainizing her?”
Aang glanced at you before dropping his eyes to the floor. The flex in his jaw was fluctuating now, as if it was trying to weigh what was morally right and what was wrong. Usually, he could keep a handle on his thoughts before speaking. It was easier that way because it kept him from saying something he knew he would regret.
If only he'd done that now.
“Since she started meddling in our marriage.” He peeked back at you from the corner of his eyes, frowning again. “Filling your little head up with crazy ideas and these…” He shook his head. “All of these misconceptions.” He looked away again, finding a new outlet for his anger and confusion. “I knew she wasn’t over it. I just had a feeling.”
At the mention of old wounds, you gripped at his arm, not realizing how your nails dug into his skin. He was too deep in his own thoughts to even notice.
“Are you serious?” At that, he met your eyes again and saw how he had made things worse for himself. “She’s your friend. How could you say that about her? And she’s engaged, for spirits’ sake!” His eyes flinched at your tone, feeling his heart drop. “Or did you forget that too?”
Aang knew he always had this way about him. How he tended to stuff his foot in his mouth, and didn’t realize it was there until it was too late to take it out. He’d messed up. Being gone without reaching back out to you in those few months was now the very least of his worries.
You let him go and ran a hand over your face, trying to reel your emotions back in before you also said something that you knew you would regret.
“Maybe we should head inside, and get to bed. It’s late. You just got home. I don’t want to fight any more than we already have.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Forget it,” you waved it off, letting out another sigh before you turned your back to him. “I’m tired. I just want to sleep.”
Aang’s shoulders deflated. All of the anger that he’d felt moments ago had dissipated into thin air. His body felt numb with too many emotions to place but the one that he couldn’t ignore was knowing that he had hurt you more than he ever had.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was meant to surprise you, pull you into his arms and kiss you until sleep took over. He never wanted to fight with you, but this was worse than a fight wasn’t it?
Was the marriage itself on its last and final thread? How could he fix things from here or was it too late?
He should’ve let you walk through those doors. He should’ve let you retire for the night. He’d caused you enough hurt, it was understandable, but Aang started to realize another thing about himself.
He found it hard to watch you walk away from him.
As soon as you started to walk away, you heard a low thump. Worried that Aang had jetted off for the night, possibly off to sleep somewhere that wasn’t right next to you, your body swiveled around with your lips prepared to call out for him when you saw it. Saw him.
Your eyes lowered.
His knees were pressed into the floor, his head hung low and his hands were loosely balled into fists on his thighs. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. He looked defeated, like there was nothing else he could say to fix this between you and him.
So, he figured that the next best thing was to beg.
“Baby… Forgive me… I was out of line. Way out of line.”
His voice was so low, it was almost hard to hear him. You stood standing where you were, your arms by your side. You felt your heart melt in the worst way. He’d never done this before. Well, not in this sort of situation, at least. A man as powerful as him had decided that it was best to meet you on his knees rather than let his bruised ego get in the way.
All you could see was the dark blue arrow that led to his forehead. From his raspy tone, being on his knees and knowing that he was silently giving you back your power—it stirred something inappropriate between your thighs.
Inappropriate because was this really the time for this?
“I’m an asshole. I know that, and I haven’t been all that fair to you. I know that, too. As my wife, you understand what it means to stand by my side through the toughest of times and I love you for that but I have not really seen it through your eyes. I know it’s hard being the Avatar’s wife.”
He sighed to himself.
“Not to mention the fact that I kept telling myself that if I stayed focused on the mission, I’d get home faster. I'll admit, it was the wrong call and I realize that now. I stayed gone for months, and you got nothing. I…I understand how you felt.”
You sucked in a slow breath, and held it as you let him continue to speak.
“You want to be selfish but because you’re so kind, you feel guilty for it. Maybe…maybe Katara was right,” you watched the way his hands tightened back into fists. “You don’t know this but she’d once told me that I was holding you back. That you would be freer if I stopped being so selfish by keeping you here. She thought of you as a caged bird and I’ll be honest,” he let out a humorless laugh. “That broke me.”
And it broke something within you.
Katara never acted nor spoke as if she saw your marriage in such a way. She was the most honest person that you knew. Why would she say something like that?
“Aang,” you interrupted, unable to keep yourself from asking. “When was this?”
His eyes looked off to the side, the moonlight catching them in its cool light, bringing out a gleam similar to that of a moonstone.
“After our last fight.”
Ah. So that was it. The fight after he had returned from that mission at the border in the fire nation. Sure, the argument was bad but you never thought it was that bad.
“So you went to her.”
It wasn’t a question. It was just an observation.
Aang’s head shot up to look at you. He looked ready to get back on his feet and crowd you again, but held himself back. His breath hitched.
“Yes. I did, but only because she’s your closest friend here. I wanted to know if I was truly in the wrong and if so, how to fix it.”
The abrupt silence carried with the wind, allowing you the opportunity to think. It wasn’t worth getting upset over, especially when it was a thing of the past. Plus, Katara was close to everyone. She was Aang’s confidant before you. It made sense that they stayed close enough to still confide in one another so that wasn’t the issue. Well, if there was one to harbor on.
Katara was also nothing but supportive of you and Aang. She was there when you two met, when you started to gain feelings for each other, when you started courting and finally, at your marriage ceremony. It sounded like she had been trying to look out for you and your wellbeing. Though, it wasn't exactly necessary considering you were more than happy with Aang and all of his shenanigans.
Maybe a conversation with her was in order...
Be that as it may, you didn’t care about any of that. You only cared about you and him. That was it. Nothing else mattered.
Slowly, you made your way over to him. When you bent down, you grabbed one of his hands and pulled him back up. When he towered over you again with that softened yet hopeful look in his big grey eyes, you took the chance to pinch one of his big ears.
“Ow!” He instantly pouted, and held a hand to his injured ear. “What was that for?”
There it was. That expression on his face that always did make him look several years younger. He grumbled under his breath, trying to massage away the temporary pain while you let out a snort that easily turned into a laugh. He stopped, and looked at you.
Your laugh was like several bells to his ears. Or, ear. The other one was still throbbing so not much was going through that one but it made his heart jump all the same.
When you’d noticed the familiar light back in his eyes, you felt your own sting with tears again.
“I’m not a caged bird, Aang, and you’re not holding me back. At all. I’m here and with you in this marriage because I want to be. I saw a lifetime with you, and I still do. Yes, it hurts when you have to leave for long periods of time. It hurts when you don’t write for months and leave me waiting and thinking the worst. And yet, I’m still here.”
You raised a hand to his face, sliding a gentle thumb across the apple of his cheek, melting at the realization that you could survive this. That the only reason you’d fought with him was because you never allowed yourself to feel how you felt. It wasn’t going anywhere. You still wanted him to yourself but, at the same time, you were capable of sharing him with the world. You’d realized that there was room within you to do both and in a very healthy way.
He didn’t say anything. He let you continue.
A smile made its way to your lips.
“Maybe I can…travel with you? I know you’ve always said it’s too dangerous and that you don’t want to risk anything happening to me but you know I can fight. I can hold my own. I won’t get in the way. That way I can be right next to you and not a thousand miles away. I want adventure with you, Aang. I want to be with you and never be apart unless–”
For the first time in months, when his lips descended onto yours, you could feel yourself breathe. It was as if he’d given you life and built a new way to inhale, knowing that he was there and always would be. It was what your body had been craving. So, you let yourself finally let go of all the hurt and the pain that came with missing your husband and melted into his touch.
There was nothing more that needed to be said between you and him. Aang understood you completely now. You loved him and with that came the longing of wanting to be by his side more than be in a home that would never be able to replace him.
He could do that. He could take you with him wherever he went because no matter what, he would keep you safe. That had been his only fear and reason why he never wanted to take you with him. But, you were not some helpless damsel that constantly needed protecting. He’d forgotten how well you could take care of yourself too.
For a brief second, he pulled back and looked into your eyes, finding nothing but pure love and devotion staring back at him.
He hummed, and pressed his forehead to yours.
“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I will never leave you alone again. You go where I go and if I have to leave you back here at home, I promise to write to you every single day. If I slip up, I give you full permission to yell and scream at me as much as you want, yeah?”
A giggle bubbled up as you shook your head, “you are going to be the death of me, you know that?”
Aang released a drawn out whine, and traveled his hands down your sides to your hips. He gripped your waist, giving you a look that said more than what he’d said next,
“In more ways than one.”
He reclaimed your lips, pushing his tongue past the softness of yours the moment you tried to say his name. It fell into a whisper and the wind took it, secretly manipulated by him bending the air around you, pulling you closer until it felt like you were molding into one. This is what he would spend his long nights dreaming of. Being able to hold you, to feel you, to kiss you. To hear your sighs, to feel your smile against his lips and to know that with you, he was whole again. To know that he was not alone, and could be no one but himself.
“Aang…not here,” you mumbled, feeling him spread kisses from the corner of your mouth to your cheek.
You felt a rumble in his chest, finding a faint smirk on his face.
“You sure? I think anyone would feel honoured to watch how the Avatar fucks his pretty little wife. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Your body shivered at the feeling of his fingers drawing your gown up from your thighs, moving around enough so that he'd grazed the lower end of your spine. His lips were on your neck now, suckling and kissing, knowing how easily you bruised. He’d leave as many as possible, just enough to make them hard to fully cover.
Perhaps he had a point. The thought of letting him take you here, on the balcony where anyone might come out on their own in the middle of the night and see the two of you, caused a bigger ache between your thighs than you wanted. Or maybe not having his hands on you for the past few months just made you too desperate to say no to any of his outlandish ideas.
Except, he knew that you knew that was not true.
When you felt him playfully bite at your shoulder, you squealed and pushed at his chest with widened eyes.
“Did you just…bite me?”
Aang said nothing at first. He merely grinned like some rebellious teenager, raising an eyebrow.
“What? Didn’t like it? Where’s all that fight from earlier, huh?”
He reached out and curled a finger around a strand of your hair. He licked his lips, observing the way your breath quickened. It would seem that you were just as needy and as desperate as him. And spirits, if that didn’t turn him on in the worst way.
His hand dropped to your collarbone, sliding his fingers down until they met the edge of your gown that dipped in the front. Slowly, he tugged until he could see more of your cleavage and almost groaned. You made him feel so depraved. Like a rabid, starving man eager to devour. Only you could make him this way. Turn and corrupt him into wanting you more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his life. Nothing could come close to being with you. Simply being near you, in your presence, made him want to be on his knees, serving you in every way imaginable.
You didn’t have to look. You could feel his knuckles skim the side of your breast, your body reacting almost instantly. His throat dried at the sight of your nipple peaking, almost like it was reaching out to him, begging him to touch.
“Aang…”
Your voice was like honey to his ears, so deliciously sinful. It nearly took the power of his past lives to get him to look at you without ripping your flimsy little gown off and taking you against the railing.
“Where?” he asked you, his voice low and broken, barely trusting himself to say much. Else, he feared he would growl at his weakening restraint. “You said not here, so where?”
Aang prayed to whoever was listening that you wouldn’t say the bedroom. He knew himself. He could feel it. The savage within him wouldn’t let him let you make it that far. It had to be somewhere close but comfortable for you because if it was left up to him, he would have you up against the nearest wall and fuck you that way. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger, just let him do all of the work.
His cock stirred.
Restraint.
Before he let his hand drop back down, you grabbed it and smiled.
“Come.”
And he almost did...until he realized that you’d meant for him to follow you instead.
Yeah, well. He could do that too.
Watching you turn and slowly pull him back inside, his eyes glued to the dip in your hips and the arch of your back, made him fully aware of just how much he could actually see through your gown. How it clung to you like a second skin, and moved with the gentle cadence of your steps. Especially when you passed through the warm glow of a few lit candles on the way in. Had those been lit before?
Truthfully, as much as he loved your body, it was how you'd reached for him as if you didn't need to think twice. As if it was your way of telling him that he had nothing left to fear. That you were silently choosing him all over again. It gave him the confirmation that he needed. That he hadn't failed you or this marriage.
That thought brought a certain warmth and haziness to his eyes. It was all he wanted. He hated fighting with you, but he’d misunderstood your feelings. You were only trying to convey that you'd missed him. He just didn't realize how much.
The moment you were about to cross the hearth, he grabbed you by the waist and captured your lips, groaning right into your opened mouth. He didn’t want to think about any of that right now. If anything, he used the long wait of seeing you as his pillar and reason.
He had to have you. There was no waiting to get to the bedroom. He'd waited long enough.
It felt like he was everywhere. The way his tongue brushed against yours, the feel of his hands digging into your waist and how you had to stand on your toes just to stay connected. Your hands moved over the strong ridges of his abdomen and up to his chest, sighing against his lips.
The love that you felt for him went beyond the limitations of the heart. Everything in you, even down to your spirit, knew that Aang was always going to be the one. The only one that could make you laugh, cry and love, all in the same breath.
He was simply and utterly perfection personified.
The kiss deepened, and you could feel it. You could feel the desperation, the longing that had taken place in your absence. How, not being near you, affected him just as much as you. He moved against you like wind brushing over water. Fluidly, purposefully, tracing his fingers up and down your spine to the base where they could spread over the round of your ass.
"Fuck,” he swore under his breath. His rough, raspy voice against your lips almost made you collapse.
He kissed from the corner of your lips to your jaw, down to your neck where he resumed leaving behind a few marks. He didn't want to hurt you but the thought of leaving darkened spots across your pretty skin spoke to him in a way that it shouldn't have. He imagined you failing to fully cover them and someone noticing. Would they be horrified? Concerned?
He smiled to himself.
He couldn’t wait.
Oh, and the noises, the sounds that you were making...
Truth be told, you were going to be the one to kill him in the end. And if this was to be his fate, then he gladly welcomed it with open arms.
"Aang, please," you pleaded, almost pushing him over the edge.
Still, he always did like how pretty you begged.
"Please what?" he asked you, still nipping and sucking at your neck, one of his hands moving to the front of your gown. His knuckles brushed just above the heat between your thighs, sending a chill through your body.
You gasped, and buried your face into his chest, hearing how steady his heartbeat was. He seemed calm, despite how he was making you feel. You just had no idea how close to breaking he actually was.
Months of being without him made your body miss him in ways you didn’t think were possible. It was sensitive to every touch and every breath, keening at the attention it craved for. It made you want to let go and completely fall apart in his arms.
“Touch me,” you breathed and as pathetic as it may have sounded, it didn’t stop you. “Need you touch me.”
“I am touching you, sweet girl,” he said into your skin, smiling softly, eyes closed. “What, you want more?” He felt you nod, and hummed to himself. “My greedy, greedy wife.”
When his lips found yours again, everything around you faded and blurred away into the background. It was easy to get lost in him, in all that he was. With you, in this moment, he was no longer the Avatar. He wasn’t the dependable friend nor was he the savior of Republic City; of the entire world. With you, he had no responsibilities. No one and nothing. He was just your husband, your Aang.
He didn’t rush. He took his time with you, reaching to cup your face and mold himself to you. He felt you quiver, whine and hold him like you would’ve fallen to pieces if not. He kissed you until you felt your head spin. Until he made you feel like you were somewhere else and not in a world where you had to share him. Until you felt your knees touch the soft rug in front of the hearth, and Aang hovering on top of you, his tattooed hands next to your head. Even the sound of the rain waned until there was nothing but the sound of his breath chasing after yours.
With you flat on your back now, Aang could really get a good look at you. Your cheeks were warm, and your lips were kiss-swollen. Part of your gown had slipped down, revealing your skin shimmering with a glow that made his heart squeeze. The mark on your neck was blooming steadily. You wore it beautifully, the gleam in your eyes telling him that you were proud of it even. His chest ached with so much love and warmth, he could hardly contain it.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on.”
It was true. He’d met plenty of women, but none held a candle to you. They weren’t worthy comparisons in the slightest. Sure, they held their own unique beauty but you were above that. Everywhere you went, you had a luminescent light about you that made you look so angelic. You also loved with the entirety of your heart, giving away bits of you without caring about what was left. You loved and cared openly, without regard. That made you different, special.
He felt like the luckiest man in the entire fucking world.
As he looked you over, his eyes landed on the jewelry around your neck. He traced a finger along the necklace at your throat. He’d made it for you a while ago; smooth mountain bone carved with an Air Nomad wind swirl, reclaimed glider wood fitted beneath it and tiny bronze pieces. It was meant to mimic the prayer chimes you’d found in the air temple long ago.
Simple, invaluable and perfect, like you. It was also meant to remind you that he would always be with you, even if he couldn’t physically be there. He knew it was not to replace him. Only to keep you company when you felt at your lowest and missed him.
As he stared down at it, he pictured you holding it at random points of the day and crying into it at night. He wondered if you ever took it off even though you’d sworn to him that you never would.
You couldn’t help but catch the distant look in his eyes as he fiddled with the necklace.
“What are you thinking about?” You asked in a soft tone, a hand of yours coming up to brush over the corded bracelet you’d made for him that was wrapped around his wrist.
Pieces of both of you given to each other during the wedding ceremony so many moons ago. While his gift felt like it’d held much more meaning, yours was done through several long and frustrating days. You’d weaved and corded it yourself, despite Katara’s several attempts to help. As much as you could’ve used it, you wanted your gift to be handmade. It felt more special that way but there was nothing truly significant about it.
It was plain cord in a tightly woven fashion. At the time, it felt right because Aang was very simplistic and held no interest over materialistic things. As an air nomad, he was taught not to place value on wealth, extravagance and certain possessions. Thankfully, he didn’t reject your gift but looking at it in the same light that he was looking at his…
“Have you taken this off since I’ve been gone?”
Your eyes widened a bit. “No. Why?”
Aang swallowed, and licked his dry lips.
“Not even once? Not even when I failed to write or you thought that I was never coming back?”
The only reason you’d noticed that his eyes were back on you was because you were already staring at him.
You held eye contact and said, “No. Not even then. Not even when I cursed your name and cried some nights. I held onto it knowing that you would return because you always do.”
The level of faith and adoration that you had in him did something to him that he wouldn’t dare voice out loud. He knew this love for you would be his ruin. It was becoming unhealthy and maddening.
If you loved him, he loved you more. If you put him on some sort of pedestal, then you were the center of his universe and reason for existing. He’d went from believing that his purpose was to the people, to the world as their Avatar. That is, until he met you.
Since then, each breath that he took was for you.
Without you, he was nothing. A ghost walking the earth in service of others, but not living. No, not how he lives for you.
You are the deity in his eyes. The goddess that he prays to on nights that he can spend on his knees, worshipping you from between your thighs. You are his greatest gift, and the greatest weapon to his own destruction. And yet, he did this. He created this. He’d given you all of the power needed to end him because what was a greater tragedy than dying at the hands of someone he loved more than life itself?
“Aang…” your voice brought him back, feeling your hand against his cheek. Subconsciously, he leaned into your warmth and closed his eyes.
You’d always known what his love for you meant and where it came from. Despite the fact that it had happened over a decade ago, Aang was clearly not healed from the tragedy of losing his people. He’d spent years trying to accept it and move on, but you knew the worst of it. It showed through the restless nights full of nightmares, how protective he was of you and how he loved you.
It didn’t concern you the way it did Katara because you understood and accepted that it would always be a part of him. Granted, you didn’t want him to fall into darker places. Yet, instead, you did your best to gently guide him back. If not to remind him that you were not his only reason to live. You reminded him that he needed to come first before you, always.
“You love me so much, I know you do, but don’t let it blind you from what truly matters which is you. I ground you, yes, but you are the epitome of balance within yourself. When you fight, fight for you the way you fight for me. And when you love, love you the way you love me.”
Aang listened because you were right. It was so easy to fall into that place that he held special, just for you. If he let himself think too deeply about where this attachment to you started, he could almost feel the edges of his mind begin to close in on itself. Except, that was where you came in. You quieted the loud thoughts and the burning feeling in his chest that echoed all that he’d lost.
You kept him sane, but he needed to remember that he existed not just for you and the people but for himself too. That he could love you and love himself just as much, at the same time.
“I’ll be better, I promise.”
He turned his head, and placed a kiss to your palm. Another, then another until he held your hand in his, spreading kisses to your wrist before you found him hovering back over you. The way the fire from the hearth danced within the moonstones of his eyes, making them darker than they normally were, it made your stomach curl in want.
“Better,” you breathed and wet your lips, ignoring the way his gaze followed the tip of your tongue. “The way you say that, it’s almost as if—”
“It’s for me, but if I don’t live at least half of my life for you then I don’t know if I could at all.”
Aang parted your thighs with his knee, dropping his eyes down to your chest. He watched as it moved with each passing breath, feeling his mouth water at the sight.
“Earlier…” he started as he leaned down to mouth at your collarbone. “–you told me to touch you. Tell me where.”
He slotted his lengthy body right between your legs, holding himself up to not crush you under his weight but just enough to keep you from feeling how hard he’d been for the past several minutes. Not like he could hide it but the semi dark atmosphere was working a bit in his favor.
His lips moved to your sternum, and ghosted over a nipple. It reacted like he’d hoped it would, reaching out for him again.
Not hearing anything, he glanced up at you and purred against the softness of your breast.
“Can’t touch you if I don’t know where to start, pretty.”
“Aang,” you almost reprimanded, frowning down at him. He figured that you were meant to look a bit more menacing than you did, and it almost made him laugh. You were so cute.
He used the tip of his tongue to swipe up against your nipple. It was warm, warmer than normal and you knew exactly why. It caused you to gasp sharply and wail out his name again, but in a higher pitch. He chuckled.
“You’re not saying anything so I’m going to assume that you’re ready to turn it in for the nigh—”
“Oh, don’t you dare.”
The look you gave him now could’ve stoked the flames next to him. That is, if you were a fire bender. Still, you were a woman of many talents. Talents that he was eager to exploit.
“Then…?” he asked, moving down until his chest met the lower half of your stomach, chin placed perfectly between your breasts. His eyes glimmered with a sudden innocence, nothing like how they were before, and his lips were poked out into a pout.
Your eye almost twitched.
What a little performer.
“I’ve waited months for this, Aang. Just touch me. I don’t care how. Or I’ll just do it without you. Maybe I'll even have you watch this time.”
If nothing else, that got his attention.
Aang’s face paled and fell into a hard line. Before you could protest, your gown was torn into jagged lines, right down the front. It laid in tatters around you, torn apart and utterly unsalvageable. He didn’t meet your widened eyes or the shocked look on your face at all.
Instead, he cupped his hand around one of your breast and closed his mouth over the eager nipple. You let out a long moan, letting your head fall back against the rug underneath you. As if everything about him wasn’t big enough, his tongue covered all that it needed to, not missing a spot.
His throaty sounds of approval made your head spin, yet again, feeling your legs twitch with the urge to close. Except, he was positioned perfectly in between them, keeping them wide open.
When he’d switched to the second bud and used his fingers to tweak and pull at the other, you could’ve cried. Your body didn’t know how to react. It’d been so long, way too long since it felt the touch of another that wasn’t yours. It knew him. It knew his touch like a familiar feeling embedded inside, coded by his hand. Pitifully sensitive and so reactive.
And Aang loved it.
Making you feel good felt like it was a part of his dna. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
Once he’d heard the mutterings of you telling him that you wanted more, he moved further south until he was met with your bare cunt.
He placed a palm just above it and used his thumb to raise as much of you as he could, staring directly at your clit now. It looked terribly swollen and shiny with your own arousal. He felt himself twitch in his pants.
Spirits, if you weren’t going to send him straight to the spirit world early.
He heard you mewl and saw your hips move up, using your body to beg for more this time. He smirked to himself before looking up at you. Like he figured, you refused to look back. Instead, you covered your face with your hands, mumbling about how he should stop staring and get on with it.
“Tell me, have you touched yourself since I’ve been gone?”
When you peeked back down at him, his eyes were back at your clit, massaging around it. He was still refusing to fully touch you, and it started to annoy you.
“Why does that matter? You’re here now. You can touch me—”
“Yeah, but…” Aang stopped what he was doing completely, and maneuvered his arms under your thighs to place your legs on his shoulders. Then, he kissed at the insides of your thighs, smiling into your skin. “Humor me. I wanna know.”
Looking down and watching him give attention to all but where you needed it most made you inwardly sigh. Humor him, he’d said. Fine.
“I did.”
He glanced up at you, clearly amused.
“When.”
“…that night. The same day that you left for the mission.”
A pause. A very long pause, in fact.
“Spirits,” he groaned out your name into your skin, grounding himself with a deep breath. “You’re going to kill me.”
Your clit throbbed.
“Why?”
He took a few seconds to respond, and it was not what you were expecting him to say.
“Because I did too.”
He could practically feel your eyes burning a hole through him, silently wanting him to further explain.
He trailed his lips down your inner thigh until you felt his warm breath just above your weeping cunt.
“After traveling for hours, I stopped at a point and made camp. Leaving you was hard,” he closed his eyes for a moment, reliving the memory. “It’s always the hardest thing I do so, of course, I started to miss you. I didn’t want to trust my dreams to give me what I wanted so I took it instead.”
The way he said that made your legs twitch, and your throat dry.
“When Appa and Momo finally fell asleep, I took a walk. Just to clear my head, you know? Walks usually help me sleep better. Though…” he sighed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Thoughts of missing you turned into missing your voice, what you were doing, what you were wearing…or not wearing.”
Your breath quickened, knowing exactly where this was going. The mental image that your mind began to paint nearly lit your body on fire.
“I stopped at a tree and just…” he opened his eyes, and saw how hazy yours was. The greys of his darkened considerably. “Well. I’m sure you can imagine what happened next.”
The thought of him getting desperate enough to just…do that in the middle of wherever he was while thinking about you around the same time that you were touching yourself thinking about him…
You couldn’t bare another moment of talking about the past. He was here, seconds away from eating you out. You refused to use that time talking about what was when it could be what is.
“Aang, please stop talking. Touch me or I’m actually going to lose my mind.”
He stopped giving you thigh kisses, his eyes finding yours again, letting his lips curve up into another smirk.
“Yes ma’am,” and focused all of his attention exactly where you needed him the moment he’d laid you down and got into position.
As soon as he covered your clit with his mouth, your back arched and you let out a moan that made him groan right against you. He’d thought about this more times than he could count. Shameless thoughts of him pleasuring you, just like this, and pulling the prettiest sounds from you. Night after night, he laid awake, watching it play over and over. As the days turned into weeks, it only got worse. You made it hard to focus on anything else.
Much like now.
Your fingers plunged into the rug, holding it like it was anchoring you. It was overstimulating. The feel of a hot, slick pressure between your thighs, pressing along your clit, lazily dipping between your sticky folds, parting them for better access. Euphoria, pure bliss rushed through you, coaxing a broken moan that barely made it past your lips when you felt his tongue snake along the slit of your cunt.
"Ah, Aang!"
And the sounds, the slurping and the groaning... He was definitely doing it on purpose. What a little shit.
His name falling from your lips made him grin to himself as he suctioned his lips back around your throbbing clit. He knew that you could come from just this, but he wanted to take it a step further.
Aang let one of your thighs rest completely on his shoulder and traveled his fingers down to your slippery, twitching hole. He teased them up and down, hearing you beg and plead, before pushing a digit inside. His middle finger curled, earning a gasp from you. He hummed into the mess of you, instinctively aware of how to navigate through the warm tightness of your cunt. He'd done this several times, but it always felt like the first. Always felt like a starved-man, unable to get enough of you.
And fuck, if you didn’t taste like the sweetest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of eating.
You wailed and cried out for him, wanting more but not sure what more you could want when it felt like he was giving you too much.
He lapped at you with his tongue and sucked, alternating, as he added another finger. Except, this time he made sure both were warm where you would feel it, just like you'd felt the unnatural heat of his tongue moments ago.
Your body was well on the edge, feeling his pace quicken. He didn't stop, not even when you started to beg all pretty. Once he found that spongey spot inside of you, he aimed for it with each thrust of his fingers and fed on your swollen clit until he could hear your breath hitch and your moans get higher in pitch.
He nodded against you, groaning, "Like that, baby. Doin' so good for me."
"Aang!" you cried out again. "I can't!" he continued as he guided you through it.
"You can, love. You're so close," He said in a husky tone, brows furrowed, and still nose deep in you. "Let me feel it. Let me hear it. Please."
And that was all that it took.
He heard your breath stutter, and felt your walls tighten and flutter around his fingers before the squelching sounds turned into a steady drip of arousal. You'd practically coated his entire hand in it, leaving behind a wet, creamy mess. Your hips jerked, thighs quivering, nearly trapping his head there until you inhaled and exhaled.
For a moment, you didn't move and neither did he. As he cleaned you up with his tongue, you twitched but didn't say a word. You just stared up at the ceiling, your skin clad with sweat and warm with heat from the hearth. The thought of doing this and more here in front of the crackling flame no longer felt like a good idea. It felt like your body was on fire as it came down from its high. There was no way you were going to be able to focus if you didn't move elsewhere.
"Aang..." You called out for him, trying to use your fingers to get his attention. They brushed over his cheekbone then to his jaw. When you looked down, he was just coming up. A smile broke out across your face, your own cheeks warming and not from the heat of the fire. "You are so messy."
He chuckled, and rose to half of his height, settling himself properly between your legs again. He smoothed his hands down your thighs and held your gaze.
"So are you."
And well, he wasn’t wrong. You could feel a warm breeze glide between you and him, making you groan and rest your head back on the rug. From the stickiness, the heat and the way Aang continued to stroke and grip at your legs only made you want more. You’d already admitted to him how selfish you were. Why not raise the bar a bit more?
“Let’s move to the bed. I’m hot and this rug isn’t as comfortable as I was hoping it would be,” you mumbled, letting him tug you up until you were nearly face to face. He was so tall, even on his knees he was still looking down at you. Infuriating, but a turn on nonetheless.
Aang stood up first, and reached out for you to take his hands. You did but you looked down and back up at him.
“Carry me?”
He smiled, and tilted his head.
“Why? Can’t stand on your own?”
Normally, he would’ve just done what you asked but he couldn’t help but tease you. You made it too easy.
Your face fell into a scowl, playfully rolling your eyes.
“Fine. I’ll walk then.”
He hummed. “Poor thing. C’mere.” He bent down and like he would with a child, picked you up from under your arms and held you against him, feeling your arms secure themselves around his neck. Once he’d made sure your legs were also secured around his waist, he kissed your cheek and started walking towards the bedroom. “Such a baby.”
You half-smiled to yourself, looking elsewhere.
“Yeah, your baby.”
“Mhm.”
With Aang’s long legs, it didn’t take him but a few long strides to reach the room. Instead of putting you down, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, still keeping your legs locked around his waist. Straddling him now, he dropped his arms from your hips and leaned back on his hands, eyeing you down. The intensity in his eyes made your arms loosen but not drop completely. Just lax, staring at him back.
“What?”
He didn’t say anything at first, just continued to look at you. Now that he’d had you fully naked and could see every part of you clearly, there was nothing keeping him from ogling you. Beautiful from head to toe. He just didn’t deserve you. He truly didn’t. And yet, you were made for him. You fit perfectly, in every way of the word.
He was just so happy that you’d chosen him to spend the rest of your life with. It wasn’t because he was the Avatar. No, you’d fallen in love with him as Aang, and that made his heart melt. Even to this day. He just couldn’t imagine what his life would’ve been like without you in it.
Just so completely over the moon in love with you.
You brought him back by trailing your fingers across his face, lightly pinching at his cheek.
“You spend way too much time in here,” you tapped at his temple, making him smile again. “What are you thinking about? Hopefully me.”
Cheeky, he thought before he inhaled and suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning up. His nose brushed yours, earning a giggle from you. But not wrong.
“Yes, you, beautiful girl.” He glanced at your lips, pecking them once then twice. He thumbed at your spine, “always you.”
You fought back a smile, biting at your lip.
“I’ve missed you. A lot.”
“And I’ve missed you so much more.”
The moment felt so perfect, it made you wonder if you were dreaming again. You couldn't help but remember what it had been like for you with him gone. Mentally, it was torture. So, to think that this too was nothing but a dream... Was it really that far-fetched?
But maybe it was the way Aang breathed, the feel of his chest against yours and that familiar glimmer in his eyes that promised you this was no dream. That he was truly here, right in front of you. Kissing you, touching you, and the whisperings of how much he'd missed you. It wasn't in your head. Not his voice, not his scent. Not even the way he filled up the space with his radiance, as faded from exhaustion as it was. It was still him. Your Aang.
"Now you're doing the thinking," you heard him say, feeling him press his forehead against yours.
Your lips split into a small grin, briefly closing your eyes.
"Sorry. Remind me to never think about you again."
Aang snorted. "Hah hah."
You snorted also and broke out into a chuckle, your eyes deep into his. "Seriously though. I know you're tired, but I really wanna...you know..."
"Mm," he took in a breath, ghosting his lips over yours and sliding his hands up and down your sides. "I may be the master of all four elements but I don't think I have the ability to read minds. Especially yours."
You stared at him back, and made a face. He grinned, and kissed you. You didn't hesitate to reciprocate it. A hand of yours nearly made its way to the nape of his neck to pull him closer when you broke apart, still giving him a look.
"Don't distract me."
"Awh, and it almost worked."
"What do you mean especially mine? Are you saying that you wouldn’t be able to read mine? Saying I have a big head or something?"
Aang deeply chuckled at that as he moved his lips to your forehead, laying a gentle kiss there, "No, but since we're on the subject–”
"Goodnight."
"Nooo, I'm joking," he whined, tightening his hold on you the moment that he felt you trying to pull away. You rolled your eyes, trying to keep back a smile. "Stayy."
“Why? So you can bully me some more?”
A bit distracted now, Aang kissed at the corner of your mouth before running the tip of his tongue along the seam of lips, not asking but taking. You let him nudge his tongue in and move against yours. He wasn’t even kissing you and you were already aching and wet again.
You let out a weak moan that was practically a whine, trying to lean in for more. When he’d slapped an ass cheek, you gasped and pulled back in shock.
Aang smirked, “don’t give me that look. You’re being bratty now. It’s not very nice so why should I be?”
Your lips formed a pout.
“Well…I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
He shrugged. “Good.”
“Enough?”
“No.”
“Ugh,” you pulled away from his lap and stood, sighing to yourself.
He leaned back on his hands and watched you again. The burning feel of his eyes on you made your body react as if he’d still had his hands on you. It was maddening. He was maddening.
“Baby,” he called for you in that sweet tone of his that he knew always worked on you. “Come back. You were saying something earlier. Was it about continuing what we were doing in the other room?”
You started to pull on another gown as you answered him over your shoulder.
“Earlier? That was like 30 seconds ago, grandpa.”
Aang groaned, “So mean to me,” and fell the rest of the way, now flat on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.
He didn’t say anything at first so you continued to dress, silently wishing the heat from the hearth could reach all the way to the bedroom. Then again, the upper floor of your home had more space than the others. Which meant it took longer for it to get cool and warm at times.
Once your new gown was lazily tied at the hip, you turned and just…stared. Aang’s eyes were closed. You knew that he wasn’t sleeping just yet, but the lax of his face… It made him look like he was. From the dark fullness of his brows, to the slope of his nose and finally to the soft of his lips that were parted. His chest sunk and rose steadily, his body still as if he was at peace in the silence.
As your eyes drifted lower, you couldn’t help but notice how well defined he was. Years and years of evasive combat training, honing his endurance in stamina and breath control as well as conditioning his mobility to perfect aerial techniques. It came from immense focus and strength that was learned, not necessarily taught.
Aang understood that better than anyone. Despite the fact that he was the Avatar, he learned early on that life was never meant to be handed to him. So he earned it, and perfected himself by doing it all on his own. Once he’d become comfortable with using all four elements, he trained in three until they became as familiar as air bending.
Toned, disciplined and strengthened by all of his hard work truly did pay off, just not in the way he had intended it to.
Honestly, it was completely unfair.
The quiet rise and fall of his chest drew your attention lower, expanding and tracing over defined muscle that was softened only slightly by exhaustion. Even after months of being away, his body still carried that same dangerous balance of gentleness and strength that always managed to unravel you far too easily.
There was not a single part of him built for stillness; not truly. Even laid across the bed in silence, he looked capable of movement at any given moment, like the wind itself rested beneath his skin.
And it did because spirits.
Maybe it was the lanternlight. Maybe it was the relief of having him home and alive where you could finally touch him again, but looking at him now made warmth pool low in your stomach in a way that almost annoyed you.
Because this was Aang.
Your Aang.
The same man that had frustrated you to tears only an hour ago now had you standing there in nothing but a thin gown while your thoughts betrayed you in the most depraved of ways.
You looked at him with a hunger that felt insatiable. Like the moment on the rug moments ago had only lit the fire within you, not put it out.
Slowly and quietly, you crept back up to the bed. You were trying to be stealthy, much like a shirshu. They were patient hunters, and earned their prey by tracking silently while being unsettlingly precise. However, the moment your knee dipped into the mattress, hands found your waist and within half of a breath, you were on your back with a real predator hovering over you.
Did he just airbend—?
Aang’s eyes roamed over your fluttering chest, moving them up to your lips and finally to the surprised gleam in your eyes.
A giggle bubbled from your throat, “You could’ve let me think I had that one.”
“Sorry pretty,” he leaned down and skimmed his nose along the column of your neck. “Maybe next time.”
Giving you a single kiss right at the center, Aang pulled back and was on his feet now. He peered down at you, noticing the new gown that you were wearing. He frowned before pouting, but he didn’t comment. Instead, his tattooed hands glided down your calves until his fingers closed around your ankles. Both of you shared a knowing look before he pulled you right up against his pelvis, helping you lock your legs at his waist.
“Aang—”
“Do you still want more?”
His question caught you off guard, but went right to your aching cunt nonetheless. His arousal felt hard and prominent against you, throbbing with the promise of ruining you. You didn’t dare look down. You knew what you would see. You could feel it.
“Yes.”
His deft fingers languidly pulled at the strings that kept your gown closed, and watched it fall apart to reveal your body to him once again. He caught the groan before it left his throat, opting to clench his jaw instead. The want to be inside of you ruled over his body’s need to sleep away the exhaustion of his long journey back home, back to you. He’d tasted you. Now, he wanted to feel you.
“So beautiful….” He bent down and twisted a bit to the side to spread kisses along your navel and up to valley of your breasts. “So mine…”
Aang reached a hand up to gently twist and tug at a nipple, earning a blissful sigh from you that sounded heavenly through the fog of his mind. He didn’t stop to let you breathe. He shifted his hips so that he could grind his erection directly against the bareness of your cunt, fully aware that it would sully the pants he had on. All for the better, really. The more transparent the fabric became, the closer he felt to you. He could bet all of the moon peaches in the world that you were just as warm and as wet as his mind conjured during the nights he’d spent alone.
He’d felt it earlier when he had his fingers inside you but he was smart enough to know that there was a difference between using his fingers and using something far more sensitive and connecting.
“Ahh, Aang,” you whined near his ear as his lips traveled back up to your neck.
He felt the tip of his arousal snag at your clit, causing him to push his face into your skin, hissing and gripping at your breast. He knew he could end the torturing of all this but there was just something so pathetic and primal about rutting against you like this. Perhaps it was also a result of his hazy mind and exhaustion creeping back in. Or maybe it had something to do with how you sounded whenever his length passed through the soaked folds of your pretty cunt.
Yeah. It was probably that, actually.
Though, as much as he enjoyed the thought of turning your brain into mush from a mere grinding session, he wanted something far more rewarding.
“Hold on,” he told you before pulling himself back. Quicker than he was trying to, he’d shucked off his pants and kicked them somewhere in the dark to be dealt with later.
During the brief intermission, you’d decided to move further up in bed, closer to the wooden headboard. The bed was big enough to comfortably fit several people in it so it was a bit funny when you thought back to the reason it was made this size.
Aang hadn’t always been so tall so his growth spurt shocked everyone. Somewhere along the way, a twin sized bed no longer seemed appropriate. He would always complain about his aching back or the way his legs would practically hang off of the ends. By that point, it was time to upsize.
You didn’t remove your gown completely. You just pulled it up your thighs to rest openly at your waist so that when Aang finally resettled in the valley of them, there was finally nothing that stood between you and him.
Except, when he did join you in bed, he’d noticed that you were a bit too far up and as he rested further down, he tilted his head. You recognized the look in his eyes, and felt your stomach jolt.
“Aang—ah!”
He bended the wind between his palms and your ankles, letting the current pull you down exactly where he needed you. His smirk met your flushed pout.
“Perfect.”
You rolled your eyes, wanting to look away. “Show off.”
The heavy weight of his cock settled painfully present against your cunt, oozing strings of precum that made you hyper aware of how badly he wanted you. Well, that wasn’t the only sign. From his chest up to his face, his skin was flushed. Even through the dark cover of the room, you could see the neediness in his eyes. A swirling grey that quietly confessed how much he’d truly longed for this moment. By the looks of him, you couldn’t even imagine how he was able to survive all of that time away from you.
“Better?” You asked him, feeling him twitch against you.
He simply nodded, lips parted, before wrapping a hand around himself. His eyes dropped down to look at how wet you were while you watched him. Slow, leisure strokes that made the muscles in his arm flex and the veins atop his hand push against his skin. Your mouth salivated, noticing the crease in his brows as he used his other hand to spread your folds apart. Sticky and shiny, and so fucking pretty.
He groaned and tightened his hand at the base of his length, letting out a slow deep breath. When he peeked back up at you, his heart almost stopped.
The way you were still watching him, a hand at your breast gripping and pulling at the sensitive bud with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth—
He must’ve died long before he came back home. This was it, his own little oasis in the spirit world.
Nothing in the entire world could compare to this moment.
And he meant nothing.
“Aang…”
He felt you before he heard you, the softness of your hand brushing his cheek. When his vision reorientated back on you, he saw the gentle smile on your face.
“I’m right here,” you said to him in the same soft way you touched him, grounding him again. “I’m real and here.”
Aang felt you pull at his wrist, tugging him down until the tip of his nose pressed against yours. His hands found themselves caging you, being careful to hold most of his weight. You tilted your head and ghosted your lips over his.
“My perfect husband,” you whispered, his back rippling with shivers that he tried to hide but couldn't. As your hands moved over his shoulders and along his back, you’d felt it. “So good to me…so perfect for me…”
When the tips of your fingers trickled down the line of his spine, he let out a whine that made you clench around nothing. It didn't sound like anything you'd heard from him before and maybe that was due to the time that the two of you had to spend apart. Two months had been the longest, and definitely the hardest. You'd felt the strain of it on your end but realizing what it must have been like for Aang, a man that loved beyond the limitations of the air nomadic ways; it was surely just as painful as a loss.
You'd cried many nights for the spirits to bring your husband back home safe and had the support of Katara during it all, but Aang had dealt with the torment alone.
There was still that lingering tension underneath his skin that he'd made sure to hide well from you but you could feel it; could feel him unraveling. You could tell that he was no longer able to keep it buried inside and away from you.
"Please," he begged you, leaving a trail of kisses from your collarbone to your ear. "Need to be inside you. Please."
And who were you to deny him when you needed him just as badly?
"I think you've kept me waiting long enough," you told him as you reached down the small space between your bodies. Once your fingers wrapped around him, his breath trembled as if he was going to fall to pieces before making it the rest of the way.
He gripped at the pillows underneath you, grinding his teeth together. He was fighting to hold it together. He'd wanted this moment to last, but could feel himself unthreading.
The moment you lined the head of his cock up to your twitching cunt, your hands moved to the curve of his ass and started to push him into you. He gasped into your neck, and groaned when the tip of his cock popped past the first ring of muscle. He shook his head in pure disbelief. You'd felt better than he'd remembered. It almost made him delirious.
Aang swore under his breath, feeling you push him in further. Clenching onto him the minute he split you apart, it almost sent him over the edge.
"If you knew what you felt like being wrapped around me like this," he breathed near your ear, "you'd lose your mind too."
"I know baby, I know," you kissed his cheek and jaw, feeling him fill you up until the fullness of him was all that you could feel. “And you’re doing such a good job…”
There was no escaping him now. No where for you to run or hide. He had you fully pressed into the mattress, arms blocking you in and his cock sunk so deep, it made you move your hands back up to the broadness of his back to help anchor you.
"Mmm, aang, you feel so good inside me," you wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning at how snug he felt. It felt so right, so perfect, you almost didn't want him to move but knew that if he didn't, he wasn't going to last long at all.
Once every inch of him was inside, he took in a breath while you exhaled. You allowed him the time he needed to ground himself before watching him lean up. Your eyes had gotten used to the dark and could see the concentrated look on his face as he moved his hands to your hips. His eyes dropped down to where the both of you were connected, and finally breathed out.
Everything about you drove him insane. Even when you’d finally given yourself to him, every single part of you, he still couldn’t get enough. He needed more of you. He wanted to push his body into yours until he was able to combine your souls into one. Claim your entire essence and being as his, marked forever as the one that saved him from himself.
You were his beaming light amongst the black ocean of his heart.
Where he was once drowning under the weight of all of his responsibilities, you saw him and pulled him out of it. How else could he thank you? Being your perfect-imperfect husband didn’t seem like enough. He wished to pull the stars down from the night sky and hand them all to you because you deserve something no one on earth could give you. Something only he was capable of giving you.
What was that? What was the very thing he could give? Something he hadn’t already given you?
It had to be none other than a promise, a proper promise that he would have to keep for as long as he lived.
He just didn’t realize that he’d known it all along. Known it since he’d made his vow to you the day of the wedding.
You could tell that something was on his mind but you didn’t pressure to ask. Instead, you waited.
Then, his eyes finally found yours again and held your gaze as he said,
“I want to make you a promise. A real one.”
You blinked, and slowly nodded.
“Yeah, okay. What promise?”
Aang’s brows furrowed as he mulled over what he wanted to say, and how he wanted to say it.
It took what felt like minutes before he said anything else, and it was not like anything you had expected him to say.
“I may not be able to promise that the world won’t need me again because it will. It always does, but I can promise that you’ll never have to wait in silence like that again.”
His thumbs rubbed across the skin of your waist, his eyes hard set on yours.
“And no matter where I go, I’ll always find my way back to you.”
Aang knew that he didn’t need to make you that promise, especially considering the conversation from earlier where there was finally a mutual understanding of how both of you felt. Even so, he could recognize how much he has truly hurt you. It wasn’t this one instance but for all of the others in the past. He wanted to make up for it all in a single promise that he vowed to never break.
You were rendered speechless. His wedding vows had been a bit different, vowing that he would always be by your side and would always put you first before any and everything, but not like this.
At the time, Aang did not foresee his duties as the Avatar and founder of Republic City getting in the way of his marriage, but he saw it now and only wanted to reassure you that you would be his true priority; that it was possible to love you and hold the world on his shoulders by doing it together.
He could see it, the tears that started to well up in your eyes and quickly shushed you, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead while holding your face. Your eyes fluttered closed, as his lips moved over each of your eyelids and to your nose.
“Don’t cry, not for this,” he whispered, kissing your cheeks now. “Because this promise to you cannot and will not be broken. Even when I’m long gone, I'll keep it. I promise…”
Your heart sunk hearing him talk like that. Just the thought of it…
“Please, Aang, don’t say that…” You sniffled, holding him back into your arms. This time, with no intention of letting him go. “You’re not allowed to go anywhere, do you hear me? Nowhere but here with me.”
“I know,” he breathed against your lips, staring back at you while using a thumb to wipe at the falling tears. “I just love you so much.”
You could see it in his eyes, the love and the utter devotion that he held for you that was unlike anything you had ever felt from someone. He looked at you like you were all that he could see.
And that was all that you could ever ask for.
“I love you so much more,” your lips pressed against his lips gently, sighing into it, feeling him return it eagerly.
He instinctively began to move his hips, rolling into you without rush but with purpose. The slow drag of his thick cock made you whimper into his opened mouth, your fingers dipping into his back.
He grunted, trailing his lips to your cheek, breathing heavily as he fucked into you deeper. Every inch, every part of you felt like pure bliss, a maze that he wanted to willingly get lost in. He didn’t care about anything else but this, you, being inside you and hearing your pretty moans. The way his name rolled off of your tongue, gasping and holding onto him like you were close to falling apart.
You were going to ruin him.
He bit down into his lip, frowning, as he reached up to hold the headboard above you. Something, anything that could keep him from losing his mind early on because he was close, dangerously close.
He kept his hand locked onto the wooden board, bracing his hulking frame as he began drilling into you with a rhythmic, punishing vigor. Every thrust was deep, deliberate and fueled by the weeks of loneliness and longing he had carried in his soul. He wasn't just fucking you. He was trying to merge with you, to bridge the gap that the distance had created between your bodies.
Aang groaned when he felt your cunt tighten around him and your hips move to match his pace.
“Fuck,” he moaned as his cock drove into you harder and faster, chasing more of you.
You choked out a sob, crying into his shoulder, your body jostling with every deliberate pound into your poor cunt he made.
“O-h, Aang! You’re so good, feel so fucking good inside of me!”
More of your begging, your nails sinking into his back, your cries and the feeling of you sucking him in with each thrust.
Call him a greedy bastard, but he wanted it all.
His movements were reckless, the bed creaking violently against the floor with every heavy impact of his hips against yours. His breath came in ragged, uneven hitches and his sweat slicked skin slid against yours, creating a feverish heat.
“Aang!” You sobbed hearing the sloppy squelch of your cunt with each unforgiving snap of his hips, feeling him directly hit that spongey spot inside of you like he was drawn to it.
He bent and kissed down until his lips found one of your perked nipples, sucking and rolling his tongue around the hard bud until he felt you shake and spill out the most prettiest moans he’d ever heard from you.
Aang was losing himself in you, and didn’t notice when his tattoos began to glow a bright blue hue. For you, it was all that you could see.
With his head lowered, you could see the arrow along his skin flickering until it was stable and illuminating, growing brighter with each ragged breath and slam of his hips against yours. His eyes were closed but you knew that those beautiful greys of his had been taken over by the same blue light.
He was terrifying to most in his avatar state but to you, he’d never looked more beautiful.
The headboard creaked under the sheer weight of his hold as he fucked you, the poor wood wailing and threatening to break under the pressure. He let out a broken groan around your skin before raising his head, his voice sounding a bit off. It sounded overlapped with more than one voice but it was still him. Desperate and filled with an overwhelming need to come as deep inside of you as humanely possible.
Your hands moved from his back to his face, holding him with care to get his attention. When he finally opened his eyes again, all you could see was an endless pool of blue. His brows were furrowed, and his forehead was beaded with sweat.
“Are you close?” All he was able to do was nod, nearly collapsing into your hands, his hips stuttering to signal that he was getting incredibly close. “Good, because I’m going to need you to cum and not pull out. Can you do that for me?”
Even through the haze of pleasure, Aang still made an expression of confusion.
“Don’t...pull out. So you want me to…?”
He left it there, knowing that you understood what he didn’t say.
You smiled, and nodded.
“Yes. Can you?”
Aang didn’t quite understand. Every time that the two of you had sex, you always made it clear he had to pull out. Pouting, he agreed but was never shy about telling you that he didn’t like it. If a baby happened, then wasn’t it meant to be? There was no better way to prevent a pregnancy, other than a certain type of tea, so pulling out was next best. Either way, Aang was not a fan but respected your boundaries nevertheless. Now, you were wanting him to…
"Wanna give you a little airbender, Aang. Would you like that?" You breathlessly asked him, feeling his hips falter at the sound of that. You smiled, stroking a thumb across his warm face. "Would be such a good mommy. Could give you everything you could ever want. Let me do it for you, Aang, please."
And that fucking did it.
Your voice, the feeling of your heated walls clamping down onto him, and you giving him permission to fill you up knowing what might happen; all of it sent him right over the edge.
He groaned out, applying more pressure to the headboard than he had intended and felt it split down the middle. The bed collapsed underneath you, surprising you but you weren't given time to assess what happened when Aang leaned down to bury his face into your neck. You felt his cock twitch and pulsate before filling you up until the mix of his thick cum and your arousal oozed out between you. His hands clutched into fists around the sheets as he tried to control his breathing.
You thought that he was done but his hips hadn't stopped. They just slowed to a steady roll, deep and intentional.
"Aang..." You whined under your breath, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. Your body was nearly exhausted, but you weren't there yet. Could that be his reason?
He didn't say anything. He just kept moving inside of you, kissing at your neck. He shivered, feeling the way your cunt fluttered around him as your calves slid back into place, ankles firmly locked. He hummed, one of his hands sliding down your side until they reached your thighs to grip at them.
“Want you to cum around me,” he muttered low into the warmth of your neck, lazily smiling. “Can you do that for me?”
When he looked at you, you’d noticed that his greys were back and the arrows along his forehead and his back had dimmed back to their normal blue. It made your face warm.
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” he praised, and used his arm to hold himself up while his other hand continued its trek down to your neglected clit. “And don’t think I forgot about her.”
As soon as his middle finger started to draw lazy circles before gradually moving a bit faster while letting his hips roll into you at the same pace, you squealed. You hand instantly reached down to hold onto his wrist as he abused the sensitive little nub, crying out.
“Ah, please!”
Aang was embarrassed to admit but aiming for your pleasure instead of his and watching your face twist up knowing that he was the reason, it made him ten times harder. There was nothing better than servicing you and making you feel good. It was just the simple fact that he had already came.
But who said he couldn’t do it again?
No matter how many times he did this with you, it would always feel like the first. There was just something about being with you in such an intimate way and connecting beyond a conversation or doing anything else together. He was very spiritual and believed that sex was a very sacred act. It was something he would never do with anyone else. Doing this with you, with his wife, felt like the highest form of his love for you.
When he felt your nails dig into the skin of his wrist and your cunt tighten around his cock again, he let out a ragged breath that was mixed with a laugh.
“You’re so tight, it feels like you’re going to cut off the circulation down there.”
You whined out his name, breathless, trying not to laugh at his untimely joke.
“Stop.”
“I’m being serious,” he said, letting another chuckle before groaning out and looking down at you. “Gonna cum, my love?”
You nodded with teary eyes, moving your hand up to his bicep, feeling it flex under your fingers.
“Mhm.”
“Yeah?”
“Aang—”
“Let me feel it.”
He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, eyebrows knitted together, fighting to concentrate.
“Please, let me feel it…”
You moaned out his name again and again, your head spinning, being unable to feel anything but his cock fucking into you and his fingers moving against your clit like it was his last day on earth. His whisperings of telling you how pretty you sounded and how much he loved you was all too much. You couldn’t handle it.
With one more sharp inhale and slam into your hips, your back arched and felt a wave of ecstasy crash into you, leaving you trembling and mumbling a string of nonsense that made Aang follow right behind you. You were too warm, too tight, his release spilled into you again, plugged and just as filled as the first.
Both of you stayed just like that, foreheads together and panting into each other as the comfortable silence of the night finally took over.
After a few moments of him trying to catch his breath, he smiled softly and kissed your nose.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”
You were relieved when he moved off of the bed and walked towards the washroom because your entire body refused to move even an inch. In fact, you were very close to falling asleep if not for the warm, damp feeling of a cloth against your inner thighs and over your mound. He knew your legs were going to instinctively twitch closed so he used his hands to keep them pried apart until he finally finished up.
After properly discarding the small towel, he scooped you into his arms so that he could work on the bed.
At first, it took him a moment. Now that he was able to actually see the bed from a different angle, the headboard lowered the bed quite unevenly. The damage wasn’t bad at all, it would just take a few minutes to brainstorm how to fix it. It was definitely going to be a temporary fix, but he knew it would hold long enough for a good night’s sleep.
Still, the idea of him as the avatar, master of all four elements, being humbled by a broken headboard after wrecking it with his wife—it definitely felt like a very comical irony.
But, someone had to do it so, he got to work.
Aang knew that the only way to go about this was to use air to reposition the splintered pieces back into place, or as close as he could, and then smooth some of the rough cracks. Luckily, it wasn’t completely split down the middle so it was fixable. He just knew that come morning, he would need to fully replace the bed.
Once that was done, he moved onto what was next.
As he held you with one arm and replaced the bedding with his other, you couldn’t help but stare up at him. You knew that he knew you were looking at him, judging by the small grin on his face, but he didn’t say anything and neither did you. You just watched him impressively use one arm to do things that would normally take two to do.
Once the bed was replaced with clean linen and warm blankets, Aang gently placed you back down, joining you now. He shifted onto his back and pulled you into him by your waist. You hummed, curving a leg up and over his thighs, your hand across his chest.
The silence continued and just when you were about to fall asleep, you heard the softness of his voice.
“Three days from now, I’ll be leaving again.”
Because it was engrained in your body, your first reaction was your stomach dropping. Still, you calmed your breathing and chose not to say anything. You remembered what he’d said to you earlier. His words on the balcony, his promise to you now, they all meant something. He wouldn’t do that only to lie to you, so you breathed.
Aang could tell that it had shaken you, telling by the stiffness of your body against his. He smiled a bit to himself before his eyes fell down to the crown of your head.
“And I want you to come with me.”
Your head shot up, meeting the playful glint in his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat.
“Do you really?”
His hand, that rested at your hip, stroked along your skin, his gaze holding yours.
“I made a promise to you, right?”
He placed a warm kiss to your forehead, making your face split into a smile also.
“I know…but hey! Don’t say that like you have to tag me along!” You pouted.
“I’m not, I swear!” He exclaimed with a brighter smile and laugh that shook his shoulders. “I want you to come with me. I want to travel the skies with you, scour and gather more airbender relics and maybe stop at different places just for the fun of it. Maybe help people along the way, but I want to do all of those things with you by my side this time.”
“Even if it gets dangerous?”
Aang paused for a moment and just looked at you. There was a tiny worry that he was taking the silence to rethink his decision to bring you along when he spoke again.
“You can handle yourself. I know that and when you can’t, I’ll be there to protect you. No matter what we face, we’ll face it together.”
It felt like your heart had crawled out of its hiding hole somewhere in your stomach and had soared right through your chest. It was all that you’d wanted to hear from him. To be able to still love him as deeply as you did and to be able to accept him for who he was to the people of the nations—it was the perfect middle ground. There was never a need to ‘fix’ you or him.
Instead, balance was all you ever needed and you knew you would always find that with him.
Your eyes fell to his lips and back up to the shining grey of his eyes.
“I love you.”
His hand moved from your hip to the nape of your neck, gently pulling you closer.
“And I love you.”
When your lips met, it was softer this time; slower. The kind of kiss that carried understanding within it rather than desperation.
You and Aang knew that there would still be difficult days ahead. That there would be arguments, distance and that familiar sense of fear that came with being the wife of the Avatar. Loving Aang would never come without sacrifice and being loved by you would always leave parts of him frighteningly exposed.
But this—this felt like balance.
Like finally meeting one another in the middle after spending so much time pulling at opposite ends.
And somehow, within the quiet warmth of his mouth against yours and the steady hand cradling the back of your neck, tomorrow no longer felt so frightening.
It felt like a promise for a new beginning.
༄ ... mini bonus scene ! ... ༄
The next day was spent making up for lost time.
Which basically means you and Aang barely left the bedroom to eat or even drink water.
Still, despite the time that you'd spent with him, you made sure not to forget about your visit with Katara the next day after that.
When you and Aang arrived, Sokka had answered the door and was happy to see you but as soon as he saw Aang, he'd nearly tackled his taller friend to the ground.
"You're back?! I had no idea you were back!" Sokka exclaimed with a wide smile that instantly turned into a frown, playfully hitting Aang's shoulder.
"Ow?" Aang rose a brow, rubbing his arm with a smile back.
"Don't 'ow' me! You could've let your best friend know you were back all this time, sheesh," Sokka shook his head, scratching his neck. "Some friend you are."
Katara came up next to her brother, and pinched at his ear like they were teens all over again.
"Leave Aang alone. He came back like, two days ago. What are you on about?"
"Sokka," You heard Suki whine in the background. "Give the poor guy a break. He did just come back."
Sokka sweatdropped, looking at the four of you before his eyes stopped on you. He smirked, and fully leaned against the door frame.
"Oh, did he now," He nodded, looking as if he knew something no one else did. "Yep, bet he did come."
Aang's eyes widened and so did yours. That was all Sokka could get out before Katara took him and his ear further into the house, giving him a real good talking to. He'd looked to Suki to help him, claiming that just because they were married, she had to protect him. She only smiled, and continued helping Zuko.
Both of you laughed and stepped inside, seeing Zuko setting up the last part of a banner that said, 'Welcome home, Aang.'
"Aw, guys," Aang pouted at the banner and his friends. "You shouldn't have!"
"Yeah, well, we almost didn't, twinkletoes," Toph grumbled rather loudly to herself, digging her pinky deep off into her ear. "I told them its a complete waste of time. You'll only end up knocking it to the-"
Before she could finish her sentence, Aang used his airbending to bring the gaang all together for a group hug, causing the banner to fly right off of the wooden beam it was expertly attached to. Toph, squeezed right between Sokka and Zuko huffed.
"-ground."
She sighed.
You couldn't help but smile as they all started to laugh, even Toph, catching her shake her head. Suki had her face squished into Sokka's, Katara had her arm around you and Zuko while Aang's long arms nearly wrapped around everyone.
As you melted into the group hug, you couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the world but with your husband and the best group of friends anyone could ever ask for.
༄ author’s end note: tysm for reading! don't forget to tell me your thoughts in the comments and leave a like/reblog! i would lovee to know what you guys think as this may not be my one and only piece of work in this fandom (wink, wink). time will tell... ~
when FIRELORD ZUKO takes a liking to AVATAR AANG'S mysterious new BRIDE.
TORN BETWEEN TWO ROADS ! — aang x reader x zuko
PLOT. republic city is finally at peace, and for once, katara allows herself to hope—maybe now, after everything, she and aang can finally become something real. but when aang returns after eight months, he isn’t alone. he comes back with you at his side, introducing you as his wife. suspicious yet helpless, his friends do their best to welcome you, even as nothing about this sudden marriage makes sense. but while everyone else keeps their distance, one person doesn’t. and perhaps Zuko gets a little too comfortable with the avatar’s new wife.
CHARACTERS. AANG and ZUKO.
CHAPTER WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, angst, kidnapping, restraints, sexual assault, character death mentioned, takes place 10 years after atla, age gaps, reader is 21, established relationship, fem reader, atla spoilers, no spoilers for legend of aang, not proofread.
(please check the story masterlist for the story warnings.)
WC. 7.2k
masterlist : story masterlist
chapter eight
a/n: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!
i have added the following image to the scene so it can be avoided:
You had been sixteen when death first entered your home.
It hadn't been the usual kind, one spoken of during political discussions or mentioned within newspapers; it was the kind that came from within your household and settled itself comfortably without looking to leave.
Over the course of an entire year, you had watched your brother slowly disappear before your eyes.
Every physician your father summoned arrived bearing different methods, different medicines, all kinds of promises wrapped with their politeness, yet all of them eventually carried the same expression on leaving Renji's chambers.
Some attempted to preserve their dignity through silence, while others spoke gently to have patience and rest.
But a few had remained honest to avoid all false hope.
None of them knew how to save him.
Your father had refused to accept that truth.
With the aid of King Yushan himself, letters had been dispatched toward the Northern Water Tribe requesting healers skilled enough to treat illnesses untouched by Earth Kingdom medicine.
You still remembered the flicker of hope that had swept through the estate once word spread that the King had personally involved himself in Renji's condition.
Then the refusals arrived.
The conflict surrounding the Fire Nation colonies had already poisoned relations throughout much of the world by then, and though Hujiang flourished independently beneath its own monarchy, it remained Earth Kingdom territory in the eyes of outsiders.
No foreign healers wished to risk political entanglement while tensions continued worsening across the continents.
You remembered the night your father received the final rejection.
The sound of splintering wood had echoed through the manor; it had been loud enough to wake servants from their slumber.
By the time you reached his study, shattered scroll cases littered the floor beside overturned furniture, while dark ink bled slowly across ruined documents beneath his desk.
You had never seen your father lose composure before.
Not once.
Yet he had stood there, amidst the wreckage, breathing so hard that his shoulders trembled beneath his robes, one hand still clenched tightly around parchment.
That had been the moment you truly understood your brother would die.
Afterward, you scarcely left Renji's side.
Even while illness hollowed him steadily over the passing months, your brother maintained himself with a dignity that often felt unbearable to witness.
Servants continued dressing him properly each morning due to the fact that he no longer possessed the strength enough to stand unassisted for very long, but whenever visitors entered his chambers, he still straightened his posture before greeting them with the same calm refinement expected of Advisor Shuren's heir.
Only once the doors closed again would exhaustion finally show itself.
You spent countless hours seated beside his bed, listening while he spoke about subjects neither of you truly cared about.
Renji discussed past court affairs, poetry he had recently reread, or your future with Prince Jinhai.
Anything except his illness.
Anything except death.
At times, he even pretended to sport enough strength to tease you whenever you arrived with red eyes from crying elsewhere within the estate.
"You look dreadful." He had murmured once while accepting tea with a trembling hand from his servants.
"If I recover only to discover my sister frightened away the Prince of Hujiang, I shall be deeply offended."
You had burst into tears immediately.
Renji laughed for nearly a minute despite the coughing fit it earned him.
Eventually, however, there always came a point where your presence was gently dismissed for the evening.
Servants would approach quietly, carrying fresh water, medicine, clean robes, and prepared meals. Renji barely touched anymore.
Physicians arrived so frequently that the scent of herbs became permanently embedded within the chambers, mixing so unpleasantly with incense and medicinal oils until even breathing there felt difficult.
And still, every morning, you returned beside him again.
Aside from your own company, which had ultimately been the only thing you could truly offer your brother during those final months, Gen had remained the most diligent in caring for him.
It became difficult to recall moments when he had not been nearby.
Whenever physicians arrived carrying new remedies from distant provinces, Gen stood beside them listening carefully to memorize every instruction before they were even repeated a second time.
When Renji grew too weak to hold chopsticks steadily, it was Gen who fed him without once allowing embarrassment to settle within your brother.
He changed the cooling cloths resting against your brother's fevered skin, helped him sit upright through coughing fits that left traces of blood staining handkerchiefs.
He remained awake through nights where the illness worsened enough that even servants feared sleeping too deeply.
And somehow, through all of it, Renji still treated him less like a servant and more like an extension of himself.
You remembered overhearing older attendants complain halfheartedly that your brother would sooner dismiss noble guests than Gen whenever he found himself irritated.
Renji trusted him recklessly, allowed him liberties no ordinary servant within Hujiang would ever dare approach, and though your father occasionally reprimanded such informality, even he eventually surrendered to it.
Gen had belonged to Renji in every sense beyond blood.
Yet despite how constantly he lingered near your brother, you had barely ever spoken to him properly yourself.
Whenever you visited Renji, your brother possessed a habit of sending everyone away almost immediately.
Physicians, attendants, servants—none survived his dismissals for very long once he decided he wished to speak privately with you.
Gen always obeyed without protest, lowering his head politely before disappearing beyond the doors until summoned again.
Those brief interruptions had been the only moments you truly noticed him at all.
If conversation ever passed between you, it rarely extended beyond practicality.
"Where is Renji?"
"In the eastern courtyard, my lady."
"Has my brother eaten yet?"
"Not yet, my lady."
Simple exchanges such as that, very forgettable things spoken in passing.
At the time, you knew Gen only through the stories attached to him.
The orphan your brother had dragged home from the merchant district after catching him attempting to steal food.
Your brother had dragged the bleeding child directly into your father's study and demanded that he remain.
The boy Renji had refused to abandon.
The servant who followed your brother everywhere with a loyalty so reverent it occasionally bordered on devotion.
Once, when you were younger, you had overheard Renji laughing while complaining that Gen copied everything he did.
Gen had looked offended by the accusation, and your brother nearly fell from his chair laughing.
It had been a warm memory once.
Nobody realized how deeply Renji had woven himself into the boy's entire world until the day he died.
You could still remember the sound porcelain made when Gen dropped the medicine tray from his hands.
The physicians had already stepped back quietly, their silence revealing the truth before any formal announcement ever could.
Your father stood beside the bed, unmoving, while you buried your face against his robes, grief consuming you as you sobbed against him.
Still, through your own crying, you had not missed Gen collapsing beside the bed.
His knees had struck the floor so hard that one of the physicians startled visibly, yet Gen seemed entirely unaware of anyone surrounding him.
Both hands clutched desperately at the blankets near Renji's arm while grief overtook him with an honesty so raw it had frightened you.
It was a complete heartbreak.
Perhaps that was why you remembered it so clearly.
Within noble households, grief was meant to be silent.
Servants mourned respectfully, family members endured condolences with restraint, and funerals unfolded through ritual before any emotion could disrupt the ceremony.
Gen did not know how to grieve politely.
Throughout the funeral rites, you heard muffled sobs escaping him from the distance where all the servants stood.
He wore every feeling openly upon himself, exactly the sort of person your brother would have loved too easily.
Now, without Renji remaining there to anchor him, Gen no longer seemed to possess a place within the estate at all.
His duties had ended alongside your brother's final breath.
Shuren came dangerously close to dismissing him.
Discussions had already begun regarding where the boy might be transferred once mourning concluded, perhaps toward one of the merchant residences connected to the estate or some lesser property requiring additional attendants.
Yet in the end, your father kept him.
At the time, Shuren likely convinced himself it stemmed from pity alone.
Gen had arrived at the manor through Renji's insistence, possessed no surviving family to return to, and had spent most of his life growing beneath your household's protection.
Casting him aside immediately after your brother's death would have appeared unnecessarily cruel.
Still, deep within yourself, you suspected another truth lingered beneath your father's decision.
Keeping Gen nearby felt similar to keeping a fragment of Renji alive.
By the end of the mourning week, you had scarcely left your chambers.
Meals arrived untouched more often than not, curtains remained drawn against the daylight, and every conversation directed toward you eventually dissolved into the same silence.
The manor had grown quieter after Renji's death, yet nowhere did that silence settle more heavily than within your rooms.
You had been seated upon the floor beside your bed when Gen arrived.
Suyin sat across from you, carefully folding fresh robes atop her lap while speaking softly about something you had not been listening to.
Your knees remained drawn toward your chest beneath layers of silk, your head resting tiredly against the side of the mattress while incense burned slowly nearby.
A quiet knock had come first.
Nari, being your newest maid, had been tasked to open the doors as she slowly learned the workings of your chambers.
She had done so swiftly, and Suyin's voice had stopped immediately at the sight of Gen.
You barely lifted your eyes toward the entrance before looking away once more.
Gen lingered near the doorway, uncertainly. He appeared younger than you remembered.
"My lady," he greeted quietly.
You offered no response to his words.
Suyin glanced between the two of you hesitantly before finally rising from the floor. "Would you like us to remain?"
"No." You muttered after several moments. "You may leave."
The maids obeyed immediately, though not before Lian cast Gen one final glance while passing him.
Then the doors closed.
Silence overtook your chambers yet again, while you waited for Gen to explain his arrival.
You expected condolences. Everyone else had arrived carrying them.
Servants spoke gently around you now, and attendants lowered their voices on instinct.
Your own father watched you with restrained concern that only seemed to worsen your grief further.
Every person entering your chambers treated you delicately so that even breathing around someone else felt irritating.
Gen did none of that. For a while, he simply remained standing there.
Then, without asking permission, he crossed the room and lowered himself onto the floor beside your bed, leaving a respectable distance between the two of you so that his shoulder never brushed yours.
He didn't give any comforting words, nor did he provide an apology.
He did not speak. He simply shared his presence.
You found yourself strangely grateful for it.
The room had remained quiet for so long that you eventually spoke first.
"You should leave. It is improper for you to be here."
Gen let out a tired breath that almost resembled a laugh.
"Lord Shuren seems to disagree."
"He sent for...you?" You asked skeptically.
From your peripheral, you had noticed him give you a nod as he explained—
"Lord Shuren is worried. At this time of need, you should be sharing your grief."
"And...he sent you to speak on his behalf, as opposed to greeting me himself?" You retorted.
"I do not know the reason for it."
"With my brother no longer in our lives, I suppose you should be leaving quite soon." You spoke harshly, your emotions bleeding through.
"Lord Shuren has asked me to remain."
You scoffed at him.
"How odd. My father must have confused his guilt for kindness."
The words slipped from you without thought.
Gen turned toward you immediately afterward, startled by the bluntness as you finally looked at him properly for the first time since he entered.
You understood then why your maids had whispered so worriedly about him as they left.
He looked dreadful.
There was no physical injury, nor was he ill, but he was hollowed of his usual presence.
Renji's death had stripped something essential from him; it had taken away the charm he had built from observing your brother all these years.
"You have not slept." You observed.
Neither accusation nor concern touched your voice. It was as if you were only stating a fact, which you were.
Gen stared ahead toward the darkened windows instead of answering immediately.
"I keep thinking I hear him calling for me."
Grief tightened within your chest because you understood him.
There had already been moments throughout the past week where your own body reacted instinctively to footsteps beyond your doors, foolishly expecting Renji's voice to follow afterward.
"He used to wake before sunrise whenever he had lessons with the palace tutors." Gen continued quietly. "Half the time he would oversleep anyway, then blame me for not waking him sooner."
Despite yourself, you almost smiled.
"That sounds like him."
"He once convinced the kitchen staff you had stolen sweet buns before dinner." A faint trace of warmth entered his voice for the first time. "You cried for nearly an hour after Lord Shuren scolded you."
Your expression flattened immediately.
"I had only been eight." You reminded him
"I do recall you threw one at his head afterward."
"He deserved it."
Gen laughed softly, and it might have been the first time you'd seen him do so in a long time.
The sound nearly ruined you, because it reminded you of the time Renji was still here.
The quiet of your room was still suffocating, though it no longer pressed quite so painfully against your ribs.
Then quietly you spoke again.
"I think...this sort of grief is terribly selfish."
Gen frowned slightly beside you as you continued staring ahead while speaking.
"We mourn because we can no longer endure someone's absence." Your fingers tightened around the fabric pooled around you.
"But the person who died no longer suffers anything at all."
The room grew still.
"My father grieves his son. The servants grieve the heir they adored. You grieve your...friend." Your voice softened gradually as you noticed Gen stiffen beside you.
"And I grieve the only person who ever understood me."
You swallowed once.
"But Renji himself is beyond all of this now, and it is so very cruel."
Then slowly, you turned your head toward Gen.
He was staring at you, and something unreadable crossed his expression, his grief momentarily overtaken by a kind of stunned stillness you did not notice then.
Perhaps that had been the first moment Gen truly saw you, not merely as Renji's younger sister or the Advisor Shuren's daughter.
And perhaps, though you hadn't realized it yet, that had also been the beginning of everything that would one day destroy you.
Your wrists burned from the restraints as they dug mercilessly into your skin, the chains stretched high enough above your head that even attempting to stand properly sent pain tearing through your shoulders.
Every movement had become exhausting long ago, though your panic still forced your body to keep struggling despite how useless it had proven.
You had fought him.
Spirits, you had fought him desperately.
The moment consciousness returned, and you realized your outer silks had been stripped away, leaving you in nothing but the thin inner robes clinging loosely against your body that barely reach your mid-thighs.
You had thrashed violently, nearly toppling both yourself and him onto the floor.
Your nails had scratched skin. Your kicks had landed at least twice. You had screamed loud enough for your throat to turn raw within minutes.
None of it had stopped him from forcing your wrists into chains, and now, the lonely room echoed with the aftermath of your panic.
"Why?" You shouted again, your voice cracking harshly while the chains rattled violently above you from another failed attempt to free yourself.
"Why would you do this?!"
The man standing several feet away remained silent, and his silence terrified you.
"You have served my family since childhood!" The words tumbled from you desperately now, tinged with fury but also disbelief at what had happened.
"My brother trusted you!" Your breathing turned uneven while tears blurred your vision from frustration that beat your fear.
"Say something!" You screamed.
The lantern resting near the wall flickered softly, illuminating only fragments of him at a time beneath the dim light.
Your voice broke entirely.
"Gen, please..."
He finally moved, his steps so quiet, you wouldn't even notice his presence with your eyes closed.
He closed the remaining distance between the two of you, almost cautiously now that you had finally stopped screaming.
Your breathing remained ragged as you grew fearful of his approach, though you forced yourself to hold his stare regardless, refusing to let him see how badly your body had begun shaking.
Then his hand lifted toward your face, the touch unbearably gentle.
His knuckles brushed lightly against your cheek, pushing away strands of disheveled hair clinging damply against your skin, while something disturbingly tender softened within his expression.
"Renji worried about you endlessly, you know." He murmured.
"Even when he was ill, he spoke of your future more than his own. But then again...I'm sure he knew he didn't have a future to look forward to."
Revulsion twisted violently inside your chest, and you jerked your face away from him immediately.
"I spent...years listening to Renji talk about you. Speak of the woman you would become. And I have watched you become so beautiful. He would have been so proud."
"What are you doing?" You whispered sharply.
Gen watched you quietly for a moment before reluctantly lowering his hand.
"I feared..." His voice faltered slightly, almost sounding regretful, and a part of you almost pitied him, but your glare remained, waiting for him to continue.
"I feared I may never receive another opportunity to be alone with you again."
Your stomach turned.
"I thought perhaps you had noticed." His words came quieter.
You continued staring at him with wide eyes, unsure of what he meant. What were you meant to notice?
Perhaps there had been moments over the years that now returned differently beneath this nightmare.
His lingering stares were dismissed, or his small gestures were mistaken for harmless loyalty.
You swallowed hard against the rising panic threatening your throat.
"Gen..." His name came weaker this time. "Please let me go."
Something flickered across his face at hearing you plead.
"I only wished to be with you once before I leave..." He confessed softly.
Your brows pulled together immediately, yet you remained quiet.
"You are not even curious where I intend to go?" A humorless breath escaped him at your silence, and you only stared at him in horror.
"Let me go." The words left you low and trembling, though the command beneath them was difficult for Gen to ignore, and it only made him step closer.
Your pulse hammered the moment his hands settled carefully against your waist, drawing your body toward him despite the chains forcing your arms painfully overhead.
The contact alone made panic surge through you all over again as he buried his face against your neck.
For one terrible second, your body froze entirely in shock, and you stopped breathing altogether when his mouth brushed against your skin.
The moment his tongue dragged across your neck, revulsion snapped through you as a cry tore from your throat.
"Gen, stop!"
You struggled against him immediately, twisting desperately within his hold while the chains rattled harshly above you.
Your knees struck against his legs twice in blind panic, though he barely reacted beyond tightening his grip further around your waist.
"Please." He whispered against your skin, almost frantically now. "Please, just—"
"Stop!" Your voice cracked entirely this time.
You tried forcing yourself away from him again, using whatever leverage your restrained body could manage, though the movement only seemed to agitate something inside him.
The moment happened instantly, his hands seized you harder before he shoved you violently backward against the wall.
Pain exploded across your back from the impact, forcing the breath from your lungs so suddenly that no sound escaped you except a broken gasp.
"Do not make me hurt you!" He shouted.
The sound echoed through the abandoned room harshly enough to stun even himself as horror crossed his face.
"Oh..." His voice seemed to collapse into itself, morphing into one of regret. "Oh spirits..."
Your tears only worsened.
Gen reached for you again instantly, his hands trembling now while wiping desperately at the tears spilling down your cheeks.
"Please do not cry." He whispered frantically.
"Please understand..."
Yet you only sobbed harder, turning your face away from him while another desperate attempt to pull free from the chains tore painfully through your arms.
"I know I cannot have you, I know what I am beside someone like you." His forehead lowered briefly against your shoulder.
"I know I stand beneath you." He murmured shakily.
His words sounded almost ashamed.
"But just let me have this." He whispered.
"Just once."
His hands were frantic, a desperate worship that was only a violation with every passing second.
He pressed his face back into the crook of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of stinging bruises against your skin.
He was marking you where he had no right to touch, his breath hitching every time he momentarily detached himself.
You could only sob, the sound catching in your throat as your chest heaved with the effort to breathe.
You felt trapped between the unfeeling stone of the wall and the overwhelming weight of a man who had once been a fixture of your brother's safety, now turned into the source of your terror.
"Please..." He whimpered against your frantic pulse, his voice breaking.
"Please, let me..."
His fingers, trembling and clumsy, drifted from your waist.
You felt the sudden, cool rush of air as he caught the neckline of your inner robe, and with a sharp, tugging motion, he pulled the silk downward, baring your chest to the dim light of the lantern.
The exposure felt revolting, leaving you feeling utterly defenseless. As he shifted his weight, moving his focus from your neck to the trembling expanse of your skin, a fresh wave of abhorrence crashed over you.
You squeezed your eyes shut, a broken cry escaping your lips, but he only leaned in closer, lost in the desperate delusion of his own longing.
You felt the damp, stinging traces of his mouth and saliva as he moved lower.
Then, a new touch made your stomach lurch, the friction of him against your outer thigh.
The realization of what he was doing to himself, right there in the shadow of your misery, made you nauseous, your throat constricting in a silent battle against the repulsion.
"Gen, please... stop!" You begged, barely recognizing your own voice.
You tried to recoil, to shrink away from his touch, but his arms tightened like iron bands around your waist.
He pulled you flush against him, his body moving in a desperate motion against your leg while his mouth remained anchored to your skin.
You were drowning in the terror of the jarring notion of his pleasure clashing with your frantic, sobbing pleas.
Suddenly, he pulled away from your chest. You gasped, expecting a reprieve, but instead, he brought his face level with yours.
He pressed his nose against your cheek, his skin damp with your tears, as he continued to thrust against your thigh.
"No! Stop! Please! No!" Your cries broke, dissolving into thin sobs.
He offered no answer but a low grunt.
A moment later, a sudden warmth spilled down your thigh, the viscous evidence of his release that felt like a brand of shame upon your skin.
"No!" You wailed in a desperate attempt to move away.
To your shock, he suddenly loosened his grip as you slumped back as far as the chains would allow, hunching your shoulders as you sobbed, your entire body trembling with the aftershock of the violation.
Gen stared at you, his expression a mask of dazed horror. He moved to adjust himself, his eyes brimming with tears that began to spill down his own face.
He reached out, his hands trembling as he cupped your face with a tenderness that only felt like a second assault.
"No, please...do not hate..."
"Don't touch me!" The scream ripped from your throat, fueled by a sudden rage.
You lunged forward, your forehead striking the bridge of his nose with a sickening thud.
He recoiled, falling back onto the floor, dazed from the impact as you continued to sob.
As he looked up, his gaze drifted down to your leg, where the damp evidence of his desire remained.
A fresh wave of panic and regret seized him as he scrambled toward you, his hands frantic as he began to wipe at your skin with his sleeves, his voice a broken litany of apologies.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry! Please, forgive me!"
You thrashed against him as you kicked out, trying to ward off his touch, but he barely recoiled, not leaving you till you had been wiped clean.
For several unbearable moments, he remained kneeling before you, looking utterly ruined by what he himself had done, his hands trembling faintly while he struggled to form words that no longer held meaning.
The apology leaving him sounded broken, though it did nothing to lessen the horror crawling beneath your skin.
You refused to look at him.
Even after everything, part of you still recognized his voice too well, and that wounded more deeply than the violence itself.
Eventually, the floorboards creaked softly beneath his retreating steps.
Moments later came the sound of movement outside the abandoned house, followed by the restless cries of one of the ostrich-horses.
Then you heard the sound of leather pulling, as a whip sounded through the air.
Your entire body tensed instinctively.
A second later, the galloping began.
The sound echoed loudly before gradually growing fainter and fainter until the only thing that remained were the cries of the other ostrich horse Gen had left behind.
Time lost meaning afterward.
Your shoulders had long since become numb from the strain of your wrists being forced overhead, though every slight movement still sent pain tearing sharply through your arms.
The thin inner robes barely covered you now, clinging unevenly against your body while the evening cold gradually settled deeper into the abandoned shack.
At some point, the sunlight disappeared entirely.
You only realized it once the dim orange glow leaking through the broken windows slowly faded into blue darkness instead.
You could not sit. You could not lower yourself.
The chains kept you upright, no matter how terrifying exhaustion dragged at your body, leaving you standing helplessly against the wall while dried tears tightened painfully across your cheeks.
Finally, the door slammed open hard enough to strike against the wall. Your nerves jumped at the sound, but your eyes lifted to fall upon the intruder.
"Aang?" Your voice came out broken.
Aang barely heard you.
His chest heaved sharply from exertion, every thought inside him dissolving the moment he saw you chained against the wall.
He simply froze for a horrible second, then his attention darted wildly across the room, searching corners, broken windows, doorways, any sign that someone else remained nearby.
But it was only you in the trembling state you had been left in.
Hours earlier, the moment he realized both you and Gen had vanished alongside the ostrich-horses, panic had consumed him so completely.
He searched the roads surrounding the abandoned carriage desperately at first, convincing himself there had to be some reasonable explanation hidden beneath the growing dread clawing through his chest.
First, he noticed the tracks.
The deep clawed impressions left behind by the ostrich-horses cut clearly through the dirt roads surrounding the marketplace outskirts.
He felt relieved, since it gave him a trail to follow. But the relief was shattered upon realizing that the trail curved directly back into the merchant district.
The further he followed, the worse it became.
Thousands of footprints destroyed the tracks beyond recognition, merchants and travelers having trampled every visible path into useless chaos.
The ostrich-horse tracks vanished beneath overlapping footprints and wagon trails until the streets themselves had become impossible to tell apart.
Still, he refused to stop.
He searched alleyways first, then rooftops.
Then every narrowing road stretched farther from the center of the district, while shouting your name until his throat burned raw from it.
Several times, he propelled himself upward using bursts of air beneath his feet, landing on the roofs just to search farther ahead through the streets.
Still, he saw nothing.
He wished desperately for Toph then.
She would have sensed the vibrations through the earth instantly. She would have followed footsteps, recognized all the movement, and would have found you in no time.
Aang had no such skill.
Only instinct is driving him harder with every passing minute.
His glider would've helped a lot, and it only frustrated him, remembering that he had left the staff within the carriage earlier that afternoon, only for it to disappear alongside everything else.
So he kept searching on foot instead.
Using air bending wherever possible, while the merchant district slowly began thinning around him. The deeper outward he traveled, the quieter the streets became until eventually the endless noise of the marketplace faded behind him almost entirely.
Then finally, the tracks continued.
Two ostrich-horses.
Unlike the ruined marketplace roads, the dirt surrounding the outskirts remained mostly untouched, leaving the clawed impressions visible enough for him to follow clearly beneath the dimming evening light.
Aang had run the entire way afterward.
And at the very edge of the district, standing isolated beside overgrown vines and abandoned structures, he found the small rotting house with one lone ostrich-horse tied outside waiting restlessly beside it.
The sight of Aang standing there struck something through you.
You jerked violently against the wall, twisting away from the doorway while what remained of your thin inner robe slipped further down your chest from the abrupt movement.
A broken sound escaped you instantly as you tried desperately to cover yourself despite your wrists still being chained, your shoulders straining painfully from the effort.
"Aang—"
Your voice barely resembled your own anymore, and Aang stopped breathing for a moment.
Shock rooted him to the doorway while the reality before him settled in, horribly, piece by piece.
From the bruises scattered across your skin to the state of your robes.
Then his eyes snapped away immediately realizing how exposed you had been left.
He turned his head sharply toward the dark corners of the room instead, searching every inch of the abandoned house with frantic urgency while his hands curled tightly at his sides.
"Is—" His voice came out rough from how hard he had been breathing.
He swallowed hard before trying again. "Is anyone else here?"
You could not answer properly as your throat closed painfully around the words before they could form, so instead you shook your head weakly, softly pivoting yourself to hide your front.
He saw from his peripheral vision your notion of disagreement.
Aang stayed completely still, waiting carefully despite the pounding of his own pulse drowning half his thoughts out.
The abandoned house remained silent except for your uneven breathing and the faint rattling of chains whenever you shifted your exhausted body.
Then he finally moved further into the room.
Aang moved toward you with caution, every step measured carefully to avoid startling you while he kept his attention deliberately fixed anywhere but your exposed skin.
Even with his precaution, you flinched when the wood creaked beneath his feet.
The reaction made him stop in his place.
"It's alright." He said quietly, though the reassurance sounded strained as the horror seemed to be tightening his throat.
"I'm going to help you down."
You only gave a nod, refusing to speak yet again.
Still, Aang stopped himself several feet away from you.
"Can I come closer?" He asked softly.
The question nearly broke you all over again.
The hours spent pleading had taught your body that words no longer mattered, that resistance only invited harsher force. So Aang standing there waiting for permission merely to approach you comforted you.
Your lips parted faintly before the smallest nod finally answered him.
Only then did Aang step closer to you.
The chains binding your wrists had been secured into the wall through thick iron hooks corroded heavily with age, rust flaking visibly along the weakened metal.
Aang studied them briefly before lifting one hand carefully toward the restraints, his movements slow enough not to frighten you further.
A narrow current of air gathered around his fingers first, then it sharpened.
The pressure twisted against the rusted metal until a sharp crack split through the room, the first restraint snapping apart beneath his fingers.
Your arm dropped instantly from exhaustion.
Aang caught your wrist before it could strike painfully against the wall.
The second chain shattered moments later beneath another precise burst of air.
The moment both restraints released entirely, your knees nearly buckled beneath you from the sudden loss of support, but you held yourself up by leaning against the wall.
You moved weakly while your shaking hands rushed desperately toward the neckline of your robe, dragging the thin fabric back across your chest as your arms shivered from strain.
Aang looked away again as you adjusted your clothing, not wishing to invade.
Even so, the marks covering your skin had already burned themselves permanently into his mind.
Dark bruises spread across your throat and collarbones, while others disappeared beneath the loosened fabric clutched to your chest.
The sight alone made remorse twist sharply through him.
"Do you..." His voice faltered briefly before he forced the question out anyway.
"Do you know who took you?"
The words shattered whatever fragile composure you had left.
Your fingers tightened weakly around the hem of your robes while another sob tore from your throat, your body curling inward instinctively as though trying desperately to make yourself smaller.
Then you nodded.
Aang felt his chest tighten immediately.
"It was Gen..." Your voice cracked beyond recognition.
The confession left your lips, and with it, your strength seemed to vanish entirely.
Your knees finally gave out beneath you as you collapsed onto the floorboards, your arms wrapping tightly around yourself while sobs ripped uncontrollably through your chest.
The sound filled the abandoned shack, solemn and raw.
Aang stood motionless because he genuinely did not know how to help you.
Nothing had ever prepared him for this kind of pain.
He had witnessed destruction before. He had seen entire villages burned beneath war, he had watched people grieve unimaginable loss, and he had carried the weight of deaths he could never undo, no matter how desperately he wished otherwise.
Yet this felt horrifying in a way that left him stumped.
There had been nothing accidental about this. It was cruelty inflicted upon someone who had trusted too easily and had suffered because of it.
Quietly, Aang removed the red robes resting over his shoulders before lowering himself carefully beside you onto the floorboards. Without drawing attention to the movement itself, he draped the fabric gently around your body until your skin disappeared beneath the warmth of the robes.
You reacted only by clutching the material tighter.
Your sobbing continued, each breath sounding painful enough that Aang feared you might stop breathing altogether if the grief tightened any harder inside your chest.
Tears streamed endlessly down your face while your body curled inward beneath the robes, and Aang did not know what words could reach you now.
So he chose to remain silent. He remained beside you quietly on the floor while your crying slowly unraveled, giving you the only thing he still could.
His presence.
It took time before your crying weakened enough for your body to stop shaking.
Your limbs felt weak, and your breathing was uneven as you sat on the floorboards for a long time, clutching desperately at the fabric covering you while humiliation and grief burned you, making it impossible to even lift your head.
Aang stayed quiet through all of it. He waited until your sobbing quieted into strained breaths before carefully placing his hands against your shoulders, making sure to be gentle so as not to frighten you.
"We should get you home." He said softly.
Your throat tightened painfully at the words.
Home.
The thought alone nearly threatened another wave of tears, though exhaustion had already drained too much from you to cry properly anymore. You managed a nod as you attempted to force yourself onto your feet.
The effort failed immediately.
Pain shot sharply through your legs the moment you stood, your body swaying, and you would have collapsed back onto the floor had Aang not caught you first.
Embarrassment flooded viciously beneath your skin at how helpless you felt, though whatever pride once lived inside you had already been shattered hours ago within this house.
Aang steadied you carefully, one hand firm against your shoulder while the other hovered nearby, prepared to catch you again should your strength fail before reaching the door.
He moved slowly for your sake, matching the uneven pace of your weakened steps while guiding you out of the abandoned house and back into the night air beyond it.
Cold struck your skin, and you instinctively pulled the robes tighter around yourself while the overgrown dirt paths surrounding the house stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight.
The remaining ostrich-horse shifted restlessly against the ground where it had been tied outside hours earlier, its low cries blending with the distant sounds of wind passing through neglected trees.
The world had grown colder during the hours you remained trapped inside, and the quiet surrounding the outskirts eventually broke beneath the distant sound of movement approaching from somewhere ahead.
At first, the noise remained faint enough that you nearly ignored it, though within moments it sharpened into the unmistakable sound of galloping of several ostrich-horses alongside carriage wheels cutting harshly against uneven earth.
Distant voices followed, accompanied by flickering torchlight emerging through the darkness as panic seized through your muscles.
Your entire body stiffened beside Aang.
For one terrifying moment, fear convinced you Gen had returned.
Your breathing caught painfully in your throat, though the torchlight appearing beyond the road moments later halted the panic before it could fully consume you.
Several carriages emerged through the darkness, accompanied by armed guards riding alongside them, the flames illuminating flashes of metal and embroidered banners while the entire procession advanced rapidly toward the outskirts.
Relief struck you so suddenly, your knees nearly buckled beneath you.
You recognized your father's crest first upon the leading carriage, visible beneath the torchlight, making you exhale at the sight of something familiar at last.
Another carriage followed close behind, bearing the royal insignia worked carefully into dark banners shifting against the wind.
Prince Jinhai had come as well.
The moment the leading carriage came to a halt, your father descended from it immediately.
Relief hit you at the sight of him, and tears burned fresh behind your eyes before you could stop them.
For one foolish moment, you truly believed everything would finally be alright now that he had found you.
"Father—"
You barely managed the word before he reached you.
His hand seized your shoulder harshly enough to make you flinch, the force behind it startling after the fragile gentleness Aang had shown you moments earlier.
"What were you thinking?!" He shouted.
The fury in his voice stunned you completely.
Several guards lowered their heads instantly at the outburst as they shifted uneasily beside the carriages. Whether it was the exposed sight of you or watching their Lord lose composure, you didn't know.
You stared at him in disbelief.
Your stomach dropped as confusion collided with the fragile relief you had only just begun to grasp.
You understood he must have been worried.
Spirits, you understood that much.
"I-I am sorry, father—"
Before you could finish, his grip tightened further around your shoulder before he pulled you forcefully aside, dragging you several steps away from Aang and the others waiting nearby.
The sudden movement nearly caused you to stumble outright, your exhausted body barely capable of keeping pace while your father continued holding you hard enough that fear crept over your confusion.
"Do you possess any understanding whatsoever of what you have done?" He hissed beneath his breath.
You blinked at him weakly.
"I...what?"
"I understand your interest in the Avatar..." He continued sharply, struggling to keep his voice lowered despite the fury visibly consuming him, "But could you truly not have exercised restraint for a single evening?! Prince Jinhai himself was present within the manor."
The words struck you so abruptly that your mind failed to understand them at first.
You simply stared at him.
And your father mistook your silence for shame.
"You disappear for hours alongside the Avatar," he continued, his grip still painfully firm against your shoulder.
"Then Gen returns alone speaking of such...impropriety! Spirits! They were severe enough that he feared scandal would follow should he remain silent. I refused to believe him. But what precisely am I meant to conclude now upon finding you half-undressed within an abandoned house beside another man?"
The world around you seemed to tilt violently.
You could barely breathe.
Your lips parted, yet no sound emerged while a new horror unfurled inside you, so immense it threatened to swallow every terror that had come before it.
He thought—
Spirits.
He thought you had chosen this.
"I have spent your entire life ensuring you would possess everything a woman in your position could ever require!" Your father continued, each word edged with barely contained fury.
"A future beside the crown prince, a place within the royal palace, security, influence, dignity—everything has been prepared carefully for you since the day you were born!"
From the corner of your vision, you noticed Prince Jinhai approaching Aang several paces away, the guards lingering uneasily between them while the Avatar still stood near the house with visible bewilderment and concern written plainly across his face.
Meanwhile, your father leaned closer toward you, lowering his voice further.
"And yet your impatience," he hissed, "and your wanton promiscuity may very well have destroyed everything."
The words struck you harshly, making you freeze completely.
For several seconds, you could only stare at him in disbelief while the meaning behind his accusation settled horrifically in your mind.
"What..." Your voice cracked. "What do you mean?"
Your father's expression darkened further.
"Gen has spoken of everything."
chapter ten coming soon...
a/n: i know this chapter probably raised about ten new questions while answering absolutely none of the old ones, but i promise there are answers for all of them, even if some of them won't be revealed for a while.
we're also finally nearing the end of this flashback section. and i will confirm that we will have another flashback segment later in the story.
but first...we have some zuko-related business to attend to. and by business, i mean drama. a concerning amount of drama.
when FIRELORD ZUKO takes a liking to AVATAR AANG'S mysterious new BRIDE.
TORN BETWEEN TWO ROADS ! — aang x reader x zuko
PLOT. republic city is finally at peace, and for once, katara allows herself to hope—maybe now, after everything, she and aang can finally become something real. but when aang returns after eight months, he isn’t alone. he comes back with you at his side, introducing you as his wife. suspicious yet helpless, his friends do their best to welcome you, even as nothing about this sudden marriage makes sense. but while everyone else keeps their distance, one person doesn’t. and perhaps Zuko gets a little too comfortable with the avatar’s new wife.
CHARACTERS. AANG and ZUKO.
CHAPTER WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, alcohol consumption, underage drinking (?) [idk their legal age for drinking, but in this fic it's 21], takes place 10 years after atla, age gaps, reader is 21, established relationship, fem reader, atla spoilers, no spoilers for legend of aang, not proofread.
(please check the story masterlist for the story warnings.)
WC. 7.2k
masterlist : story masterlist
chapter seven
a/n: i added the balcony scene an hour ago because i wanted another Aang moment.
p.s. this is poorly edited, so i will probably come back to it again.
You had insisted on waiting another day before beginning the search properly, determined to ensure the Avatar had regained enough strength to travel without collapsing midway through the forests.
The physicians had reluctantly approved it after much persuasion from Aang himself.
So, over the course of the following week, you guided him toward the region where the great burst of light had first been witnessed during the storm, correctly assuming it to be the area where he and his companions had fallen from the sky.
Unfortunately, it became painfully obvious rather quickly that you possessed absolutely no sense of direction whatsoever.
Aang had realized it by the third day.
You had grown up entirely within the safety of the manor grounds, escorted everywhere by guards, attendants, or servants familiar with every road in Hujiang.
Left to your own instincts, you somehow managed to confuse east from west twice within the same afternoon.
At first, Aang had found it bewildering.
Then strangely amusing.
"You don't know where we are, do you?" He asked one afternoon after you confidently led him in a complete circle.
You frowned immediately.
"Of course, I know wherewe are."
Aang pointed toward the bridge behind you.
"We already passed this place."
"...No, we did not."
"We definitely did."
You stared at the bridge for another few seconds before sighing in defeat.
"Perhaps the paths simply resemble one another."
Aang laughed loud enough to earn himself a deeply offended look from you.
It was strange to him. Despite your complete inability to navigate, Shuren had not objected once to your continued involvement in the search.
If anything, the royal advisor seemed strangely pleased by it.
That fact alone unsettled Aang slightly.
You, Shuren's only child, who had been sheltered throughout your life, who was to be married to the future king, were seemingly allowed to traverse the forests with him alone?
Maybe him being the Avatar had helped your case, seeing as how in theory, no harm should come to you in his presence.
But Aang felt as though there was more to it.
He still remembered the marriage proposal far too clearly for comfort.
Yet despite his suspicion regarding Shuren's motives, he found himself unable to refuse your company.
Your reasons remained harmless enough. You wished to leave the manor more often, and somewhere along the way you had become genuinely fond of Momo despite never having met him.
So each morning, you accompanied him.
And each evening, the search ended unsuccessfully.
After an entire week of shouting the lemur's name throughout forests, mountain paths, nearby fields, and other estates along the way, even searching through the smaller neighborhoods surrounding the area, it had only resulted in silence for each attempt.
Tonight, long after the manor had quieted beneath sleep, you stood alone on the balcony connected to your chambers with a goblet of wine resting between your fingers, cool wind drifting softly through the gardens below.
Well.
You were not entirely alone.
Your attention had remained fixed on the courtyard for quite some time now.
Aang occupied the open stretch of the training grounds granted to him near the eastern wing of the estate, his figure moving steadily beneath the moonlight while the fabric of his robes curved and lifted around him in smooth motions.
The darkness concealed the currents themselves, yet the movement surrounding his body betrayed the air bending around him.
You found yourself mildly disappointed once more when he failed to bend anything besides air.
The Avatar supposedly wielded all four elements, yet you had only witnessed him using one.
Then again, perhaps the others simply lacked the same beauty.
You watched quietly while raising the goblet toward your lips.
Over the past week, you had unintentionally become familiar with his routine.
Aang had spent nearly every morning similarly since recovering enough strength to walk properly.
He woke obscenely early, long before the manor stirred awake, disappearing either toward Appa’s recovery chambers or the gardens for meditation.
While he did that, you remained asleep beneath layers of silk and blankets, only learning of his routines secondhand through servants gossiping quietly throughout breakfast preparations.
And each night, he returned to this courtyard alone.
“You are going to make yourself ill at this rate.”
You merely sighed before even turning.
Nari stood near the balcony doors holding folded sleeping robes against her chest, though the expression stretched across her face made it obvious she had noticed the bottle resting inside your chambers before addressing you.
"You are aware wine ceases becoming medicinal after the third goblet."
"It is my second." You corrected calmly before taking another sip directly in front of her.
"My lady," she whispered dramatically, "Lord Shuren already allowed you wine during dinner."
“And this is merely the remainder of it.”
"That was a courtesy sip."
You exhale impatiently. “You are behaving as though I am drunk.”
Nari stepped onto the balcony, shutting the doors carefully behind herself before lowering her voice further.
"If Lady Lian discovers you smuggled an entire bottle into your chambers, she may finally succeed in collapsing from stress."
You hummed thoughtfully.
"Then perhaps it would do her good. She has been far too strict recently."
The younger maid looked horrified, lightly swatting at your back.
"You speak of her like an aging aunt."
You let out a suppressed giggle at that.
"She certainly behaves like one."
A laugh escaped Nari before she could stop herself.
Unlike Lian or Suyin, Nari rarely maintained proper composure around, especially so if you both were alone.
Perhaps because she remained closest to your age.
The two of you had spent years quietly exchanging forbidden romance novels beneath blankets during long carriage rides while pretending neither of you possessed any understanding regarding the scandalous scenes hidden in them.
Nari drifted closer toward the railing beside you before following your line of sight downward, understanding crossing her face almost immediately.
"Oh."
You raised one brow faintly.
"Oh?"
The smile spreading across her mouth grew deeply dangerous.
“So that is why you have remained standing here for nearly half an hour.”
"It is warm this evening. The Avatar occupies nearly the entire courtyard. And...I have eyes."
“My lady,” Nari murmured knowingly, “you have been staring at him so intently I feared you might accidentally lean over the railing.”
Heat touched your face instantly as you scoffed softly.
“I have simply been observing his bending.”
“Yes, of course.” Her smile widened further. “And I read romance novels solely for their literary merit.”
"I regret teaching you how to read." You shook your head as she giggled.
“You have spent more time watching the Avatar train this week than you have ever willingly spent alone with Prince Jinhai.”
You turned toward her flatly.
“You are remarkably insolent for someone employed within noble service.”
“And you...are blushing.”
“It is the wine, Nari.”
Below, Aang pivoted lightly on one foot before another sharp movement sent air curling visibly through nearby lantern flames.
Nari leaned slightly closer toward you.
"I did not realize shaved heads could become attractive until recently."
You choked lightly on your wine.
"Nari."
"What? He is objectively pleasing to look at." she asked innocently.
"That is the Avatar you speak of." You quoted Meilin, the second oldest of your maid's tone bleeding into your words.
"Of course." Her voice carried far too much delight.
Nari's expression softened faintly, amusement still visible while she rested her chin lightly against one hand before glancing downward once more.
"He truly is handsome," She admitted thoughtfully.
To your immense irritation, she was not entirely incorrect.
The Avatar was attractive.
Aang did not resemble the men you had spent your life surrounded by.
Nothing about him carried the polished restraint expected from nobility, nor the carefully cultivated elegance Prince Jinhai possessed so naturally.
He laughed loudly, spoke freely, and moved through the world with a looseness entirely foreign to your upbringing.
Perhaps that was precisely why watching him felt strangely difficult to stop.
He looked alive in ways people around you never do.
The thought unsettled you, as you quickly raised the goblet toward your lips once more.
Unfortunately for your dignity, that proved to be the exact moment Aang finally glanced upward.
His motions gradually slowed before stilling entirely. Even from this distance, you could see the brief surprise crossing his expression once he realized you had apparently been observing him for quite some time.
Your eyes met.
For a brief moment, he simply stared toward your balcony, then, hesitantly, he lifted one hand in greeting.
You merely tilted your head in response.
The poor boy looked visibly unnerved by it.
Only when amusement finally betrayed itself through the small smile pulling at your mouth did his shoulders loosen slightly.
Beside you, Nari nearly squealed.
“Oh, spirits preserve me.”
You ignored her completely.
"Nari, ensure no one enters my chambers." You said calmly.
The younger maid looked between you and the Avatar with such poorly concealed shock that you almost regretted speaking aloud.
"My lady," she whispered frantically, "if Miss Lian discovers—"
"She will not."
Nari pressed both lips together tightly, failing miserably to contain her excitement.
"Yes, my lady."
She vanished indoors, though not before throwing one final look over her shoulder.
Once the balcony doors closed behind her, you lifted your hand lightly before motioning for Aang to come closer.
His brows furrowed, tilting his head as he motioned a 'what' with his hand.
Then you smoothly pointed at him, then turned your finger to point at your balcony floor.
His entire face changed at that.
Immediately, he looked over both shoulders toward the courtyard entrances before crossing his arms tightly in front of himself and shaking his head in horrified refusal.
You rolled your eyes, clearly not impressed at his denial.
You knew if he wanted to, he could easily make it here. You had seen him reach abnormal heights during your search, even without his staff.
So, you motioned again, beckoning him over.
Aang looked around one more time before exhaling visibly through his nose in defeat.
Taking several quick steps backward, he suddenly broke into motion.
One strong current lifted him upward with startling ease, robes sweeping around his body while he crossed the distance between the courtyard and your balcony in one fluid movement before catching himself against the stone railing.
You stepped backward instinctively.
Aang remained balanced on the other side, one hand gripping the carved stone while the other adjusted his robes.
Then he smiled.
"What's up?" He whispered.
"You need not whisper."
"Oh." He blinked once before letting out a soft laugh beneath his breath. "Right. Yeah, I guess nobody can really hear us."
Then his attention dropped toward the goblet still resting within your hand.
"Aren't you too young to drink?"
You lifted one brow faintly at the accusation.
"What significance do a few months hold?"
"Oh." A grin tugged at his mouth afterward. "You're only twenty?"
"Unfortunately."
"That's still kinda young."
"And how old are you?" You questioned him with an offended face.
He hesitated.
"...Twenty-one."
You blinked up at him before chuckling.
"Yet you speak as though you possess decades of wisdom beyond me."
"I do!" He replied proudly. "I'm extremely mature."
The sheer confidence with which he said it nearly made you laugh.
So, you extended the goblet lightly toward him.
"Would you care for some, then, wise elder?"
Aang recoiled immediately, his hands shooting up.
"No, no, I'm good—"
While retreating from the offered wine, he stepped backward instinctively without remembering that half his body still remained balanced beyond the balcony railing.
His heel found nothing but open air.
You watched the realization strike him a second too late, and the goblet slipped from your fingers instantly.
Wine splashed across the balcony floor while both your hands shot forward without thought, gripping tightly around his forearm just as his balance tilted backward.
For one awful moment, it truly seemed he might fall.
Then his other hand caught the railing again.
Aang jerked himself forward with a startled breath while your grip remained locked around his arm firmly enough that your knuckles had paled.
The two of you froze there briefly.
Then Aang laughed nervously.
"Okay, that one was definitely my fault." he breathed out.
"No, I shouldn't have done that. It clearly surprised you." You apologize, letting go of his arm.
Aang steadied himself properly before swiftly swinging over the railing onto the safer side of the balcony, one hand still rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck while his eyes lowered toward the spilled wine coating the stone beneath your feet.
"Oh no." He said softly.
Your eyes follow his line of sight.
"It is merely wine." You reassured.
"I made you drop it."
"I can simply pour myself another—"
Before you could finish speaking, however, the scattered liquid suddenly shifted.
Your sentence died immediately.
Thin streams of wine lifted smoothly from the stone floor, swirling upward in elegant ribbons before gathering neatly together once more. Nearby, the fallen goblet rolled softly across the balcony before rising into Aang's waiting hand at the exact moment the final drops settled back inside.
He held it toward you proudly.
"There," He said brightly. "Fixed."
You stared at him.
Then at the goblet.
Then back at him again.
"...You swept it off the floor."
"You can still drink it." He continued helpfully.
"I believe I shall survive the devastating loss of one goblet."
"But it's perfectly good wine."
"Aang."
He stopped speaking immediately.
For several seconds, he simply watched while you carefully placed the goblet atop the balcony railing.
You folded your hands loosely together before speaking once more.
"I have been thinking..."
That earned his full attention instantly.
"About Momo?"
"Yes." Your eyes drifted briefly toward the darkened gardens below before returning toward him.
"Our search, along with my father's own efforts, has yielded nothing despite an entire week passing already."
Aang's shoulders lowered faintly at the reminder.
"I know."
"You mentioned his species is extraordinarily rare."
"Yeah, There aren't any flying lemurs left, as far as I know." He answered quietly.
Your fingers tightened lightly against one another.
"Then perhaps there exists the possibility that someone found him before we did."
Concern crossed his face immediately, snapping his gaze to you.
"You think somebody took him?"
"Merchant districts often trade unusual creatures, particularly those difficult to acquire." You explained carefully, and your voice softened faintly.
"A winged lemur unlike anything native to the Earth Kingdom would likely attract attention rather quickly."
Aang grew noticeably quieter then, so you continued.
"The neighboring merchant town receives traders from multiple regions throughout the month. Animals are sold there frequently." Your eyes settled steadily upon him.
"If Momo wandered injured and frightened, someone may have mistaken him for an opportunity to earn rather than a companion."
The thought visibly unsettled him.
"That..." He exhaled softly through his nose.
He didn't want to accept it, but your reasoning was genuine.
"Perhaps we should search there next." You concluded.
Aang leaned back against the balcony railing while considering it further.
"Yeah." He admitted after a moment. "Yeah, okay. We can check tomorrow."
The next morning, the two of you wandered leisurely through the manor gardens while waiting for the ostrich-horses to be prepared and attached to the traveling carriage.
You had refused to walk all the way to the merchant district.
Aang, admittedly, found the carriage unnecessary, but considering it remained early enough in the morning that you still had several hours before noon, he decided not to argue too much over it.
So, your conversations drifted elsewhere. Mostly toward his friends.
Aang was not usually the sort to boast excessively, though he could not deny his genuine surprise at how little you seemed to know about the war itself.
Nearly everyone he encountered across the world already knew the stories before he ever spoke them aloud.
He found it rather endearing, because you listened with actual curiosity.
It wasn't because you idolized him, but because you were more interested hearing about the history from the person involved.
Once you explained that your life had largely been arranged from birth due to your engagement to Prince Jinhai, Aang found it easier to understand.
You had not been raised to know the world. You had been raised with your role already decided for you.
"So Sokka really tried fighting you the first time you met?" You asked with poorly concealed amusement while walking beside him.
"Oh, yeah, he thought I was dangerous." Aang answered immediately, laughing at the memory.
"And were you?" You hummed, tilting your head.
"That depends," He replied with suspicious seriousness.
"Do penguin sledding accidents count as dangerous?"
You looked at him blankly.
"...Penguin what?"
Aang grinned.
"You would not survive five minutes around Sokka."
That earned the faintest smile from you.
"And Katara?" you asked afterward. "You speak of her most often."
Something in him softened immediately at her name alone.
The change was subtle, but impossible to miss. Aang's entire voice seemed lighter.
"She's...amazing." He admitted quietly. "Honestly, I don't think I would've survived any of this without her."
You listened patiently while he continued.
"She's stubborn sometimes..." He said with a small laugh.
"Really stubborn, actually. And she worries too much about everyone around her. But she's always there when people need her."
For several moments , he spoke only of her.
Of how she and Sokka had found him trapped within the iceberg.
How she had stood beside him throughout the war even when he himself doubted his abilities.
How fiercely she loved the people around her.
You noticed it immediately.
The unconscious smile, wider than the ones usually he wore.
He was completely smitten.
You held yourself from teasing him, not wishing to overstep. But you definitely understood why he rejected your father's proposal.
"She must be very precious to you." You murmured.
Aang looked momentarily startled by the observation before smiling again.
"Yeah, she is." he answered simply.
You would not admit it aloud, but you envied him a little.
Even while secretly reading romance novels behind closed doors, some part of you had always understood that love of such intensity belonged more comfortably within fiction than reality.
Stories allowed devotion without condition, with women cherished so completely that they became the center of another person’s world.
Reality had never seemed nearly so generous.
You had grown up in it, watching noble marriages unfold exactly as intended; respectful, politically beneficial, orderly.
The husband maintained status and lineage while the wife fulfilled her duties beside him gracefully to preserve peace within the household.
Affection, when it appeared at all, emerged quietly over time, and rarely with the certainty poets so desperately adored writing about.
You had accepted that truth years ago.
Yet listening to Aang speak now, watching the unconscious warmth brightening his entire presence at the mere mention of Katara’s name, you realized with sudden clarity that love like that did exist after all.
Just not for everyone.
Prince Jinhai was kind.
He was pleasant and gentle in the moments you had shared beside him.
But you already understood the shape your future would eventually take beside the crown prince, and it did not resemble this.
Being your King would come before being your husband.
And no one would ever speak your name the way Aang spoke hers.
Curiously enough, throughout every story involving his companions, one notable name never once surfaced.
No mention of the current Fire Lord.
And though Aang himself barely noticed the omission, part of him instinctively understood why he held back from speaking of him.
The people of Hujiang still carried the scars of war too deeply for Fire Nation names to enter conversation.
So instead, Aang avoided speaking of the Zuko altogether.
The omission happened naturally once the conversation drifted toward Toph instead, a subject you had taken an immediate interest in the moment he revealed she too had been born into nobility.
"A noblewoman?" You repeated, genuine curiosity threading through your voice. "And her family permitted her to travel across the world beside you?"
Aang let out a laugh at that.
"Not exactly."
He spoke of his history with her, how Toph had been blind since birth, and how her parents had spent most of her life believing her fragile.
Every person she encountered underestimated her within the first few seconds of meeting her.
"And she's still one of the strongest Earth Benders I've ever seen. Honestly, she's terrifying" Aang finished proudly.
"She sounds delightful." You looked impressed.
"She once threatened to bury Sokka alive because he annoyed her." Aang grinned immediately.
"That only improves my opinion of her."
"She'd probably like you," He admitted.
"And I her," You replied smoothly.
"It is refreshing hearing of a noblewoman who refused allowing her circumstances to define the entirety of her existence."
Aang noticed the faint bitterness beneath your facade, though before he could properly respond, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the conversation.
An usher's voice followed soon after.
"My Lady. His Highness, Prince Jinhai."
Both you and Aang turned toward the garden pathway.
Prince Jinhai approached accompanied by two guards, and somehow the scarce escort only amplified his authority rather than diminishing it.
Rich emerald robes layered elegantly across his frame, embroidered carefully with an abundance of gold threading that shimmered faintly beneath the late morning light.
Jade adorned the fastening near his collar while his long dark hair had been partially bound back in formal royal fashion, leaving the remaining length flowing freely behind him with every step forward.
Everything about him screamed royalty. He seemed much older than what he had imagined. He could barely believe you and him were born on the same day.
Aang fully understood why your future had been tied to this man, watching as you bowed immediately upon his approach.
"It pleases me greatly to see Your Highness in good health." You greeted your betrothed.
"Likewise."
The prince's response remained brief, though his attention strayed momentarily between you and Aang, quietly observing the familiarity already formed between you both.
Then he addressed the Avatar properly.
"It is an honor meeting you at last, Avatar Aang," H e said calmly. "I am pleased to see your recovery progressing far better than the condition in which you were found."
Only then did Aang properly remember that this man had been the reason he was found.
"Oh— right." He straightened slightly. "Thank you. Seriously. I never really got the chance to thank you for helping me and Appa."
"There is no need," Jinhai answered evenly. "Offering aid to the Avatar is hardly a burden one refuses."
You stepped aside slightly then.
"It appears you have come to speak with the Avatar." You assumed politely. "I shall have tea prepared within the manor for you both."
Jinhai nodded once, "That would be lovely."
You had barely begun turning away when one of the nearby guards approached hurriedly.
"My lady, the carriage has been prepared." He interrupted respectfully.
You paused, then slowly, your attention shifted back toward Aang.
Your hesitation did not escape Prince Jinhai.
"Do you intend to go somewhere?" He asked, and you blatantly showed your uncertainty, hoping the prince doesn't form a misunderstanding.
From the outside perspective, the situation did indeed appear improper.
An unmarried noblewoman leaving the estate daily beside a foreign man already bordered close to a scandal. The fact that said foreigner happened to be the Avatar himself only complicated matters.
Before you could answer, however, Aang spoke instead.
"Yeah, I've been looking for Momo. He's my lemur, and I haven't seen him since the storm." He explained honestly.
His voice softened.
"I'm not leaving without him."
"I do not recall seeing a lemur among the wreckage that evening," Jinhai admitted thoughtfully.
"That is what Shuren told me too." Aang replied with a sigh.
Silence settled briefly while the prince considered the matter.
"You have searched the forests already?"
"Every day for the past week, but, nothing." Aang answered.
"It was my lady's suggestion to search the merchant district today," One of the guards supplied respectfully.
Aang nodded immediately.
At that, something shifted across Jinhai's expression, his gaze falling to you once again.
"The merchant roads surrounding Hujiang remain heavily traveled this season. Should your companion have been discovered first by traders, it is entirely possible someone attempted keeping him."
Prince Jinhai added smoothly, to which Aang nodded towards you.
"That was her reasoning too."
"A reasonable conclusion." The prince admitted.
You looked quietly pleased by the praise despite yourself.
"Momo is clever. You said so yourself, Aang." You interrupted gently before the concern could cloud his mind.
"If he truly resides somewhere within the merchant district, I am certain he shall recognize you before long."
Aang looked toward you before nodding.
"...Hopefully."
Another silence of solemnity whisked past you before Prince Jinhai finally stepped back.
"Were circumstances different, I would have gladly joined your search myself." He informed calmly.
"Unfortunately, the matter which brought me here requires discussion with Lord Shuren, and I cannot neglect it further."
Then, turning toward Aang once more, he inclined his head politely.
"Either way, it was a pleasure meeting you, Avatar Aang. I trust we shall become better acquainted another day."
Aang smiled politely in return.
"Yeah.."
With that, Prince Jinhai offered one final nod toward you before departing from the gardens, his guards following several steps behind him while the prior bright atmosphere slowly settled back into place.
The conversation had delayed your departure only slightly, and by the time you and Aang finally crossed the front courtyard, the traveling carriage already stood prepared beneath as the ostrich-horses shifted impatiently.
Servants hurried quietly around the vehicle making final adjustments while one man remained seated at the front reins, waiting patiently for your arrival.
Aang noticed him only briefly before following you into the carriage.
The doors closed behind you both, muffling the sounds of the estate while the carriage moved smoothly onto the roads leading away from the manor.
And your conversations resumed easily enough.
Aang continued speaking about his friends, mostly because you kept asking questions whenever certain details caught your attention.
"It seems Katara's the responsible one," you concluded thoughtfully after he shared another one of his adventures as a teen.
"Oh definitely," Aang answered immediately. "If we survive anything, it's usually because Katara kept everyone alive long enough to make it through."
"Really? Isn't Sokka the oldest of you four?"
Aang laughed.
"Sokka somehow caused half our problems and solved the other half."
"He sounds very amusing." You chuckled at his description, trying to place an image of what his friend looks like.
"He is."
You smiled faintly before turning your attention toward the passing scenery outside the carriage window.
"You know, Katara and Sokka remind me what siblings are supposed to be like." You admitted, looking away from him.
Aang perked up, surprised to hear you conjure up a topic of your own.
But, he also took note of the shift in your tone.
"You have a brother?"
You frowned slightly, making Aang unconsciously follow suit as he carefully observed you.
"I had one."
Aang straightened slightly, regret crossing his expression almost instantly.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"It's quite alright."
The softness in your voice carried enough finality that Aang almost changed the subject, though something about your expression made him remain quiet, waiting to see if you would continue on your own.
He had already learned by now that silence often encouraged you to continue speaking far more than his questions could.
"My brother's name was Renji." You said after some time.
"He was three years older than I was. Far kinder than me as well, according to most people." The faintest trace of amusement laced your voice.
Aang offered you a smile.
"I don't know...you seem pretty nice."
You returned his smile, meeting his comment with a disbelieving shake of your head.
"Renji was beloved by nearly everyone who met him." You continued, "Even as a child, he possessed an unfortunate tendency to care too deeply for people."
You gave a quiet chuckle, and Aang realized you were no longer simply speaking of your brother, but painting him from memory
"It was terribly inconvenient for my father."
Aang didn't offer any interruptions, just giving you his ear to share a part of you as well.
"When Renji was still very young, he encountered a boy during one of his visits to the merchant district. An orphan."
Your fingers absentmindedly adjusted one of the bracelets around your wrist while you spoke.
"The boy had apparently attempted stealing food from one of the stalls." A sigh escaped you.
"Rather than reporting him, my brother returned home demanding father allow the child to stay within the manor."
"And your dad actually agreed?"
"Reluctantly. It was Renji's first genuine demand after years of near perfect obedience. Father found himself unable to refuse him."
You barely had any memory of that time, having only been three years of age when the incident happened, but you recalled everything that had been told to you when you questioned of that boy's existence.
"The boy remained within the manor after that. He still works for our household now, actually—" A small gesture toward the front of the carriage followed.
"He is the one driving us. His name is Gen."
Aang nodded absently, though the conversation itself had already shifted back toward Renji naturally.
"He sounds nice."
"He was loyal." You added.
"Everyone loved Renji far too easily. Servants, guards, tutors..." The corner of your mouth curved faintly.
"Even the palace staff favored him over me."
Aang laughed softly.
"That bad?"
"Terribly so." You laughed, seemingly lost somewhere within the memories.
"He used to sneak me sweets before dinner because he knew Father disliked it," you admitted quietly. "Then he would stand beside me pretending innocence while I was scolded for it."
"That sounds exactly like something Sokka would do."
"I suspect I would have liked your friend."
Aang smiled at that, though it faded once he noticed the sadness gradually returning to your expression.
"Were you close?" he asked gently.
The question lingered between you for several seconds.
"Very."
Your answer came almost immediately after.
"He was..." You paused, searching for the words.
"Renji made every room feel warmer simply by entering it. The manor grew terribly quiet after he passed."
For the first time since beginning the story, genuine grief surfaced clearly beneath your composure.
"He fell ill rather suddenly, and despite every physician Father brought to him, nothing truly helped." Your fingers tightened faintly together atop your lap.
"I remember believing for months afterward that I still heard him walking through the halls at night."
Aang opened his mouth, yet no words could be conjured.
There was nothing he could to say to you, he could only witness as you desperately held yourself back from sulking.
He wondered if another show of condolence would offend you, or if it would just be better to remain quiet.
With his eyes trained on you, his own dilemma consumed him, having learned through the years that it was best to think before he spoke, but thinking seemingly proved futile as he watched you avert your gaze to the small carriage window.
"It seems like we're here."
The carriage slowed gradually before finally rolling to a complete halt.
Outside, the bustle of crowded streets had already begun bleeding through the carriage walls.
The merchant district.
Voices overlapped from every direction, merchants shouting across stalls, and the distant movement of carts overloaded with pottery, fabrics, spices, and carved trinkets.
Children rushed recklessly through the crowds despite constant scolding from exhausted parents trailing behind them.
The moment Aang stepped out of the carriage, he recognized the atmosphere immediately, as a smile found him before he could stop it.
"This actually reminds me of the markets in Ba Sing Se. Well...kind of. It wasn't so crowded."
Aang turned around, hand reaching out to aid you, but the attendant you had introduced as Gen had already made his place known before him.
You descended from the carriage, Gen steadying your hand briefly before stepping away again as you thanked him.
Aang retread his hand away, turning around to hide the embarrassing flush creeping up his face, pretending as though he hadn't moved from his place.
But when a chuckle left you, he knew very well you had already noticed his attempt to help you.
Thankfully, you did not point it out.
"Is that where you spent most of your time during the war?"
"Oh no," Aang answered quickly. "We moved around. A lot. But Ba Sing Se had streets like this. Crowded all the time. Sokka loved it."
"Because of the culture?" You tilted your head, walking into the crowd as you trailed beside him.
"Because of the food."
That earned a quiet laugh from you.
"I suppose that is far less noble than I expected."
"Sokka's never been noble a day in his life."
Gen remained behind near the carriage, leaving the search entirely to you and Aang while the two of you moved deeper into the crowded district together.
You quickly discovered that searching for one small lemur inside a merchant city overflowing with cages, animals, and traveling vendors bordered dangerously close to impossible.
Every few stalls seemed to contain some strange creature unfamiliar even to Aang himself.
Tiny catgators blinked lazily from shallow water basins while turtle-ducks crowded noisily beside nearby feeding bowls.
One merchant proudly displayed a pair of feathered otter-penguins no larger than Momo while another attempted convincing customers to purchase shrieking fire ferrets bundled together within hanging reed cages.
There was no sign on Momo.
With every stall they passed displaying caged creatures for sale, disappointment settled a little heavier inside Aang, though beneath was an undeniable sense of relief knowing no one had seemingly captured Momo and placed him among them.
"Wouldn't he stand out a little more?" You questioned while pausing before yet another stall crowded with chirping creatures.
"You'd think so," Aang muttered, clearly growing more discouraged with every passing street.
You almost let out a grimace, wondering if there really were people who would house all these creatures as pets.
A merchant suddenly leaned halfway across his stall the moment he noticed Aang's tattoos.
"Avatar!" the older man exclaimed loudly. "Perhaps your companion would enjoy a singing ringtail?"
The furry creature immediately let out an ear-piercing shriek directly beside him, making you recoil and step back a little.
"What is that creature?" You winced, the shriek having hurt your ears.
Aang burst into laughter, stepping beside you as he leaned forward to admire the ringtail.
"I think it likes you." He pouts, turning his head to meet your skeptical gaze.
"I believe it wishes me dead." You scoffed,
The merchant looked mildly offended, passing you a glare which you pridefully returned.
"They are extremely affectionate creatures." He defended, sneering at you.
The ringtail shrieked again, and you stepped away immediately.
"No."
You turned away at once, not wishing to hear more of the merchant, you began to stride a distance further from the stall.
Aang laughed hard enough that several nearby merchants briefly turned toward the sound, yet he caught up to you the next second, continuing your objective for the day.
For a little while, the search became lighter as you looked through existing pet shops and any passing merchant setting up their stall.
You wandered slowly through crowded streets together, stopping occasionally whenever Aang spotted another animal vendor or overheard mention of unusual creatures nearby.
More than once he climbed onto crates or market railings, in an attempt to scan the crowds from higher ground while calling Momo's name over the noise.
He even tried blowing the faint whistle into the air in hopes it would reach the lemur's ears, but it only triggered the calling of the surrounding animals, making him nervously retreat.
Aang slowed down as looked around, another hour having passed with little progress.
The afternoon sun had begun lowering gradually overhead, warmth settling across the stone roads while merchants continued shouting trying desperately to attract the remaining customers before evening approached.
Aang stopped before another animal stall, exhaustion beginning to creep visibly into his expression now.
You glanced briefly toward him.
"If someone found him wandering alone, they may have recognized his rarity enough to keep him for themselves."
Aang frowned immediately.
"You think someone kidnapped him?"
"I merely believe it possible."
"Maybe somebody sold him somewhere, or put him in one of those traveling zoos or something." He muttered uneasily.
"Well, there are no such places here, I am afraid," You interrupted gently. "At least none within Hujiang."
That seemed to relieve him slightly.
"Still," you continued after a moment, "if Momo remained near the outskirts after the storm, there is a chance nearby residents may have encountered him before he wandered toward the merchant district."
Aang nodded slowly.
"We can question the homes surrounding the forests tomorrow," you suggested.
"For today, we should continue asking the merchants and travelers here while the streets remain busy."
The further you both wandered, the slower the search gradually became, so you revisited your route, going back the way you came searching for anything you missed.
Every few stalls forced Aang to stop once more and question another vendor while you patiently waited nearby, occasionally offering descriptions of Momo whenever the merchants appeared confused by the mention of a flying lemur.
One elderly merchant had spent nearly five minutes insisting a shaved cat-monkey would make an "excellent replacement companion" before you finally pulled Aang away yourself.
"You are terribly easy to swindle." You informed him while continuing your return down the crowded street.
"I wasn't gonna take it." He chuffs, looking away from you.
"You seemed very tempted." You stated factually, passing him a smug smile as he blushed.
"It had little shoes." He says with a pout.
"Then perhaps we should commission tiny shoes for Momo instead."
Aang laughed quietly beneath his breath as he paused briefly near another stall displaying carved animal figurines lined carefully across wooden shelves.
"You know, Momo would probably steal half of these." He admitted while turning one of the sculptures over within his hands
"I suspect your lemur possesses poor manners."
"Mhm."
A faint smile lingered upon your face as your attention drifted toward another stall displaying jewelry and silk ribbons,
"You truly spoil your companions greatly." You remarked lightly.
"They deserve it."
The sincerity behind the answer made something soften within your expression.
Aang only noticed movement from the corner of his eye a second later when a small child accidentally collided against one of the wooden shelves beside him, nearly sending several carvings tumbling onto the ground.
"Oh—careful!" He exclaimed quickly, reaching out to steady the display before the merchant could begin shouting.
The boy mumbled a frightened apology before rushing back toward his mother waiting farther down the road.
Aang huffed out a laugh, helping straighten the crooked carvings while the merchant sighed in relief beside him.
"Thank you, thank you." The old man muttered. "These little ones run so fast."
Aang laughed softly at that.
As he adjusted the last carving back into place, the merchant suddenly paused.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then widened.
"...You're the Avatar, aren't you?"
Aang immediately looked embarrassed by the attention.
"Oh. Uh—yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry if we caused trouble."
"Trouble?" The merchant looked almost offended by the suggestion. "You saved half my stall."
He disappeared briefly behind the stall before returning with something small in his palm.
"Here."
Aang blinked down at it.
"Oh, I can't—"
Then he noticed the carving properly.
A tiny sky bison.
Its little arrow had been painted carefully by hand, worn slightly with age.
His refusal faltered immediately.
The merchant noticed the exact second it did.
A small smile spread across the old man's face as he gently set it into Aang's hands anyway.
"You should keep it."
For a moment, Aang just stared at the carving quietly, thumb brushing over the smooth wood.
"...It's really good." He admitted softly.
The merchant chuckled.
"I figured the an Air Nomad should have at least one sky bison with him all the time."
That earned a real laugh from Aang this time.
"...Thank you." He said earnestly. "Really."
The old man waved him off fondly before turning back toward his stall.
Still smiling faintly to himself, Aang looked down at the tiny carving one more time before turning back toward you.
"...Hey, look what I got—"
He paused, the rest of the sentence dying immediately.
You were not where he last saw you.
At first, he simply blinked in confusion.
His eyes moved quickly across the closest crowd expecting to find you only a few steps away examining another stall or speaking with one of the merchants nearby.
But you were no where in sight.
He called out your name over the noise surrounding him, but with no answer in return, a small crease formed between his brows.
At first, the feeling settling into him remained closer to confusion than concern.
One moment you had been standing beside him speaking softly about Momo, and the next there was simply empty space where you should have been.
Aang turned quickly, searching as the district carried on around him without pause.
You could not have gone far.
You had been there seconds earlier.
He moved through the street immediately, weaving between passing travelers while searching every nearby stall for even the briefest glimpse of your bright silks among the crowd.
Nothing.
He called out yet again, as several strangers glanced toward him briefly, but not you.
Aang continued forward quickly, scanning every direction while the uneasy pressure inside his chest tightened further with each passing second.
He called again, louder this time while turning down another road lined with hanging lanterns.
Absolutely no sign of you.
He forced himself to breathe as he concluded you must have wandered off somewhere nearby.
Perhaps another merchant stall had caught your attention, or maybe you had noticed something unusual.
Aang immediately retraced his steps through the roads you had traveled together earlier that afternoon, moving fast enough now that several merchants muttered irritably while stepping aside to avoid colliding into him.
He questioned anyone nearby, describing your silks, your jewelry, your voice, though most people barely remembered seeing either of you long enough to help.
As more time passed without finding you, panic returned stronger than before, sharper beneath his ribs, and by the time he finally reached the outer roads again, his panic settled for a clock's tick.
He saw the carriage.
Relief hit him so suddenly he nearly stumbled toward it.
Until he noticed the empty space where the ostrich-horses should have been, making him slow down.
The vehicle remained abandoned near the roadside exactly where it had been left earlier that, though the reins now hung loose across the front seat.
Gen was gone too.
Something cold settled inside Aang, not wanting to jump to conclusions but having to face the reality of the fact your sudden disappearance didn't seem like chance.
He approached quickly before pulling the carriage door open hard enough for it to strike against the side of the vehicle.
It was empty, leaving no sign of you.
chapter nine
a/n: if the last chapter was my favorite, this is my least favorite. i am not ready for what's to come.
[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)
pairing: college au!jjk men x f!reader | Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Yuji, Megumi, Sukuna
synopsis: after confessing your feelings to your crush and getting rejected, you eventually find yourself forced to move on. but the moment he sees you for the first time since your confession—and with someone else nonetheless, he asks himself if he didn't commit the biggest mistake of his life.
cw: college au, angst, cussing, mentions of alcohol, drinking and smoking, unrequited love, jealousy, possessiveness, fwb, kinda unreliable messy narrator in some of these?
wc: 3k
a/n: tysm for 1k followers and all the kind words and support! been working on this for three months now, hope it doesn't flop...
masterlist
Satoru Gojo [fratjo]
⤷ you confess your feelings to the annoying (but cute) fratguy you've been tutoring...
Suguru Geto [tattoo artist!Geto]
⤷ you let your friend, who you've slowly been growing closer and closer with, know about your feelings...
Sukuna Ryomen [fratkuna]
⤷ your fuckbuddy starts blurring the lines, and you allow yourself to hope for more, leading to a confession...
Kento Nanami [ta!Nananmi]
⤷ you decide to ask out the hot teaching assistant in your math class on his last day...
Yuji Itadori [jock!Yuji]
⤷ unexpectedly reuniting with your childhood bestfriend who you lost contact with, your feelings spring back to life and you decide to tell him...
Megumi Fushiguro [photo major!Megumi]
⤷ after a disastrous "meetcute", you force yourself into your grumpy crush's life and eventually confess your feelings to him...
pairing: tattoo artist!geto x reader
synopsis: you let your friend, who you've slowly been growing closer and closer with, know about your feelings...
cw: angst, unrequited love, jealousy, possessiveness, ghosting, tattoo artist geto, strangers to friends to strangers
wc: 3.2k
art creds: @/chuucho95 on twitter
Geto masterlist
collection masterlist
Well, this was awkward.
Here you were, with your boyfriend and with your ex-best friend who you never really got over, staring at each other with wide eyes. What were the odds you’d run into him after all this time, right?
This was the first time you’d seen him in months. Ever since the semester ended, ever since he dropped out, ever since he’d friendzoned you.
You hadn’t spoken a word to each other ever since. He’d avoided you, promptly kicking you out of his life. And you hadn’t reached out, obviously having understood the message.
You thought things were better now. That you’d moved on and forgot about him— you even met someone new for God’s sake. But the second you’d stepped into the tattoo shop, and your eyes landed on him, all the feelings you thought you’d gotten rid of suddenly bloomed once more, and hit you with such intensity you almost thought you’d fall to your knees.
But how did such feelings come to be in the first place?
Well, to start, you’d met Suguru on your first day of class for the semester. The teacher had decided it would be a good idea to start the term with discussions in groups of two or three. And before you’d even had the time to socialize and find a teammate, everyone had already found a partner. So there you were, sitting alone and sighing to yourself.
Until you felt a tap on your shoulder. Hope bloomed in your chest as you turned around to look at the person who you assumed wanted to be your partner.
He was tall, with a slight tan, had dark hair pulled back into a bun, and pierced ears. You could even see the subtle ink peeking out of his collar.
“Hey, wanna team up?” he asked you in a low and soothing voice. It matched his physique perfectly.
“Yeah, sure.” You smiled, and managed to stay composed, somehow.
“Okay, good.” he returned your smile, and you noticed the way his mono-lid eyes crinkled at the corners. “Mind if I bring my stuff over and sit here?” he pointed to the seat next to you.
“Of course not,” you scrambled to take your bag out of the chair.
You couldn’t help yourself from staring at his tall, and seemingly muscular, figure as he walked back to his seat to retrieve his things. He was dressed well, nothing like the regular jeans and hoodies other guys wore. And you felt childish for being attracted to that.
Once he’d settled in the spot next to you, you started your discussion on the topic your teacher had displayed on the board.
Having been productive and finished the work within the first five minutes, that left you two to making small talk and introducing yourselves. Conversation had flowed so easily you were convinced you’d finally met your soulmate.
And from that day, you only grew closer each class. Eventually you’d left the awkward stage of being classmates, to actually hanging out after class. He introduced you to the rest of his friendgroup, and even invited you to tag along whenever they’d go out.
You were glad to have found a group of friends (and a crush) so early on in your semester. The amount of study hangouts, movie theater trips, or just outings to go shopping or eating and drinking, had only made you grow more fond of Suguru. And although you could feel yourself falling further and further for his charms, you couldn’t be bothered to try and save yourself.
Why would you? He was perfect.
It was embarrassing, really. Your entire friendgroup was aware of your feelings for him. And Shoko in particular, always had fun teasing you endlessly.
Looking back on it now, she was probably a big part of the reason why you had foolishly let yourself think you ever had a chance with him.
But she couldn’t entirely be to blame. It was your decision at the end of the day. You were the one who deluded yourself into thinking he felt the same. You were the one who’d decided to tell him how you feel.
It happened casually, and unexpectedly. There were no heartfelt speeches, no handwritten letters, no fireworks or flowers. You’d just blurted out your true sentiments to him out of the blue, completely calm and composed. On the outside at least.
You’d gone shopping with everyone, and Satoru and Shoko insisted on stopping by one last store before heading back to the dorms. Tired from dragging your feet all day, you had decided to sit this one out and instead wait near a tree on the sidewalk facing the shop. Suguru had decided to join you, also tired from Satoru’s shenanigans.
It was a nice day. You’d put more effort into your appearance and felt cute, the autumn air was crisp without being freezing, and you could still remember the taste of that pastry you’d eaten earlier.
Maybe it was that happiness and confidence that gave you the final push.
“Suguru?” you called, staring down at your shoes.
“Hm?” he kept his arms folded over his chest and imitated you, staring down at his feet as well.
“I like you.” you admitted, your voice almost quiet.
Five seconds, ten seconds, thirty seconds passed before he said anything in response.
“Really?” he finally spoke.
“Yeah,” you reply, and finally tilt your head to look up at him.
His eyes met yours, and the second you made eye contact you knew.
He didn’t feel the same.
“I…” he lifted a hand to rest it on the back of his neck.
“Don’t feel the same.” you finish his sentence for him, and chuckle. Because it was all you could do, honestly.
“... yeah. Sorry.” he sighed.
You cross your arms as well now, wanting to shield yourself. From what exactly, you weren’t sure.
“Don’t be, Suguru.” you said, in a quieter tone now. “I just… wanted to get it off my chest. I wasn’t expecting anything from you. I promise.” you lie. But it was a pretty nice save.
He simply hums in response, and keeps his eyes glued on you, despite you looking away.
“I hope this doesn’t change anything between us… I really do see you as my best friend too.” you finally meet his eyes.
He only sighs with one of his closed-eye smiles you loved so much. “Of course it doesn’t. You’re still my best friend.”
A smile finally graces your lips again and you laugh. “Okay good, I got scared for a second there.”
Silence settles in between you two, a comfortable one. He opens his mouth to say something, but is quickly interrupted.
“Hey! We got our stuff, we can go now.” Satoru shouts and waves his arms, as if he wasn’t already impossible not to notice.
The two of you are broken out of the small bubble you’d created, and you immediately return to your normal self, and Suguru does the same.
“Quick, let’s pretend we don’t know him.” you chuckle and cover your face with a hand.
“Yes, let’s.” The dark haired man next to you mimics you and even turns away from Satoru.
You hear him shout and groan in an annoyed tone behind you, but the two of you simply laugh together. As if nothing had changed between you. As if you hadn’t just ruined everything.
You learned about it from Shoko, on a random Friday afternoon in the library. The two of you had met up to study, but really, you were the only one doing any studying.
“He what?” you snap your head up from your book to stare at Shoko.
But she was unfazed, and continued typing away on her phone, chewed-up lollipop stick in her mouth. “He dropped out.”
Your stomach dropped. “Why would he—there’s one week left to the semester,” your eyebrows furrowed. “And it’s not like he was failing any of his classes. The opposite, actually.”
“I don’t really know.” She shrugs. “He said something about wanting to be a full-time tattoo artist,” she says dismissively.
Right. He did mention his interest in it before to you. But it was only in passing, like he didn’t really mean it. Kind of like when someone offhandedly says they want to run away and backpack through Europe. They might mean it—but there’s no real intention of going through with it.
That was why you refused his sudden change in career to be the only reason why he dropped out.
Despite how self-centered it might seem, a small part of you was convinced you were part of the reason too.
The reassurance that nothing changed for him, that you were still his best friend, now seemed like a blatant lie. A lie he probably told in a panic, under pressure. Too scared to face you with his true sentiments towards the situation.
You understood it now. How didn’t you see it then? How could you have been so blinded by your own selfish need for reassurance?
“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Shoko waved her carefully manicured hand in front of you.
You’re broken out of your daze and stare back at her with an apologetic look.
“Stop overthinking it.” she muttered, her gaze lingering on you, before returning to her phone screen.
“... Right. Sorry.” you mumble, and return to your books.
A couple weeks have passed since then. The semester ended, which left you with more free time than ever. You’ve been hanging out with your friend group as well. But none of them have heard nor seen Suguru ever since he dropped out.
The guilt ate away at you every night before going to bed. How could you have ruined the group of friends he had introduced you to? You wish you could confront him, apologize for everything, and tell him you should be the one to leave the group, not him.
But there was no way of doing that. None of you even knew what tattoo shop he worked at. Or if he’d even started working, for that matter.
All you knew was that you needed to distract yourself. That’s why you’d gone along with the blind date Shoko set you up. She insisted he was your type.
In a way, he was similar to Suguru. He had kind eyes and a calm demeanor. But he was too calm, too boring. He didn’t have Suguru’s witty remarks, or his sarcastic humor. He didn’t have that small streak of mischief you liked so much about him.
And yet you still showed up for your second date, and your third one, and each one after that. You didn’t even think about it. You just smiled, laughed and nodded along. To others, you seemed like a happy couple.
But to yourself, you didn’t know what to think anymore. You convinced yourself you should go along with it. That eventually, after a while, you’d stop thinking of Suguru and comparing your new boyfriend to him, and that you’d wake up one day and realize you made the right choice. That you did love this man and that you appreciated him for the way he was.
Or maybe after a while, he’d open up more and show a more interesting and unpredictable side of himself. Maybe that’s why you had agreed when he’d proposed to get small matching tattoos.
You’d gone to a small tattoo shop outside of the city, so you doubted you’d run into him.
It was kind of in the middle of nowhere, so your boyfriend struggled to find a parking spot. He dropped you off in front of the shop, telling you to go in while he looked for somewhere to park.
You walked in, and was immediately surprised by the nicely decorated and modern interior compared to the outside. Noticing the tattoo artist that greeted you, you breathed out a small sigh of relief at the fact it wasn’t him. She was a woman that seemed to be in her early to mid thirties, a shaved and bleached head with a septum piercing and a couple tattoos. Yeah, she was definitely not Suguru.
You almost felt silly for thinking you’d run into him.
“Hey, you’re here for the appointment at three right?” she smiled. You nodded, and she spoke up again with a raised eyebrow. “I thought there were going to be two of you?” she asked.
“Oh— yes, he’s just looking for somewhere to park the car.” you laughed nervously.
She laughs along with you. “Alright well, you can just sit over there and wait. My apprentice will be the one working with you today.”
Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “Apprentice?”
“Yeah, but don’t be scared. He might be new, but he’s really talented, so you’re in good hands. I just have to call him an apprentice because he hasn’t gotten his license yet.” she explains while waving her hands around.
You feel your smile slowly fade, and your heart drop.
A door in the back opens, and someone appears behind it.
“Oh, speak of the devil!” She stands up from her chair and turns to face him. “Suguru, your clients just arrived.”
He hasn’t noticed you yet, as you’re being hidden from his view by the woman.
“I’m going on my lunch break so behave, okay?” she grabs her keys and leaves through the back door he’d just come through.
His gaze follows her until she closes the door. He turns his head back to look at you, and his mouth opens, probably to introduce himself, but he freezes and his eyes go wide once his eyes finally land on you.
You’ve been as stiff as a statue ever since he’s walked in, and you’re no different now. The two of you stare at each other in silence.
After a while—you’re not sure how long exactly—he speaks up.
“Y/N… It’s nice to see you.” his hands flex at his side, unsure of what to do with them.
“Suguru, hi.” you raise an awkward hand and wave with a forced smile.
“So you’re… you’re my client right?” his hands finally move, one resting on his hip, and the other brushing some hair out of his face. His sleeve falls ever so slightly, and you notice the hints of a sleeve tattoo he didn’t have before.
And suddenly, you’re back to the beginning of the semester, meeting him for the first time and noticing the small tattoo on his neck. The memories flood your mind like a raging tsunami, a strong ache resonating through your stomach and forming itself into a knot.
“Yeah, I am.” you nod, and chuckle nervously.
“Cool, cool.” he clears his throat. “It was an appointment for two people right? Are you getting a matching tattoo with a friend, or…?” He speaks in a lighthearted tone, trying to make easy conversation.
You freeze for a moment before finding your words. “No, with my boyfriend.”
His face falls at your words.
“Oh. Your boyfriend.” he repeats, as if trying to understand the words of a language he’s never heard of before. “I guess I should’ve figured that one out,” he chuckles.
You raise an eyebrow, unsure of what that meant.
“Hey I’m here, sorry.” The door opens and you turn to find your boyfriend walking in. He joins you in a couple of strides and his hand finds your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
He finally notices Suguru, whose jaw is clenched tight, and greets him.
But he’s not the only tense person in the room. Your arms stay crossed over your chest and you stare at the ground.
This felt wrong. What the hell were you doing getting matching tattoos with a rebound you’d met barely over a month ago?
“Alright well, if you two are ready to start, please lie down on the seats.” Suguru quickly regains his composure and smiles again.
Your boyfriend lets go of you and walks away to sit down. But you stay frozen where you stand. You hadn’t even heard Suguru’s instructions, too busy overthinking to hear anything.
What made you think you could lie long enough to convince yourself that you were with the right person?
“Baby? You okay?” you hear, and you snap out of your daze.
You turn to look at the two men who are already staring at you.
With them both sitting right next to each other, your eyes trail back and forth between them. And you can’t stop yourself from making comparisons.
Clearly, you’d underestimated your feelings for your best friend, and overestimated the ones you had for the guy you were currently dating. You weren’t over Suguru, and you didn’t even like your boyfriend.
What had you gotten yourself into?
“Y/N?” Suguru calls your name, his tone of voice is different, softer now.
You feel the knot in your stomach tighten further, and before you can think, you tear up. “I’m sorry I—” you take a step back. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m so sorry.” you turn and walk out.
They both stand up abruptly, bewildered by your behavior. To your luck, a bus arrives at the nearby stop and you rush to hop on it, without even knowing where it was going. All you knew was that you needed to get away and think.
Suguru and your boyfriend stand outside the tattoo shop, looking around for you, but you`re nowhere to be seen.
“I’m really sorry for this, man. I don’t know what got into her.” The man sighs and scratches at his head. “Let’s… reschedule. For another time?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer from Suguru, and rushes to get in his car.
He walks back in the shop and slumps in his chair, holding his head in his hands.
What the hell just happened?
It wasn’t unusual for people to chicken out right before getting tattoos—especially matching ones. But still, so much had just happened and he wasn’t sure he had processed all of it just yet.
The most confusing thing of all though, was his reaction when he saw you again for the first time, and the emptiness you’d left behind when you walked out the door.
Ever since dropping out and leaving you and everyone else behind, you’d been at the back of his mind. Although he liked to pretend it was under the pretense that he missed everyone, and that they occupied just as much space in his mind as you did, he knew it was a lie.
He did think of them and miss you, but it didn’t compare to you.
He didn’t know why. Was it because you were his best friend? It couldn’t be, because Shoko and Satoru were also his best friends. So then why couldn’t he stop thinking about you? Why did the words “I like you” ring endlessly in his head?
He’d rejected you that day, but truth be told, it all felt like a blur. He was pretty sure he never saw you that way, so why did he regret pushing you away?
He didn’t know.
Now all he knew was how much he hated seeing some guy with his hands all over you, caressing and kissing you. And without even really noticing, only one thing echoed in his head: that should be him right next to you, not that guy.
He didn’t have a right to feel like this, not when he was the one who left you behind. Not when he’d just greeted you like nothing happened. Not when he stood in place instead of running after you when you left, like the other guy did.
Maybe he was better for you than Suguru ever would be.
౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader
[adult boutique au] - ongoing series
❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue:
you're a virgin.
you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞
౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. smut. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. piv (protected & unprotected). sex toys. dildos. vibrators. sybians. shibari & bondage. restraint. gags. butt plugs. fingering. cock rings. clit stimulants. g-spot stimulants. nipple clamps. remote controlled vibrator. lubes. sex games. blindfolds. aphrodisiacs. biting. marking. possession. dick piercings & tattoos. established safe word. used safe word. loss of virginity. oral (f! and m!). handjob. dacryphilia. mating press. overstimulation. cum play. manhandling. edging. sensory deprivation. (mutual) masturbation (f! and m!). choking. mild love triangle with gojo.
i aim to spread sex positivity, explore the effects of the stigma around virginity, and educate on safety in exploring kinks :)
౨ৎ wc ; estimated 100k.
౨ৎ a/n ; art by ackshuallyvalerie <3 shoutout to @/yenayaps for sukuna dick piercing brain worms <33
ao3 || wattpad || main masterlist
1 ⊹ ࣪ untouched - coming soon!
2 ⊹ ࣪ coming soon
౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. permatags will be tagged in chapters. @yenayaps @gojosoups
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞
❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. self-loathing. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). medical content. minor descriptions of wounds. mentions of arachnids. withdrawal. pet names. oral (f! receiving). p in v. nipple play. neck kissing. marking. body worship. size difference. praise. aftercare.
❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6'11".
Headcanons ~ First Love/Summer Fling ft canon!Gojo
Pairings: First love!Gojo x f!reader
Rating: Explicit (MDNI) 18+
Content Warnings: Heavy angst, explicit sexual content, Bullying, Unresolved love
Art credits to my favorite Gojo artist @/3-aem
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who met you when you were 16 and he was 17 while you were on a summer mission trip to Japan with your church. You met at the beach and he teased you relentlessly for your modest swimwear, your small boobs (you were just a late bloomer!), and the shy way you wouldn’t look right at him. He started going down to the beach every day to look for you because, from the very first day, he saw how your cheeks bloomed crimson when he teased you, and yet couldn’t stop talking to you. You were just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen in his life.
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who was sweet and mean to you in equal measure. You clung to every scrap of attention though because back home, well, it was some kind of hell and your parents were your own personal demons. He would say something mean to you in one breath and then be kissing you senseless with the next. He had to be mean to you! Otherwise, he’d give away the feelings racing through his heart. He knew being with you was a bad idea from the get-go. It was dangerous, even then. Everyone wanted a piece of the Six-eyes. He had to be mean to you because he was so hopelessly in love with you that he was liable to do something insane to keep you by his side.
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who ate up how shy and repressed you were, how innocent, and took great pleasure in seeing just how much he could sully his pretty little lily, because that’s what you were to him. Not Easter lilies either. Calla lilies. Pretty, pure, delicate, and most definitely his. With every “No, we shouldn’t,” and “I can’t do that,” and “But that’s sinful,” he only wanted you more. He became your first everything. Your first kiss, the first guy who fingered you, the first one who ate you out, the first one whose cock you sucked. Well, everything except that final step. You never did let him take your virginity.
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who did everything he could to push you away. He was mean, he flirted with other girls, teased you relentlessly, hoping that you’d walk away. But you never did, but he just couldn’t understand why. He never looked close enough to notice the constant melancholy in your eyes or bothered to ask enough questions to find out why you were so shy and anxious all the time. And despite it all, neither of you could walk away. You kept meeting up, kept giving away pieces of yourselves to each other.
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who you overhear telling some girl that you definitely weren’t his girlfriend and he would never in a million years date you. At the girl's smug pointed expression, he turned around to see you standing there with a stricken expression on your face. For the whole summer, the two of you had been attached at the hip. Movies, late-night swims, lying on the beach, fogging up the back of his car. You pretend everything is fine, but when you get back to the host’s house you cry yourself sick. Maybe it was luck, or maybe it was fate, the mission leaders sat all the youth down and told them the mission trip was ending early and they’d be leaving in a week instead of two.
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who showed up outside the host’s house again and again only to be turned away with some excuse. For some reason, he had this horrid sense of unease in his gut, like he’d massively screwed something up—a feeling he ignored. He didn’t give up though; he couldn’t. Every day he showed up only to be sent off again, until the day after you departed from the country when the host family finally put him out of his misery by informing him that you were gone. You were gone and you never even said good and Satoru was fucking sick to his stomach. Then, to top it all off, it wasn’t even a week later that he lost his best friend.
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who never stops thinking about you as the years pass. He remembers the way you looked at him, the soft expression in your eyes, like you were just seeing a boy you liked, not the strongest. Those memories are his precious secret. No one knew about you. Not Nanami or Haibara, not Shoko, and not even Suguru. You were his sweet precious hidden lily and he had ruined it all in an effort to keep you safe, to keep you at a distance. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t regret that day. And yet, a part of him hates you a little bit for not saying anything to him, for just sitting there and taking it, for not having the nerve to say goodbye. He never forgets you, even as weeks slip into months and months slip into years.
৻ꪆ First love!Gojo who is sitting exhausted and sleepless in a random park in Tokyo ten years later on Christmas morning. The ghost of Suguru’s blood is on his hands. Between the guilt he buries and the heavy loneliness of knowing that there’s no one in this world who just sees him anymore, he’s never felt lower in his life. But then he looks up and walking into the park is you. Older, yes, but somehow more beautiful than he remembers. His heart nearly jumps out of his and he’s standing and moving before he even really thinks about it. The only thing on his mind is one question: Do you remember him?
A/N: And in this one we give the reader ✨religious trauma ✨
summary: when satoru is released from the prison realm, his top priority is getting home to you. but his time sealed away proves to you both that no future is promised, even to the strongest. after a secret ceremony far away from jujutsu society, the two of you enjoy this small moment of forever in each other's arms.
contents: 18+ MDNI, honeymoon smut!, foreplay, oral (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, squirting, mutual body worship, missionary into mating press, inappropriate use of RCT, breeding, creampie, talks of pregnancy, implied angst, implied spoilers for the end of jjk
word count: 7.3k
masterlist | link to ao3
notes: hello! this fic is for @nitroheart's event rei-dio frequencies, based on the lyrics "sometimes beginnings aren't so simple; sometimes goodbye's the only way" from "shadow of the day" by linkin park. i hope you enjoy! <3
The honeymoon suite is decorated with red rose petals and the sounds of your breathless giggles as Satoru guides you slowly backwards towards the bed.
"Honey," he mumbles against your neck, the words muffled against your skin as he presses obnoxiously noisy kisses all over your face and neck. "Baby. Love of my life." His large hands settle at your hips, pulling your body further into his as he continues to lead you backwards with sure, confident steps. "I'm trying to love on you here. You know," he nips playfully at the corner of your jaw, and you can feel his immutable smile as he speaks, "me, your beloved husband. And you're kind of stomping all over my pride here, laughing while I'm trying to seduce you."
You just giggle again, tipping your head back to offer up more of the canvas of your neck. You know you should be taking this more seriously — there's unimaginable darkness hanging over both your heads at every turn. But you just got married, and he's kissing all over you and it tickles just a little and his voice is in your ear and his hands are on your body and he's back.
After nineteen days of hell, he's back.
You let out a happy hum, your eyes fluttering closed as his kisses move down the curve of your neck towards your shoulder. His mouth is warm, his hands are warm, his chest is warm against yours. He's warm, and he's here, and so solid against you that you finally allow yourself to soften against him once more.
"Wasn't today so beautiful?" you breathe as your head drops just a bit further, your back arched like a dancer's into his body. He lets out an appreciative hum, mirroring yours, fingers curling tighter into the white lacy fabric at your hips.
"You kidding?" he says, and his kisses start to slow. His tongue brushes against your pulse just enough to send a shiver through you. "It was perfect. Fucking perfect." His fingers dig a little deeper into your plush hips, forcing your body to curve more sensually against his. "You looked so beautiful. Always do, but fuck, something about you wearing this dress, wearing my ring…" He lets out a playful little growl and starts up another barrage of kisses.
And you just laugh, and you close your eyes, smiling so broadly that your cheeks ache, and you remember what it's like to be loved by him so wholly and completely.
As he makes his way down your neck, his tongue now joining his lips as he licks a line of heat up the curve of your throat towards your ear. A delicious shiver runs up your spine, desire pooling deep in your pelvis as his breath fans across your cheek. He nips at your jaw again, but this time it's not so playful; it's a graze of teeth meant to make your breath hitch.
Which it does.
You can feel his grin — taunting, now, predatory — against your skin as his hands finally start to roam. It starts with him gently circling your hip bones through your dress. Then his hands move up, one following the curve of your spine and the other tracing up your belly and chest. His palm passes purposefully over one of your breasts but doesn't linger, instead moving to cradle the side of your neck.
Then, finally, he raises his lips to yours. And this kiss is ravenous.
It's all tongue and teeth, like he's devouring you, tasting every inch he can reach because for so long he was trapped without even the faintest memory of you. He had to keep his mind clear, after all, so he couldn't think about your taste, about your body beneath his hands, against his chest, under him while he—
He has to pull away to take a ragged breath so he doesn't push you face-first into the mattress, pull your panties aside, and fuck you into oblivion.
Because this is supposed to be the start of forever, and he wants to do it right.
He wanted to do all of it right. He always promised you a grand wedding, with as many guests as you wanted and no holds barred. He wanted to give you everything: the flowers, the wedding gown, the fancy venue, the overpriced food and an open bar and the best photographer he could find to capture the whole thing on camera.
He always promised you everything.
And then he got sealed.
He never doubted he'd get out. Not really. He spent the whole time honing his technique even further, wiped away every memory of you and anything else he'd lost just to stay sane.
Just to survive.
He never doubted he'd get out, but he knew that you were starting to wonder.
He knew it was hard not to. You trusted him, had the utmost faith in him, but as days passed without him, you couldn't help but fear the worst.
How were you supposed to live the rest of your life — a life you'd planned to live alongside him — all alone?
So when he was finally released, he came home to you as quickly as he could. He didn't knock on the front door of your shared home; he teleported straight inside, and when you turned around from making yet another microwave meal, you dropped the shitty pasta that tasted like the plastic it came in onto the kitchen floor with a splatter of red sauce.
Neither of you stopped to take in the wreckage before you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs tightly around him to keep him from disappearing again.
You planned the wedding in secret. The two of you snuck away in between grueling strategy sessions, and you bought a cheap white cocktail dress with just enough lace to look like a bride, and you made Ijichi take five minutes to get ordained online.
He pronounced the two of you husband and wife, and Satoru kissed you like he still expected forever.
It wasn't the wedding he promised. It wasn't the wedding either of you dreamed of. But you couldn't stop smiling when he kissed you for the first time as your husband.
Then he reserved the most expensive honeymoon suite in town, for one single night. Just enough to celebrate your first night married before he has to leave.
Because both of you know he has to. It's never been a doubt that when a world-ending threat presented itself, Satoru would have to go.
He'd have to face it, and ultimately, he would be alone when he did.
But, at least for now, he's got you here with him.
He lets out a shaky breath as he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, letting his eyes close as he tries to slow down. He wants to cherish this moment. Wants to be able to hold this memory in his mind when he faces Sukuna — the curse inside the body of the boy he raised — and fight like he isn't terrified to end Megumi's life, too.
He wants to take you with him, even if it's only in the back of his mind and the ring on his finger.
You raise a hand, gentle as always, cradling his cheek in your palm like he's fragile. He lets out a small little huff, because you're the only one who treats him like that, like he's a treasure beyond mortal value.
"You okay?" you whisper, and when he opens his eyes again, he sees you looking up at him with equal amounts of tenderness and concern in your eyes. Your brows pinch together a little in the middle in the way he loves so much, because it means you care about him enough to worry.
At the sight, his lips curl up just a little at the corners, and he turns his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to your palm, so meaningful it makes your heart ache in the sweetest way. But the smile doesn't quite touch his eyes. After all this time, you can tell.
"Yeah," he whispers back, his lips brushing against your palm, and he looks at you with those eyes of cracked quartz, and you can see that flash of vulnerability there before he schools his expression back into that playful joy he always exudes when he's with you. "I'm perfect. Actually…" His fingers start to roam once more, dipping beneath lace as he puts on that familiar wolfish smile and lowers his voice, "I'm really eager to fuck my wife. That okay with you?"
You can't help it; you let out a breathy little laugh, eyes sparkling up at him as you allow him to skirt the question. You let him pull you into his chest once more, and he's looking down at you like he wants to eat you up and lick the plate clean, and you feel equal parts prey and beloved under his heated gaze. "You can't be a little more romantic?" you tease, though you don't really mean the complaint. You love when he tells you exactly what he wants to do with (to) you; it makes anticipation clench low in your belly as his voice coaxes you towards inevitable pleasure.
But he, as always, takes your tease in stride, his smile broadening into a grin as he leans down and murmurs, "You want me to say I'll make love to you? That I'll take my time, unwrap you like a gift? That I'll kiss every part of you just to profess my undying love?" His fingers toy with the edge of lace lining your skirt as he leans in just enough for his lips to brush your ear again, his voice lowering even further until it reaches an intimate purr, "But, baby…" His touch dips just slightly below the lace trim, his hands hot on your skin, "didn't I already do that at the altar?"
This time, you're not laughing. This time, at his touch, your breath hitches softly in the back of your throat. The heat of his hands seems to seep all the way through you to your very bones until it pools low in your belly.
And Satoru's six eyes follow the trail of fire, his grin never faltering.
Then he lifts those dangerous, taunting, loving eyes to meet yours, and both of you are already leaning towards each other, your lips parting before they even meet his.
When they do, it's like the raging inferno inside you finally erupts.
This kiss doesn't start slowly, romantically, sensually. It starts like he's trying to crawl inside you and taste every inch, like he wants to break you open like ripe fruit and devour your sweet flesh. His tongue swipes at your lower lip, and his hand is already coming up to squeeze your jaw and open you up for the taking. The kiss is sloppy, spit collecting at the corners of your lips, but he drinks it down like ambrosia, like he's desperate for it.
As the taste of you fills his mouth, he lets out a raged groan — equal parts relief for what he's been given and frenzy for what he still needs. His hand moves from your jaw to the back of your head, long fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head further. He's insatiable, now that he's had a taste of his newly wedded wife, his other hand gripping your thigh and sliding up, up, up under your skirt towards your ass, pushing up the lacy hem of your dress.
Then, before he can reach the curve of your backside, his fingers bump against something frilly and elastic, and he lets out a low, pained groan when he realizes it's a garter.
"Fuck, baby," he pants — almost whimpers — against your lips, his fingers toying with the scalloped edges. "I thought you said this shit was — what did you call it? — trad wife propaganda to make a spectacle out of your virginity?"
You pull back just enough to smile up at him, your teeth lightly grazing his lower lip as you do. He chases you momentarily, dilated pupils trained on your swollen, spit-glossed lips. You whisper, quiet and intimate, "Well, I'm not a virgin, and there's no one here to watch. Do you like it?"
Teasingly, so he doesn't lose the upper hand, he pulls the garter an inch and lets the elastic band snap! back into place against your outer thigh. You jump a little at the slight sting, a soft gasp escaping from between your lips. "I love it. Now, let me do this right." And before you can protest, or even ask what he means, he's finally backing you up against the edge of the bed and laying you down across the sheets and rose petals.
He takes a moment to look down at you, his bright eyes — lidded, now, with lust — trailing over every perfect inch of you. They trace your facial features, your pretty eyes and tempting lips, even the angle of your chin that leads lower. They trace the elegant slope of your neck, the curve of your collarbones into your shoulders, then back to your sternum where his view is obscured by your sweetheart neckline.
He grunts at the sight, the sound playful but needy at the edges. His large, warm palms glide up your plush thighs, pushing underneath your skirt.
And then his lips follow the path his eyes took, kissing his way down your face, your neck, your chest. Then he moves lower, settling his broad shoulders between your thighs, and ducks his head under your skirt, too.
His breath ghosts over your inner thighs, and your back arches just a little off the bed, expecting him to kiss his way up towards your cunt. But instead he kisses his way towards the top curve of your thigh, pausing when he reaches the frilly white garter.
He parts his lips and takes the lace between his teeth, and he slowly, teasingly, reverently tugs the elastic band down your thigh. As he does, his warm breath causes goosebumps to rise along your skin, and his lips brush your thigh as he drags the garter towards your knee.
Your pussy clenches at the languid, intimate sensations.
You can't see his expression beneath your skirt; he's fully obscured, hidden beneath the lace. But you can feel every movement he makes like electricity crackling over your skin, and your breathing starts to hitch at his light touches. You feel his rumbling hum against the sensitive skin of your thigh, and when the elastic finally crests your knee, he drags the garter off in one final, fluid movement. He finally emerges from beneath your skirt, his hair rumpled and his eyes heated as he meets your eyes once more.
The sight of that lace between his teeth makes the flame in your belly burst into an uncontrollable burn.
He turns his head and drops the garter to the bed beside you, and then he's moving back up your body, his hands still roaming your thighs beneath your dress, hiking the white fabric up around your hips. Both of you are breathing heavier, now, sharing heated air between your lips before he finally kisses you again, his mouth insistent on yours. His hands reach the curve of your ass and start kneading the plump flesh there, his fingers digging in as he pulls your hips forward to rock against his.
The delicious friction of his bulge nudging your thinly covered clit makes your head fall back against the pillows. You feel sparks of pleasure all the way to your fingertips every time your hips roll against each other. His eyes watch your reaction, taking it in and filing it away like he does with everything about you. He starts a slow but firm rhythm, the coarse fabric of his slacks dragging against the sheer fabric of your panties.
When your lashes start to flutter, pleasure burning through your core, he raises one hand to thread his fingers through your hair and keep you in place. "Eyes on me, baby," he pants against your lips, forcing you to watch him while he teases you.
You let out a soft, desperate whine, your brows creasing in a supplicant expression. You want him, need him, have waited to have him like this and now it feels like you're racing against the clock and you have to feel him, your husband, inside you before he leaves—
But he doesn't rush. He just grinds against you, soft grunts and little pants escaping. And all the while, your gazes are locked, intertwined so intimately it feels like you really are one soul now.
Bound forever, in love, in life, in death.
His hips start to stutter at the peak of each thrust, now, and you can feel his cock throbbing, twitching against your own swollen clit. A low, breathless groan rumbles through his chest. "Fuck," he whispers, his voice shaking slightly with the effort of holding himself back. "I g-gotta feel you, or I'm gonna—" He swallows thickly, his fingers tightening at your hips. "I'm gonna fucking cum before we get started."
You giggle quietly, your hands sinking into his thick hair. He shivers at the touch, his hips jerking against yours again. "I wouldn't mind seeing that," you tease, leaning in to nuzzle his nose affectionately with yours.
He lets out another playful growl, leaning in and pressing more messy, noisy kisses to your cheek and jaw, making you giggle harder again. "Next time," he promises, pulling away with an obnoxious mwahhh just to move his hands from your hips to the zipper between your shoulder blades.
His hand is warm against your spine as he drags the zipper down, opening up your last-minute wedding dress like you are, indeed, a perfectly wrapped gift.
Then he helps shimmy the dress down your body, and you lift your hips so he can remove it fully and drop it off the end of the bed.
His breath catches at the sight of your sheer white lingerie, and his hands pause at your hips like he can't believe you're so radiant beneath him.
"God," he huffs softly, shaking his head in disbelief as he traces his eyes over every inch of you. Your tits are cupped perfectly in unlined lace, and the white teddy follows the natural curves of your body, a thin lace gusset barely hiding what lies beneath. "My wife is so fucking beautiful." His voice shakes again, but this time it's with the overwhelming emotion flowing through him, affection and awe and astonishment that you're his for the rest of his life, and for every moment after.
Your eyes soften, and one hand trails down from his hair to gently stroke his cheek. "I love you," you whisper, for the millionth time, knowing it will never be enough.
He lets out a heavy breath and leans back in to kiss you, catching your lips with ragged desperation. His palm grazes up your tummy towards your breasts, cupping one and giving a gentle, lingering squeeze before moving to the other.
"I love you, too," he rasps against your mouth, sounding winded, like the sheer amount of love in his body has knocked the breath out of him. "So, so much."
And then he slowly, gently removes your lingerie, leaving you — finally — fully bare beneath him.
He's still fully dressed, even as he lowers himself between your thighs, pushing your knees apart so his shoulders can fit. His eyes finally lock on your dripping, puffy cunt, and he lets his breath brush against your slick folds for one long moment, then two. Your hips rise in anguish, a soft whine bubbling up as you wordlessly beg him to taste you…
He relents, and drags his tongue against your heated core, letting out a deep groan as his eyes roll back at your taste. He licks from your dripping, clenching entrance to your throbbing clit, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as he finally touches you. Your cunt quivers under the stimulation, and your thighs twitch on either side of his head as pleasure sparks deep inside your gut.
And then, all at once, he's no longer teasing. No longer holding back. He spreads your folds with his thumbs and starts to feast, like he's been starving for you all day. He sucks on your clit, shooting another arc of tingling pleasure through you. Your pussy squeezes desperately around nothing, and it's so much so suddenly that you cry out, your hips jolting against his mouth.
His eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he raises them to meet yours, and one hand comes up to hold your hip firmly against the mattress.
He suckles on your clit in deep, rhythmic pulls, his tongue rubbing insistently against it for dual stimulation. You feel your clit throb harder, your cunt clench tighter, and you let out a weak plea, "Oh, god…!"
He never once pulls away, not even to smirk up at you and teasingly ask, "Already, baby?" He knows you need this, need him to draw this pleasure out of you like poison out of a wound, and he knows just how to eat you out to make you lose your mind. You chase the pleasure he so willingly and eagerly gives, feebly rolling your hips against his tongue. The motion grinds your clit so perfectly that you can't help but cry out another symphony of needy whimpers and drawn out moans.
Even after all these years, your climax comes crashing down on you embarrassingly quick. Your head hits the pillows, and you're practically singing for him while he plays you like his favorite instrument. Your walls clamp down hard, your thighs going rigid as you finally tumble over the edge of the peak of tear-jerking pleasure. The moans that fall from your lips are loud and uninhibited, and you can feel the pride radiating off of him as he helps you ride out your orgasm, his tongue never stopping its quick, determined movements against your clit.
But when your hips finally fall still against the mattress and your chest rises and falls with blissed out gasps, he doesn't pull away. He keeps his eyes on your face, his hands on your hips, and his mouth on your clit.
Your eyes roll back, your fingers curl desperately into the sheets for something to hold onto, and your back arches into a brutal curve. Another loud moan rips its way out of you, so intense you're sure the neighbors are already calling the front desk to make a noise complaint. The pleasure that had no chance to recede now continues to build, heat flaring through you so brightly that it's nearly blinding, your vision flashing white. But Satoru doesn't ease up; he just continues sucking on your clit, keeping that same steady, mind-melting rhythm.
Your first orgasm doesn't even have time to end before you're cumming again on his tongue. And still he doesn't stop, too caught up in the sights and sounds of your pleasure to pull away. You try to roll out from under him, the motions thoughtless and instinctual as the sensations crest, almost too intense now. But his fingers dig into your hips more firmly, keeping you locked beneath him as he watches your expression crumple, your moans turning into thoughtless cries as you finally release the sheets, only to grip his hair tightly, sobbing out his name. You're not even sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer.
"F-fuck," you hiccup, your back rising off the bed once more as your voice pitches higher and higher, "I-I'm gonna—"
He hums against your clit, never slowing or interrupting his rhythm as he nods, just a little. Encouraging you, telling you it's okay, more than okay, exactly what he wants from you.
With his permission, you shatter.
The tension that has been building in your pelvis and abdomen and thighs, the tightness in your muscles that felt so good it was almost painful, finally gives way to shuddering waves of intensity. Your brain is mush; you're not even sure this is pleasure anymore. It feels more like desolation, destruction, the tearing apart of your mind and piecing it together in the way he conducts it.
As you cum once more, your sobbing moans filling the suite with broken, melodic tones, you feel that tension melt in the inferno of your ecstasy, and that burning heat erupts between your legs, soaking Satoru's chin and lips and parts of his cheeks.
You can't see him through your dark, hazy vision, or past the single tear that sears its way down your temple towards your hairline, but he's looking up at you like you just offered him nectar of the gods.
When the waves finally settle, and your body sags against the bed, Satoru finally lets go with a lewd pop. He doesn't pull away, though, instead slowly and gently licking you clean, his eyes still on your face the whole time.
Your mind is so foggy, pulverized to dust after the back-to-back orgasms, that you don't even really process that he's still touching you. Your body is almost numb in the wake of your pleasure, tingling up your limbs all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. Your chest heaves with each burdened gasp, your eyes half-open but unseeing as you let the aftershocks slowly bleed out of you. It takes you a couple minutes to get your breathing under control, and even once it starts to slow, you still can't lift your head from the pillows. Finally, once he's mostly cleaned you up — there's little he can do about the damp spot in the sheets below you — he lifts his head and grins up at you, pressing a gentle, affectionate kiss to your trembling thigh.
"Good, baby?" he asks softly, pulling away just enough to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his dress shirt. You just watch him, still panting softly, but a small, hazy smile tugs at the corners of your lips.
He smiles back and presses one last kiss to your thigh before trailing his kisses upwards once more. They're slower, now, more intimate. He pauses momentarily with every press of his lips, letting you feel the heat of his mouth and the adoration behind each kiss. As he works his way up your body, his body finally presses against yours again, his hard, aching dick pressing between your puffy lower lips. His hips settle between yours, and he groans as your heat seeps right through his slacks.
You whimper and move your hands to his sides, tugging impatiently on the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. "Why are you still dressed?" you complain, pouting when he pulls back to look at your face.
He lets out a breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in to whisper teasingly in your ear, "Impatient, are we?"
Before you can answer, or whine again, he leans back, kneeling tall between your legs, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You watch as he does, watch his long slender fingers work over the buttons, watch the way the tendons in his hands flex and contract, watch the way shadows shift over the veins there, making his hands look capable and strong. You watch as the buttons come undone, watch his hands move lower with every inch of his thin undershirt he reveals.
He reaches the last button, tugging the fabric away from his broad shoulders. Then he grabs the undershirt at the back of the collar, pulling it over his head in a seductive move that makes your pussy throb every time you see him do it.
He tosses the undershirt aside, and when he looks back at you, you're still staring.
His grin turns lopsided and cocky as he watches you take him in. "Like what you see?" he taunts playfully, reaching for his belt now.
You sit up slightly, pressing your bare chest against his. His breath catches at the sudden contact, but he doesn't push you back down; he lets you raise your hands to his ribs, lets you trace every ridge of his muscular sides and chest.
You slowly dip your fingers along the line between his abs, watching them jump beneath your touch. "Let me," you whisper, running a delicate nail down his coarse happy trail all the way to the waistband of his pants.
As your hands close in around the buckle of his belt, you hear him swallow harshly. One of his strong, capable hands reaches back to thread through your hair once more, just for something to hold onto as you unbuckle his belt and slowly slide the premium leather through the loops, the fabric hissing softly.
You pop open the button and metal closure of his pants, too, and quietly drag down the zipper. But instead of pulling them down, you let the fabric hang open, his obscene bulge only thinly obscured by his tight black boxers. You sit for a moment, letting him stew, just like he had when he was undressing you. Then you lean forward those few final inches and start pressing kisses — equally slow and sensual — against his chest and belly. Your tongue drags, hot and slow, up his sternum, and he shudders against your mouth, his head falling back with a soft groan. His fingers tighten in the hair at the back of your head, pressing your mouth more firmly against his skin.
He worshiped you; now you want to return the favor.
His skin on your lips and tongue is warm and smooth, and he tastes like soap and a hint of sweat. His pale skin is so easy to mark that you can't help but bite down on his shoulders, his neck, his pecs. You suck loving little bruises everywhere you can reach, and as one hand curls through his hair, right above his undercut, to hold his head aside while you kiss and bite and lick his throat, the other runs slowly over his chest and abs, back down to where he's hard and leaking beneath his underwear.
He lets out another groan, this one turning into a needy whine at the end. His cock throbs against your palm, and when your touch ventures lower so you can teasingly cup and squeeze his balls through the fabric, he grabs your hand to stop you.
His voice is strained when he says, "I wasn't kidding before; I'm gonna cum in my fucking pants if you keep touching me like that."
Before you can respond, before you can say that you weren't kidding when you said you'd love to see that for yourself, he gives your shoulder a gentle, guiding push back towards the mattress.
When you're comfortably nestled back against the pillows once more, your eyes never leaving his flushed face, he reaches down and hurries to pull down his pants and boxers in one frantic movement. Once he chucks the fabric off the end of the bed towards the opposite corner of the suite, he's on top of you again, leaning down to kiss you, his lips clumsy against yours.
You moan into his mouth as his tongue messily swipes against yours; you love when he gets like this, losing that omnipresent control he has over his entire body in favor of letting you see and hear and feel him at his rawest moments. His hand trembles and fumbles as he takes his cock in hand and nudges the tip against your sensitive cunt, the tip bumping your clit just enough to make your hips jolt again.
Then the thick head slowly sinks inside you, stretching you open in the most devastating and loving way.
He lets out another breathy whimper, his fingers curling into the pillowcase beside your head. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the willpower it takes to go slow and not ravage you in this bed. He lets out a shaky breath against your neck and pushes in another inch, his motion smooth and slow, even as his hand tightens into a fist to try and control himself.
The fullness inside you is almost immediately overwhelming. He stretches you out so perfectly, fills you to the brim and then a little further, reaching places you've only ever fantasized about before him. The slide is easy, with how wet you are, but he still takes it slow, making you wait to feel him fully inside.
You drag your palms up his muscular back, feeling every swell and ridge as you pull him tighter against your chest until you can feel his heartbeat against yours. You lift your lips to his ear and whisper, "Let me have it… I wanna feel you."
He shudders at your words, his hips jerking as he tries to maintain his slow, tender pace. "I'll f-fucking lose it," he breathes back, his voice ragged, body trembling under your hands. "I can't—"
"Then don't," you say, your voice still hushed in his ear. "I'm yours, however you want me."
His breath stills, and so do the movements of his hips. He's still shaking above you, and his hand clenches even tighter in the pillowcase; you can feel every hard muscle against your body tighten up. You pull away slightly, brows creasing in concern, your lips parting to ask him if he's okay—
Before you can, those strong hands go from gentle and adoring to ruthless and unyielding. He grabs the backs of your thighs and pushes them roughly towards your chest, punching a squeal from between your lips. His gaze is intense, now, trained on your dripping cunt instead of your face, and he watches his length drive inside you mercilessly. His lips part, and those beautiful eyes roll back into his head, and he moans like he's the one getting fucked this deep, this roughly, this all-consumingly.
You, the willing and eager subject of his desperation, can only arch beneath him and let out a wordless cry that rings out loudly in the hotel room.
"My beautiful wife," he whispers, his adoring words soothing the ache that his pistoning hips cause. He hikes one of your legs up further, throwing it over his shoulder to free his hand, just so he can reach up and cradle your cheek, his thumb hooking under your chin so he has a hold on your jaw to tilt your face towards his. You lean into his touch, whimpering as he bullies deeper, holding you so tenderly while he snaps his hips into yours. "Such a p-perfect fucking pussy… so tight and w-warm…" He groans again, leaning in to catch your lips in a bruising kiss before he pulls away just enough to pant into your mouth, "F-fuck, I'm cumming—"
And you, to encourage him, to draw it out, to send him over the edge, let your walls clench tightly around him, your own moans tumbling out as his rhythm falters. He lets out a low groan that pitches into a whine, his movements becoming uncoordinated but no less intense as he chases his peak. His body shudders beneath your hands, between your legs, and then his muscles all tighten and he drops his head to your shoulder, chanting breathless praises as he cums deep inside you, your leg still hitched over his shoulder to keep you open.
"So good," he whispers brokenly against your neck, "so good for me."
You feel every twitch of his cock inside you, every hot pulse of cum painting your walls, and it makes your pussy quiver, knowing that he's filling you up as your husband this time.
You can tell the thought is driving him crazy, too. He's still trembling as his orgasm bleeds out of him, leaving him heavy on top of you, and your hands are soft and soothing on his back. You feel him relax against your body, and you let your eyes close, enjoying the moment, the intimacy, the peace.
Then you feel his chest expand with a deep inhale, and he pulls away from the crook of your neck. Your eyes flutter open, and you expect him to be looking at you in that soft, loving way that usually indicates the night is slowly ending and you'll soon be drifting off, wrapped in his arms.
Instead, you open your eyes to find Satoru's on yours, intense and glowing with a faint, feral light.
A thrill runs up your spine, and you can feel the slight buzz of his cursed energy flaring against your skin. You part your lips to ask what he's doing, to tease if he's finally going to show off what he can do when he's riled up, but then you feel his softening cock twitch once inside you.
Then your eyes widen when you feel him getting hard inside you again.
"Satoru!" you whisper, and his fingers dig into your plush hips, like he's holding onto whatever control he has left. "Are you—?"
He doesn't let you continue. He just grabs your other leg, now, and props it on his shoulder, spreading you open as wide as he can. His chest is still heaving up and down after his orgasm, but his RCT brings his body right back onto the field for another round. He leans back slightly so he can watch his cock slide in and out of your cunt, his glossy lips parted as a thick ring of white forms around the base.
"Fuck, look at that," he chokes out, his hands moving back to your thighs to push them flat against your chest, holding you in half while your feet dangle helplessly over his shoulders. "So fucking pretty. Look so good all full of me. Gonna f-fill you up so much."
You whine at the change in position; every thrust now drives his cock right against your g-spot, and that familiar pressure builds more intense in your pelvis. He leans over you once more, his lips right above yours, panting as he fucks down into you. "Come on, baby," he says, his expression half wild with need. "Tell me you want it. Tell me to fill you up till it's dripping out of you."
He's fucking the air right out of your lungs, and your eyes are dazed and mind hazy as you stare desperately into his eyes, but you manage to breathlessly stammer out, "Y-yes, I w-want it."
He pins your legs further against your chest, smushing your tits under your thighs as he drives in faster, harder. Pleasure sparks down to your toes, and you feel like you're gonna burst again, but he keeps going, going, going, forcing you through it. "How bad, hm baby? How bad do you want it?"
You sob out a moan, thighs shaking between your chest and his. "S-so bad, Satoru. W-want to be f-full of you. Want you to—" —hic— "—breed me."
At the word, at the sheer meaning behind it, his whole body locks up, and even his breathing stops for a moment before he lets out a low, shuddering groan and starts up again with new fervor. "You better mean that," he growls, "because now I'm not resting until it takes."
You nod desperately, eyes rolling back and lips falling open in a silent cry as he abuses that spot inside you that sends you reeling. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and he doesn't let up, even as that pressure in your belly explodes once more into another climactic gush. He doesn't even take a moment to pause; he just fucks you through it, the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping filling the suite.
When he cums again, he drags his hips against yours in a slow, ragged grind. And this time, he doesn't slow down before his RCT crackles across his shoulders and his dick hardens once more inside you.
He doesn't stop, or even pause, until he's so sensitive it hurts.
Sweat drips down his temples, and every breath is ragged against your neck. His muscular body trembles with the effort to stay on top of you, to fill you just one more time, to make sure it takes because, in the end, he's not sure you'll have much else to remember him by if this all goes sideways.
And fuck, does he hope it doesn't go sideways.
He wants, desires so deeply it carves a hollow in his chest, to have this life with you. This is just the beginning of your story as husband and wife, and he wants all the rest of the plot, too. Maybe he's selfish, but he thinks he deserves to be after all this time.
He tries to convince his body to keep moving. To just gather his strength, like he has so many times before, and fuck his wife like you deserve.
But his arms shake violently as he props himself up over you, and his breath is heavy and ragged, and for a few moments, he can't decide between keeping up the fight and finally letting himself rest.
Your gentle hands — shaking, too, but still cradling him like the center of your universe — convince him of the latter.
He practically collapses on top of you, his worn and exhausted muscles trembling against your soft body. His breath is hot and labored as he presses his face into your neck, and he doesn't even have the energy to pull out yet.
You don't complain; you never do. You just hold him, your own body relaxing beneath his as you both revel in the afterglow.
Time passes in a fugue, the edges of both your consciousnesses hazy, like evening light through the blinds. Eventually he finally lifts himself back up, pressing a tired, loving kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out. Semen floods out of you onto the sheets below, and his movements are tender as he wipes you clean with a warm, soft washcloth.
When he comes back to bed, a towel now beneath your hips so you don't have to lie in the cold, damp spot of the evidence of your mutual release, he gingerly pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as you rest your head over his heart.
You're both quiet for a while. His fingers, exhausted but somehow restless, trace faint shapes over your belly, like he's imagining what he may have given you there. His eyes are closed, those long frosty lashes resting against the tops of his cheekbones, and you watch your husband for a long, quiet moment.
Eventually, when you can no longer help it, you speak. Your voice shakes a little as you whisper, breaking the silence, "Satoru?"
He hums, his arm tightening around your shoulders. His eyes don't open. "What is it, baby?" he mumbles, sounding half asleep and drunk in the aftermath.
Faintly, like you don't want to admit it, "I'm scared."
His hand pauses its motions on your tummy. But after a short moment, he just lets out a soft, casual chuckle and starts rubbing again. "Don't be scared," he says, his voice quiet and confident. He doesn't even open his eyes. "I'm the strongest."
But you can feel the tension beneath his words, and you know he's scared, too.
You rest your head back on his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you towards sleep. And you don't know what's coming tomorrow, or the day after that, but at least for now, you're in the arms of your lover, your new husband, on a honeymoon you wish would last just a little bit longer.
thanks for reading! -luna xx
link to ao3 | masterlist
Gojo already knows you’re ovulating, your health app is linked to his phone, so he’s not surprised when he wakes up to you straddling his lap and grinding against him. What he is surprised about is how many times you both have finished and yet you are still insatiable.
“More. I need more Toru,” you whine, planting your hands on his chest, grinding against his cock while he whimpers and writhes underneath you.
“Take what you need, baby,” he replies, his face screwing into one of overstimulation, but it fades into pleasure again when his cock twitches against your soaking pussy.
You waste no time in reaching between you and gripping onto the base of him to line him up at your entrance. His hands grip onto the fat of your thighs, steadying you from your frantic movements, watching you through half-lidded, fucked out eyes.
Sinking down on him, an obscene moan rips from your throat while his cock fills you up, leaving no space inside of you empty just the way you like it. The thick head of his length is nestled against your cervix, his shaft is twitching against your sweet spot with every micro-movement, and when your nails dig into his chest from pleasure, he can’t help but buck his hips up into you while hissing.
“Still so t-tight,” he groans, his grip on you turns punishing as his head falls back against the pillows.
You fall with him, chest against chest, your lips finding each and every single inch of bare skin they can find. Kissing his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, just behind his ear, the rough skin of his chest, all open-mouthed and wet. Your knees dig into the mattress as you slide off him until you reach the tip, and you bounce in his lap when you come back down.
“Feels so g-good Toru.”
Skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with mixed moans and groans, the smell of sex is so thick you could taste it. Your pussy is beyond lubricated from rounds and rounds so his cock glides in and out with little friction.
“Mhm,” is all he can manage to get out, his eyes shutting tight, mouth falling open the faster you ride him, the deeper his cock reaches, the harder you bounce.
You moan against his neck, mouth hanging open, drool dripping from your chin and strings of saliva connecting you to his skin. Your eyes stay open despite the tears staining your cheeks, you simply don’t want to miss the sight of THE Satoru Gojo so fucked out he can barely speak.
Every time your ass hits his thighs, the air is knocked out of his lungs resulting in breathy gasps, ones that you swallow immediately when your lips capture him. Your tongues dance around together, exploring the expanse that is not unknown, greedily taking each and every sound of pleasure.
“Need y-you to fill me u-up,” you whimper, grinding your hips down when he is buried to the hilt, feeling his cock twitch over and over again with tired desire and orgasmic pleasure.
His hands find your hips, steadying himself just barely before driving up into you. He fucks you relentlessly, not letting up for a single second, his hips rolling into yours until your body collapses against his.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your raw walls, your pussy molding to the familiar feeling of his cock, clenching down tight around him when he tries to pull out as if you never want him to leave. Your clit drags against the skin of his lower abdomen, your nipples brushing on the skin of his chest, his cock bullying your insides, and all of it pushes you over the edge.
“F-fuck, cumming… I’m c-cumming Toru,” you whine, body moving frantically with him, your climax peaking while your back arches and toes curl against the sheets.
Your body becomes rigid, muscle drawing taut as your orgasm begins to run through you. Cum gushes from your pussy, coating his length and dripping down his skin, pooling against the bed and leaving a mess to clean up later. Moans fall from your lips repeatedly, incoherent words mixing with his name right against his ear and it has him shooting his seed into you just from the sound of your honey sweet voice.
“Y-yeah? Just like this, right b-baby?”
With a few more thrusts he’s burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and leaking against your cervix. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, copious amounts coating your walls and leaking back out when no more will fit. It drips off your skin, falling into the mess from your own orgasm as proof of shared pleasure.
Gojo’s thrusts come to a stop, and his hands find your back immediately. He rubs against your spine, his thumb circling the soft skin as he soothes you, doing his best to catch his breath and recuperate.
Heavy breathing fills the air, hearts pounding against chests, bodies that are slick with sweat. You rest your head against his chest, coming down from your drawn-out climax, his cock still stuffed deep inside you.
“More,” you breathlessly say, fingers curling against his skin, your pussy already beginning to clamp down on his length once more.
“No. No more. What are you trying to do… kill me?”
You laugh softly, moving your head to kiss his chest, sucking ever so slightly on the skin before moving up to his face. You rest your forehead against his, lashes fluttering as you gaze at him, his own gaze falling upon yours.
“Aw, I thought the strongest would at least be able to handle a few more rounds,” you tease, pecking his lips and making a move to get off him.
Quicker than you can process, he has you flat on your back, cock still buried deep, and your legs wrapped around his waist. You gasp from the movement, staring up at him hovering above you, his fingers curling in the sheets as his arms cage your head in.
“Now that you mention it…”
Suguru Geto
Geto usually makes love to you, sweet and slow sex from the side, or you on top so he could watch your face and see every inch of your body, but right now you needed him to fuck you like his life depended on it instead of the sensual rounds he has been giving you repeatedly tonight.
“Sugu, baby… I need you to fuck me,” you whine, pushing your ass back against him where he lays behind you, stuffing his cock impossibly deep inside your pussy until the head is nestled against your cervix.
“Is that not what I am doing sweet girl,” he asks, kissing your back softly, moving to your shoulder, then your neck where he sucks the skin gently just to leave purple bruises behind.
His hips roll against you, his cock filling you up with precision, hitting every last spot inside of you. Hands on your hips, fingers digging into your fat, he groans in your ear as he watches your pussy swallow him whole.
Your ovulation has you bouncing off the walls though, craving him, specifically the meanest parts of him right now. Pushing against his thigh, you signal for him to pull out, and when he does you look over your shoulder to face him and really get your point across.
“Fuck me mean, not have sex with me softly.”
That is the last sentence you get out before Geto pounces on you.
Flat on your back, head buried in the pillows, he has your ankles by your ears with your pussy bare to him. He slams his cock back inside you, and without giving you any time to adjust, he starts his relentless, punishing pace you begged for.
“This is what you wanted, right,” he coos, tilting his head to the side in question, waiting for your answer.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no space inside of you empty for too long. He thrusts hard and deep, going faster each time when his balls hit your ass and his skin slaps against yours. His fingers dig into the fat of your calves, pushing your legs against your chest, keeping you steady while he abuses your pussy.
You can’t even form a single thought, let alone find enough brain power to answer his question. Your mouth hangs open, moans leaking from you, drool dripping from your chin and onto the pillow below you. The bare skin of your thighs rubs against your nipples, stimulating you even further, and when you clench around him, he hisses from the tightness.
“I did not hear you,” he growls, fucking you harder, giving you painfully pleasurable strokes.
When all you do is moan and whimper his name in response, he takes one hand off your calf and slaps you across the face soft enough to feel good. Your eyes shoot open, watching a smirk pull at his lips before your gaze falls to where your pussy takes his impossibly large length. The pain turns to pleasure quickly when his thumb runs over the burning skin, soothing but punishing you at the same time.
“Answer me sweet girl, or I will stop.”
One hand grips the sheets, your fingers tangling in fabric, the other reaches down to push at his abdomen, begging him to let up on your poor body. He laughs softly, and thrusts harder.
“’s too much Sugu,” you whine, trying to squirm out from under him, but your pussy clenches tight like it never wants him to leave.
“Don’t run from something you asked for,” he growls, pulling you back down onto his cock, refusing to let you get away from him.
He angles you just enough to hit your sweet spot, and when your back arches from the bed as you cry out for him, he knows exactly how to wear you out. He places one leg on his shoulder, moving his hand to your lower belly, and he pushes against it to feel himself digging around deep in you.
“So c-close,” you whine, your body melting into his touch but shrinking away at the same time.
His thumb brushes against your clit, just once, just enough for goosebumps to line your skin and for your moans to turn completely breathless. He watches your face contort into pleasure, watches your body writhe beneath him, watches the way your swollen clit seems to beg for him.
“Yeah? Cum on my dick then… be a good girl, won’t you?”
He gathers slick to bring it up to your sensitive bundle of nerves before rubbing tight, quick circles on your clit, the pace matching his thrusts. Geto fucks you deeper, making sure to slam against your cervix and brush against your sweet spot, anything to get you to cum on his dick and tire you out at the same time.
“F-fuck, right there S-Sugu… I’m-“
Before you can finish your sentence your orgasm rushes through you, making your body become rigid and your muscles draw taut. Your walls flutter and clench around his length in rhythmic pulses as cum gushes from your pussy, leaking down his cock and making a mess between the two of you.
Your nails dig into his lower abdomen, the others gripping at the sheets as if it is your lifeline, and he grunts from the pleasurable pain of you. He tries to hold back his whimpers, but the second he glances down and catches sight of your cream coating his base, he cums immediately.
“Shit, so goddamn wet and t-tight… gonna fill you up so m-much.”
With a few more thrusts he is burying himself to the hilt with a final slam, cursing under his breath from how consuming the pleasure is. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy as his cock pulses deep inside of you, coating your walls, stream after stream pumping out against your cervix until it is leaking from you.
His movements come to a stop, and he releases your legs from his mean mating press just to collapse on top of you. His skin is warm, sweat slicking every part of him, his cock still buried deep as he tries to catch his breath.
Every clench of your pussy has him whimpering with overstimulation, and you watch his body jerk against yours while the two of you come down from the shared high. After a while he pushes himself up onto his elbows, hovering above your face, and leaning down to pepper your skin with the softest kisses.
“Did that do the job,” he asks in between kisses, his hands gliding over your skin, caressing you after fucking you oh-so mean.
“Mhm,” you hum out, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him against you again.
He laughs quietly, snuggling into you, melting as you run your fingers through his long, dark hair. He has no plans to move, in fact, he could go a few more rounds if you want.
Kento Nanami
Nanami is tired, although he will never admit it out loud, you can tell by the way his pace and rhythm falters after so many rounds. He doesn’t want to leave you high and dry while you’re ovulating though, in fact, he figures maybe he should bring out the big guns to really wear you out.
With his cock shoved deep inside your pussy, chest to chest, he rests his forehead against yours, heavily breathing while he places soft kisses to your lips. He reaches over, opening the drawer of your nightstand, and pulls out your vibrator.
He isn’t one to shy away from the best help he can get in bed.
He turns its on and the buzzing immediately floods your ears. Without wasting any time, he places it against your clit and resumes his thrusts. You back arches from the bed, the vibrations running through you mixed with the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix and sweet spot repeatedly has your toes curling against the sheets.
“Ken, f-fuck,” you moan out, your hand grabbing his wrist, pushing him away and pulling him closer all at once.
“That feel good, baby?”
He thrusts into you steadily, hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs, slow enough to feel like he’s making love to you. Elbow digging into the mattress, his arm cages around your head, bringing you closer to him as his fingers tangle in your hair. Your legs wrap around his waist, planting your hands on his chest, and he leans down until his warm breath is hitting your soft lips.
“So g-good,” you whine, rolling your hips against the vibrator, chasing the feeling of your high that is already so close.
Nanami pulls you into a kiss, your lips moving together in tandem, before sliding his tongue over your lips and entering your mouth. He explores slowly, mapping every inch of space as he greedily swallows your sounds of pleasure. Every few seconds he pulls away, a low groan rumbling through his chest while his cock twitches in the very depths of your pussy.
“So wet and tight… you feel so good around me,” he praises, peppering kisses along your jaw, your neck where he sucks and bites the skin ever so slightly, your shoulder where he licks long stripes to taste the salty-sweet of you, and it drives you insane.
His pace picks up, thrusting into you quicker now, encouraged by the way your walls clench and flutter around his length. Your nails dig into the rough skin of his chest, pleasuring him painfully, and while your head falls back against the pillow you cry out for him.
Your mouth hangs open ever so slightly, drool leaking from your lips and dripping down your chin. Your moans come out broken, in short breathy gasps every time he slams against your cervix, whimpering softly when he pulls back out just to do it all over again.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you to the brim, molding your insides to fit him and making sure to hit every part of you. He doesn’t leave you empty for long, always sliding his length back inside until he’s buried as deep as he can go. His shaft twitches against your sweet spot, brushing past it with precision, tip leaking precum that beads from his slit and sticks to you like glue.
“Cum for me, sweet girl. Let me f-feel you,” he says, the words turning into a ragged beg at the end, his fingers moving to turn up the setting on the vibrator to push you over the edge.
He thrusts deeper, harder, faster, anything to get you to where you need to be. You’re so close, your orgasm sitting in your lower belly ready to snap like a spring coiled tight, and the sound of his voice cracking and begging only stimulates you further.
“S-shit… gonna c-cum Ken, p-please,” you whine, rolling your hips frantically, bucking them up and pushing them down again before repeating the motion.
The urge fills your body, heavy and delicious, and you can’t seem to hold back when he knocks against your cervix again. Warm streams of squirt shoot from you, getting everything wet. It coats his cock, soaks his skin and drips down until it pools in the sheets. Your body twitches from the force of pleasure running through you, and you push away the vibrator to let him draw your high out with just his cock.
“There you g-go,” he coos, setting the vibrator down and running his hand along the length of your side, caressing the skin as he drives himself to his own release.
With every thrust of his cock, more squirt leaks out, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sight. There is nothing like seeing his wife writhe with pleasure underneath him. The thought alone has him cumming.
A guttural groan tears from his chest, and he buries himself to the hilt, pumping so slowly into you while he gives himself to his climax. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, coating your walls, seeping in past your cervix and leaking out when no more will fit all at the same time. He rocks inside you, his forehead resting against yours, and he kisses you with pure passion and relief.
You pull away, breathing heavily, gasping for the same air he steals from you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he buries his face there, smelling the sweat and aroma of your arousal and release mixing together. The room reeks of sex, thick enough in the air you could taste it. The sheets are wet, your body is tired, and all he wants to do is roll over and pull you into his arms to go to sleep.
“Do you feel better, baby,” he asks, his words vibrating against your skin, and he punctuates it with a soft kiss.
“So much better, Kenny baby.”
Hiromi Higuruma
Higuruma slipped into the shower early morning for work, trying his hardest not to wake you, but you inevitably stir from your dreams and make your way towards the bathroom. You step into the shower without a word, silent and sneaky, and wrap your arms around his waist.
He mumbles out a tired apology, continuing to let the water run down his skin, but stops in his tracks when your hand grazes too low. Your fingers ruffle through his happy trail, tickling the sensitive skin of his abdomen unintentionally, before moving lower, and lower.
Wrapping your hand around his base, you squeeze tight, taking in his groan that rumbles through his body and vibrates through your own as his cock grows hard from your touch. The water falls against your hand, making it easy to glide, and you rub his tip with your thumb where precum begins to bead. His body shudders against you, his back pressing into your chest when you begin to stroke his length.
He turns around quickly, placing two hands on the back of your thighs, and hiking you up his body until your legs wrap around his waist. You kiss him rough, needy, and you gasp against his mouth when the cold shower wall hits your back. Goosebumps rise along your skin, the frigid tile, your nipples against his chest, your hands roaming every inch of his body you could reach, you need him and you need him now.
“Want it that bad, huh,” he asks, resting his forehead against yours, catching his breath from your all-consuming kiss.
“Please Romi,” you whisper, rolling your hips against him, begging him for it.
You reach down between the two of you, grabbing hold of his cock, and lining it up with your entrance. He pushes in slow, letting your walls mold to his length, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him as he fills every last inch of your aching pussy.
“F-fuck, so b-big,” you gasp out, burying your face in his neck, placing wet, out-mouthed kisses against his skin.
When his tip hits your cervix, he pulls out, hissing from the tightness of your walls clamping down on him for dear life, and slams back into you. Your back slides against the tile, but he holds you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants so he can thrust into you effortlessly.
“Yeah? I’m making you feel good?”
His balls clap against your skin with his steady movements, hips rolling against yours to dig deep inside of you, his length brushes past your sweet spot and your back is arching from the tile wall. Your toes curl against his skin, nails digging into his back, and your teeth nip at his neck from the uncontainable pleasure running through you.
“So g-good,” you cry out, your sounds of pleasure vibrating against his skin, your touch burning through him.
You bring one hand down, finding your clit with ease, and begin rubbing tight, quick circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. He groans from the sight, pounding into you harder, faster, deeper, eager to watch you cum on him.
“Look at you, so needy,” he says, moving one hand to your ass, the other trailing up your back and letting his fingers tangle in your hair.
He pulls on it, pulling your face out of his neck, gazing at your fucked out look. Your eyes are half-lidded, mouth hanging open ever so slightly as drool drips from your chin, and he watches as your hips roll desperately against your own fingers to chase your orgasm.
“You feel so good around me.”
His words sound like music to your ears, the praise rumbling through your body and landing right in the pool of heat sitting in your lower belly. Your hand works faster at your clit, body moving frantically with a desire so strong its almost overwhelming. He grunts when your walls clench around him, so tight he can barely thrust into you, knowing that you are so close.
“Eyes on me when you cum,” he says, voice stern and leaving no room for argument, not that you would argue anyways so you nod your head and peel your eyes open.
Cum gushes from your entrance, leaking down the length of his cock, running down his skin before the water washes everything away. He glances down, watching as your pussy swallows him whole, at the way your slick and cum leave a sticky cream at his base, and he moves as if he is going to pull out.
“Gonna cum, f-fuck.”
“C-cum in me Romi, p-please,” you beg shamelessly, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, locking your ankles at the dip of his back.
“In you? B-baby… aren’t you ovulating,” he groans, his cock twitching at the request, the thought of him filling you up at a time like this only pushing him closer and closer to his climax.
You nod your head, saying yes and begging all at once, and he is never the type to tell you no.
His pace falters, his hips stutter against yours, and with a few more thrusts he’s burying himself to the hilt and spilling his seed against your cervix. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, coating your walls as his cock twitches and pulses rhythmically. It leaks out when there’s no more room left inside of you, dripping onto the shower floor and washing away without leaving a mess.
His body slumps against yours after drawing out the shared high until both of you are twitching and whimpering. Slowly, he lowers you to the shower floor, planting his hands on your hips to keep you steady as your legs wobble, and he buries his face in your neck.
“Stay home from work,” you whisper breathlessly, resting your forehead against his, placing a feather light kiss to his lips.
He laughs softly, pulling away to really get a good look at you, and shakes his head in disbelief.
“To do what? Have sex all day?”
You place your hands on your hips, sticking one leg out and letting your foot tap once.
“And why do you say it like it’s the worst idea you’ve ever heard,” you ask, tilting your head to the side in question, getting irritated by his response.
“Actually… now that I’m thinking about it, that's a great idea, baby. Let’s do it.”
“Mhm.”
Toji Fushiguro
Toji loves when you’re needy, so needy that it clouds your brain and the only thing on it is how much you want to get fucked by him. It makes his cock impossibly hard, which is when you are bent over the arm of the couch, pussy completely bare for him and being stuffed with every last inch of his length.
One hand is spread on your lower belly, pressing into the soft skin, he groans while feeling himself dig around inside of you. His other hand cups your breasts, fingers pulling at your nipple, feeling it harden from his touch. He has your feet knocked far apart as he stands tall behind you, pounding into you like a rabid animal.
“You like that? Feels good don’t it,” he coos, leaning down to press a rough kiss to your spine, relishing the way you shiver from the sudden touch.
Nodding your head yes, you arch your back further, the new angle seeming to let him reach even deeper inside of you while hitting all the perfect spots with a learned precision. You reach behind you, pushing against his lower abdomen, silently begging him to let up on your poor abused pussy, but all he does is push it away while he laughs under his breath.
“Take it. You wanted it so bad so you’re gonna take it,” he growls, growing more irritated from the audacity you have after riding him 20 different ways all while complaining it wasn’t enough.
He thrusts deep inside you, knocking against your cervix and brushing past your sweet spot, angling his hips every time to leave no part of you unstimulated. The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, leaving his imprint, stretching you wide just for him. Grunts rumble out from his chest, vibrating through your body, filling the air and mixing along with your own whines and whimpers.
“’s too much Ji,” you whine, but your pussy gushes on him, and your ass pushes back to meet his next thrust.
He stops thrusting just for a second, just to watch the way you fuck back against him, just to see how much you really want it, and he scoffs from how frantic the movements of your hips become. Your ass slaps against his skin, rippling from the force as his thrusts pick up once more, all while his balls hit your clit. The sensation knocks the air out of your lungs, the contact sharp and exhilarating, and it’s enough to have heat pooling in your lower belly.
“You’re a bad liar, babygirl.”
The closer you get to your orgasm, the more fucked out you become. He feels your walls clamping down, he feels how close you’re getting, he knows all your tells without you having to utter a single word.
His hand grips your jaw, pulling you face towards him, making you watch him fuck you rough and deep. He groans at the sight of you: tears staining your cheeks, mouth hanging open ever so slightly as moans leak out, drool dripping from your chin and your bottom lip sucked between your teeth.
"Look at me when I make you cum," he growls, his hand sliding from your lower belly to your clit, and you gasp from the rough touch of his calloused fingers.
He rubs quick, tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, pausing every so often to roll it between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly just to hear your breathy gasps. Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, makes your legs weaker, drives your closer to your oh-so-sweet orgasm.
“Cum on my dick, yeah? Be a good girl and get me wet,” he says, voice low and rough, and you can tell the way he tries to hide the crack in his voice from the pleasure he’s feeling by clearing his throat at the end of his sentence that's he as close as you are.
You roll your hips against his fingers, grinding down hard, fucking back against him to meet him halfway with every single thrust. Your nipples drag against the couch, your nails dig into the fabric, and you can’t help the whines and moans that fall from your lips when you cum on his cock.
“F-fuck, gonna c-cum Ji!”
Cum gushes from your pussy, coating his cock, leaving a cream around the base as he continues to fuck you. His fingers slow on your clit, drawing out the high for as long as possible, his cock twitching deep inside you from the feeling of your walls fluttering and clamping down on his length rhythmically.
“Good girl. Gonna make me cum in this pussy. That’s what you want, huh,” he asks, tilting his head to the side in question, his smirk fading the closer he gets to his orgasm.
You nod frantically, gazing up at him, pushing your ass back further onto him and it drives him insane. He grips the fat of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to give him a better view of your greedy pussy swallowing his cock with little effort and the cream left around the base of him.
“F-fuck,” he stutters breathlessly, his pace faltering from the sight alone, and it’s enough to have him cumming so deep inside of you.
His fingers tighten around your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on him, and he drives himself to his own release. With a guttural groan, he throws his head back and drives himself to the hilt. Long, thick ropes of cum flood your pussy, coating your walls, leaking out when there is no room left for him. It drips down the back of your thighs, leaving a mess to be cleaned up later.
Toji’s hips continue to roll into you, it is barely noticeable with how wet your pussy is, and he does his best to pump his cum deeper while his body is twitching with overstimulation.
“Might give you some more. Make sure it sticks,” he grins, his hand finding your hip and positioning you just how he wants you.
When his pace picks up, all you can do is cry out for him in pleasure. He will take care of your needy pussy exactly how he wants to, and he won’t put up with you complaining about it either.
Ryomen Sukuna
You don’t even need to go multiple rounds with Sukuna when he’s already fucking into you like an animal on the first one. He knows you’re ovulating, so why not give your body exactly what it wants to begin with.
“What a fucking slut. You just want my cum in you, isn’t that right,” he coos, gazing at you in the bathroom mirror, grunting with every thrust of his hips as he watches you take his fat cock so deep inside of you.
You’re bent over the bathroom counter, your legs spread wide to make room for his beefy body, your pussy gushing on his length while he abuses your cervix. Eyes half-lidded, mouth hanging open while obscene moans fall from you, you claw at the marble, trying to find purchase on anything that will help you run from his relentless and punishing thrusts.
“Don’t move,” he growls, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he pulls you back on him with a particularly hard thrust just before slapping your ass hard.
Stars burst behind your eyelids from the pleasurable pain as his fingers graze over the now sensitive skin and you gasp from the contact. Your eyes shut tight, your pussy crying for more despite his cock rubbing your walls raw, and you cry out for him.
“Look at yourself while I fuck you,” he says, voice low and rough as his hands slides up your spine before snaking around your neck.
He grips you hard, blocking your airway just enough, and he gently shakes your head side to side until your eyes open. You look at yourself: tears staining your cheeks, drool dripping from your chin, your breasts pressed up against the counter, and you can’t deny the fact that the sight of you like this only makes you gush on his cock even more.
“You like that, don’t you? Watching yourself get fucked dumb,” he asks, tilting his head in question, patiently waiting to hear what you have to say.
“’s too much K-Kuna,” you gasp out, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs, his grip on your neck only making it harder to speak.
The second you're done speaking he slides two fingers into your mouth, and you suck without protest. You hum around his digits, biting hard when his cock hits your sweet spot, but he only groans from the pain mixing with the feeling of your wet walls wrapped so tightly around him.
“Fuckin’ tight… gripping me like a crazy woman,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady but you can hear the slight wavering from how good he feels inside you.
He spreads your cheeks, giving himself a better view of your pussy sucking him in, you watch him in the mirror as his own mouth hangs open and the quietest whimpers fall the most nonchalant man you know. It only spurs you on more.
You fuck back against him, your ass meeting his pelvis with every thrust he gives you, his balls slapping against your clit, his cock molding your walls to his impossible size. The veins and ridges of his length slide through you, filling you up and leaving no part of you empty for too long. He slams against your cervix, brushing past your sweet spot, all while he watches your face contort with pleasure from his own doing.
“Takin’ it like a good girl, you know that?”
You nod your head frantically, sucking his fingers harder in agreement, arching your back even further against the counter to give him the best view possible. He buzzes with pleasure, wrapping one hand around your waist, pushing against your lower belly to feel himself so deep inside of you.
“Yeah… you’re taking it real good,” he restates just before moving down to find your clit.
He rubs tight, fast circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, matching the pace of his thrusts, letting your hips grind against his fingers without telling you not to like he usually did. He knows you're close, and when you’re ovulating, you’re more feral than normal, so he knows your orgasm is the last thing to play with.
“Gonna cum on my dick? Yeah?”
You bite down on his fingers, nodding your head, rubbing your clit against his calloused digits, and you don’t stop until your body becomes rigid and your muscles draw taut. Cum gushes from your entrance, leaking out around his length, coating his cock in your cream before it drips down his skin and onto the bathroom mat.
His fingers only let up on your clit when your body begins to twitch with overstimulation, and only then does he allow himself to focus on his own climax.
“Fill you up, give this pussy what she wants. That sound good?”
He already knows the answer to that question, so he thrusts faster, harder, deeper until he is burying himself to the hilt and leaking against your cervix. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, coating your walls in his seed, his cock twitching with every stream until it leaks out and drips down the back of your thighs.
“S-shit,” he groans, drawing out the high shared between the two of you, making it last as long as possible before he’s collapsing against your back.
He breathes heavily, his heart pounding out of his chest and against your skin, his body warm with release and relief. His hands trail up your sides as he kisses your spine as soft as possible, careful with you after fucking you like he didn’t even love you, but he knows that’s exactly what you wanted.
“Need another round,” he asks, lifting his face just barely off your back, his warm breath spreading against your skin and sending goosebump down your back.
You shake your head no, your own chest heaving, your own body continuing to twitch from the sheer force of your orgasm. He laughs softly against your skin, placing kisses on the back of your shoulders, making his way up your neck before finally finding your lips.
“I’m just too good.”
You push him away, feigning disgust from his cocky words, and he laughs louder this time, wrapping his arms around your waist before dragging you towards the shower where he washes you with the utmost care.
Choso Kamo
Choso is a mess underneath you. Tears stain his cheeks; whimpers fall from his lips while he keeps telling you he can’t take anymore. You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the mattress on either side of him, his cock shoved so deep inside of you that the head is nestled against your cervix. Your pussy clenches around his length as you beg him for one more round, and you feel him stir back to life despite his cries that it’s too much.
You grind your hips down on his, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, and his hands find your hips to steady the two of you. His fingers grip onto the fat of your skin the moment you rise up on his cock, and his nails dig into the soft flesh when you sink back down.
His head falls against the headboard, his eyes shutting tight, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly as whines pour from him. You plant both hands on his chest, and you begin to ride him harder, and faster, taking him deeper than you have in any of the previous rounds.
“You’re such a good boy for me Cho,” you say breathlessly, praising him for putting up with your ovulation, watching the overstimulation fade from him and turn into pleasure once more.
His eyes open quickly, so receptive to your words, your honey sweet voice flooding his ears as he watches you. Your breasts bounce with every movement you make, your nipples hard, and swollen from constant sucking, but his mouth latches onto one anyways.
He sucks, licks, bites the sensitive bud, swirling his tongue around it, his other hand reaching up to twist, pull, and pinch the opposite one. Your head falls back, from the stimulation, moans ripping from your throat from the pleasure he gives you. He whines against your breast, the vibrations running through your body and landing in the pool of heat sitting in your lower belly.
“Always make me f-feel so g-good,” you whimper, trying your hardest to get the words out but every drop down on his cock knocks the air out of your lungs resulting in short, breathy gasps.
“Want to make you feel good,” he stutters out, pulling his mouth away from your nipple, resting his hands back on your hips before leaning back against the headboard and planting his feet on the mattress.
Without another word he thrusts into you, hard and quick, pulling out as he holds you so you’re hovering above him, and plunging back in. The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you up and leaving no space empty for too long. He slams against your cervix, brushes past your sweet spot, and leaves just the tip in before doing it again.
“F-fuck Cho… so c-close,” you whine, grinding your hips against him every time he pounds into you, your hands moving to his shoulders where your nails dig into his skin earning you whimpers from him due to the pleasurable pain of you.
He doubles his efforts, slamming into you and grinding your hips on him, knowing his skin rubs against your clit in a way you love. He presses you down against him, feeling your soft nipples drag against his chest, stimulating you in every way he can. Consistently hitting your cervix, angling his hips to hit your sweet spot, your walls so full of him, all of it pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
“Cum for me, p-please,” he begs, his body aching to feel your pleasure, his cock dying to feel your cum against his skin for the umpteenth time tonight.
His voice sounds like music to your ears, his sweet, sweet begs enough to make you cum right then and there, which is exactly what you do. You give your body to him, slumping against him the weaker you become, letting him take over and please you the way you know he can.
Your body becomes rigid, muscles drawing taut as he pushes your over the edge effortlessly. Cum gushes from your pussy as your walls flutter and clench around his length, making a mess on his skin, dripping down onto the sheets below and soaking through this with ease. Moans rip from your chest, and they don’t fall on deaf ears.
“So g-good, I’m going to- f-fuck- going to c-cum,” he whimpers, thrusting into you harder, faster to chase his own release.
With a few more thrusts and even more pathetic whimpers, he drives himself to the hilt and spills his seed against your cervix. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, coating your walls in everything he has to give, leaking out around his length where there’s no more room inside of you and mixing with your own cum on the sheets.
He draws out the high before his movements stop completely. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your skin, his warm breath sending goosebumps along your spine. You melt under his touch, your thumb rubbing soft, slow circles on the skin of his chest, feeling his heart pounding underneath your palm from his intense orgasm.
“Did I… do g-good,” he asks, whimpering slightly when you position yourself better on top of him, his cock still buried deep inside you and still twitching as it slowly grows soft.
“Better than good Cho,” you hum out, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close to you, the warmth of his skin spreading through yours and it puts you right to sleep.
