series content labels/warnings: tom riddle x fem!reader, mentions of childhood trauma (relating to Wool's and such), friends-to-strangers, strangers-to-lovers, mentions of murder (tom is evil), dark themes, angst with fluff sprinkled in, smut later in the series (not until they're 18), ooc tom riddle (he is capable of feeling love), hogwarts as its own trigger warning
content labels/warnings for this chapter: a teeny tiny bit of period-accurate sexism but it's just one small line about your character swearing
a/n: this chapter is just more exposition to sort of warm you up to the characters. our boy tom is experiencing feelings for the first time and he's not sure how to handle it.
CHAPTER ONE
w.c: 2.9k
“Everyone, please give a warm welcome to the students of Mahoutokoro and Ilvermorny!”
The Great Hall erupted in cheers as Dippet finished his welcome. There were whoops and hollers sprinkled in-between a loud round of applause. All eyes were on you, yet you didn’t feel any nervousness. A sense of pride, and perhaps an anticipatory sense of glory, washed over you as the students of Hogwarts cheered for your arrival. Well, not your arrival specifically, but the arrival of all the visiting students.
You looked toward the table furthest to your right. Cool green banners lined with silver hung from the ceiling above the students. Their plates had yet to be filled, but they paid no mind to the empty dishes in front of them – clearly more enthralled by the spectacle that your school had put on during your entrance. There were hundreds of Hogwarts students in the Hall, but it didn’t take you long to find who you were looking for. The familiar waves of his dark hair sat taller than the boys around him, though you suspect that the intensity of his stare would have called your eyes to him anyway.
Tom Marvolo Riddle: the reclusive young boy turned highly academic charmer. It didn’t take long for him to make a name for himself. As you recall, he had already collected a loyal following of puppets and fangirls alike by the end of his second year. The last year that you and him were in the same house, the same country, the same continent. The boy you had left behind was one that you were very fond of, and eager to return to.
Headmaster Dippet raised his wand once more to his throat, amplifying his voice for the sea of students and staff to hear. “As aforementioned, the visiting students of this competition will be staying here in our castle for the duration of the school year. To accommodate them, we will be making living arrangements in each of your houses for our visitors to stay in.”
He turns toward your school’s administrator, Headmaster Calderon, and places a firm hand on his shoulder. “Seeing as your school’s founder had heritage with one of our houses here, the visiting Ilvermorny students will be staying in the Slytherin house.” A smile spread across your face at that, though you managed to keep it mostly under control.
He turned to the other admin. “Our friends from Mahoutokoro will be staying with Gryffindor, if that’s alright with you, Mr. Kobayashi.”
Mahoutokoro’s headmaster nodded. “That will do.”
“Perfect!” Dippet clasped his hands together, turning his attention back to the crowd of students seated around tables. “Now, one last thing before I let you all enjoy your feast,”
You watch as Headmaster Dippet waves his wand, casting some sort of summoning charm. A glittering, trophy-esque cup flies through the air, stopping to hover in front of the podium.
“This is the Triwizard Cup,” Dippet says, motioning for everyone’s attention. “It will serve not only as the trophy to the winner, but also the submission box for brave students to volunteer.” Excited chatter rose among the students in the room.
“Although ample security measures have been set in place, the challenges that follow will, at times, be incredibly dangerous. Your lives may not be on the line in this competition, but your health and physical condition surely will be.” Dippet lets out a sigh before continuing. “It is because of this that I request only seventh-years volunteer themselves for the challenge.”
As he anticipated, the headmaster’s statement was met with outcry. Various shouts of “Where’s the fun in that?” and “That’s not fair!” emerged from the crowd. Nevertheless, Dippet seemed to remain firm in his decision. He went to explain where the cup would be waiting, and that volunteers for the tournament would have to submit their name over the weekend. Sensing the growing impatience in the room, he finally wraps up his speech.
“Don’t let me bore you all with the details much longer. Tonight is one of welcoming and celebration. Let us feast!”
With the final word, the platters scattered along the various tables begin to fill with delicacies ranging from roast duck to chocolate puddings. The two visiting schools make their way to the house tables they were assigned, with your school going toward Slytherin. While your schoolmates struggled to find open seating at the already crowded table, you had no trouble at all.
Tom stood from his seat as you approached. You beelined toward him with barely contained excitement, practically throwing yourself at him once you were in range.
“Tommy! I missed you!” You wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug, leaving him somewhat startled. He hadn’t remembered you as someone to be so physical. Where did all this energy come from? Nevertheless, he returned the hug, albeit a bit awkwardly.
“I missed you, too.” he said, pulling back from you to study your face. You had a wide grin, one that was familiar to him, though it seemed a lot more impassioned now. He missed your face. Your voice. Your scent. He could smell a floral perfume on you – orchids, he believed. Maybe a bit of vanilla.
“Kerrigan, you’re back! How’s it been?”
You pull away from Tom and turn to Rosier, who was greeting you with a smile. “We were beginning to think you’d never return.”
You take a seat on Tom’s right, in-between him and Mulciber. “I was beginning to think so, too,” you say, loading up your plate. “Thank Merlin for the tournament coming back; if I hadn’t volunteered to compete, I may have never seen any of you again.”
Tom froze at that. “You’re competing?”
“Well it’s not confirmed yet – the cup still has to choose me as my school’s champion – but yeah, I put my name in.”
This wasn’t like you at all. The girl Tom once knew was calm and collected, someone who shared the silence with him without becoming uncomfortable. He spent his first two years at Hogwarts studying diligently, with most of his time spent with you being that of a relaxed stillness. Back in Wool’s, the two of you only spoke to each other – and even then, most of your conversations were shared in whispers. You were introverted last time he saw you, and a bit shy, too. When Tom looked at you now, there was no ounce of timidness in your eyes. You looked strong, smart, and egregiously proud.
“Merlin’s beard, Kerrigan. You sure you’re up for the challenge?” Mulciber asked, resting his chin in his palm as he looked at you. “It’s not gonna be easy, you know.”
“No shit, Mulciber. I’m sure I can handle the competition – you have no idea the things I learned over in America. Ilvermorny’s curriculum is nothing like you’ve ever seen!”
Now you’re swearing? You used to be so well-mannered and polite, but at present you’re chugging pumpkin juice and throwing out expletives like a man. What has Ilvermorny done to you? Tom knew that the Americans had a reputation of being chaotic brutes, but he never guessed that you would degrade yourself to fit in with such a culture. The two of you exchanged letters frequently during your time abroad, and not once did he get the impression that this was who you had become. The barbarity that you’re currently displaying certainly didn’t translate onto paper.
Tom was elated at the thought of your arrival. He spent most of his summer nights lying awake in bed, thinking of what it would be like to reunite with his closest confidante once again. But now that you’re here, he can’t help but feel somewhat… irked. And perhaps a bit surprised.
Your tablemates weren’t nearly as put off by your behavior. Rosier and Avery shared laughs with you as you all ate, with Malfoy and Mulciber occasionally pitching in to add to the jokes. Lestrange remained quiet throughout, but you could tell that he was enjoying the cheer as well. The excitement of returning to Hogwarts, and the mouthwatering meal in front of you, left you oblivious to the tension in the boy next to you. Tom was never one to speak much. Perhaps he was just tired – he had classes all day before this, after all.
You settled on the decision to speak to Tom further once the two of you were alone. You couldn’t wait to tell him all you’ve learned during your time abroad, and you were equally excited to hear the same from him. The Tom you remember was exceedingly bright and charismatic, with both professors and students. You had no doubt that his past four years at Hogwarts would have been interesting.
After about an hour and a half, the chatter of the Great Hall finally settled. Students were finishing their meals and packing up to head to their dorms for the night. You watched from across the room as the Gryffindor prefects guided the Mahoutokoro students up to their dorms, waving their hands around enthusiastically as they gave them a tour of the castle. The prefects in Slytherin were doing the same for your schoolmates, but you didn’t join the tour, you didn’t need to. You were a Slytherin during the two years that you spent at Hogwarts, so you had no trouble navigating the dungeons and finding where you needed to be.
The common room was exactly how you remembered it. The main archway opened up to a grand living space, with a fireplace standing opposite to the spiral staircase you’d just descended. To the left were the dorms – years one through six being accessed by sides, and year sevens being at the top of the grand central staircase, along with the prefect rooms. On your right, huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the depths of the Black Lake. A few students milled about, reading on the couches or playing games of wizard chess. This place didn’t change at all, as if it was frozen in time while you were away. You decided to join your new – or old, you guess – housemates by the glass, staring into the water outside and watching the kelp dance with the current.
After spending an ample amount of time sitting by the windows, you decided it was probably time to wind down. You made your way up the main staircase, heading toward the girl’s side of the dormitory. The visiting Ilvermorny students had their own beds conjured in the dorms of each of the years, with yours waiting for you in the seventh. You didn’t enter just yet. You walked toward the back wall, the one that stood as a fork in the road between the girls and boys sides of the dorms. There were three doors in the center of it: Head Girl, Prefects, and Head Boy. You recalled seeing a badge on Tom’s robes. This would be a perfect time to speak to him.
You knocked on his door politely, swinging yourself back and forth on your heels while you waited. There was some shuffling to be heard inside the room, but no one came to the door. You tried again, this time with a quiet call.
“Tom? It’s me. I want to talk to you.”
The shuffling noises shifted from turning pages to feet padding across stone. The door opened in front of you with a soft click. Tom stood there in the doorframe, his sleep clothes already on, staring at you with a curious look.
“What do you need?”
“I just wanted to check up on you. We didn’t get to talk much over dinner.”
“It’s late. You should be in bed by now.”
You grinned. “So?”
He let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, though you could see a small smile forming. Tom crossed his arms over his chest, but stood aside to let you into the room.
His dorm was neat, if somewhat impersonal, just like you expected it to be. Tom Riddle was never one to fuss over material things – a quality he picked up from his time in the orphanage. You walked over to his desk, where a half-written essay sat, and leaned against the dark wood. Tom closed the door gently and sat on the edge of his bed, facing you.
You tiled your head to the side, speaking in a much calmer tone than you had earlier during the feast. “How have you been, Tommy?”
You watched Tom pause for a moment, seemingly putting a lot of thought into a question so simple. He never got used to that nickname.
“I’ve been well. How about you?”
This felt a lot more familiar. Just a quiet conversation between the two of you. Alone in a room where the world couldn’t reach you. He preferred it like this. Now that you’re away from the bustling crowd, he can finally get a good look at you.
You look older, though not in a haggard way. More mature. There’s a glint in your eye that hints to a bit of softness, a gentle tone that could only be achieved by someone wise. This was who he remembered.
“That’s it? Just ‘well’?” You push off from his desk, standing in front of him with your arms crossed. “You can give me more than that.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything.”
He sits there silent for a moment, pondering. “I passed my O.W.L.S with the highest marks.”
You roll your eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Tom. That’s not what I meant.”
His eyes stay trained on you as you move closer, sitting on the bed next to him. The mattress dips under your weight, adding a subtle change in atmosphere. You examine his face, noting the way his jaw tightens.
“Come on, we’re best friends, aren’t we? There’s nothing you can’t tell me.” You grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “No need to keep secrets.”
“I’m not keeping secrets,” he says, letting his eyes drop to where your hands are connected. “I just don’t enjoy being interrogated.”
“Asking you how you’ve been is interrogating?”
His jaw clenches once more. You had no idea how hard of a question that was to answer. He couldn’t tell you how he’s been, not truthfully. You’d be horrified by the answer. But how could he lie to you? You knew him as well as he knew himself – if he told you that he’d spent the last four years playing Quidditch with the boys you’d call bullshit immediately.
“I’ve been… researching. Mostly about strands of magic that interest me.” A half-truth.
“And your family?”
That’s right, he had almost forgotten. When the two of you entered Hogwarts, he had no idea of his lineage. His mother died minutes after he was born, and Mrs. Cole said she never got her name. All Tom knew was that he was named after his father, but he couldn’t find the name in any of the magical records that were kept in the school library. You had left before he discovered his heritage.
Tom sighs, returning his gaze to you. “I’m a descendant of Slytherin himself, on my mother’s side.” He pauses for a moment, deciding on what truths he should tell you. “My father… I’m still unsure of.”
“Well, that explains the snakes.”
A soft laugh escapes him. He turns his palm over, lacing his fingers with yours. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
Tom’s eyes sweep over you, taking in all of your matured features. Your hair was neatly styled, maintaining its original image even after the long day. You were wearing a simple white shirt, with a teal and green tie around the collar – your house colors from Ilvermorny, he assumed. His gaze traveled down toward your legs, where your black skirt sat around mid thigh. White socks covered your calves, leading down to elegant black flats. Tom felt a slight blush creeping up his neck. You were beautiful. He suddenly felt very embarrassed about being in his night clothes.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he says, though without malice. His hand stays interlocked with yours. “It’s past curfew.”
You giggle a bit at that, shaking your head. “Oh Tom, always a stickler for the rules.” Your hand falls from his as you stand. He doesn’t move. “One day you’ll learn to have fun.”
He watches as you cross the room, stopping just before the door. You look over your shoulder one last time before leaving. “Goodnight, Tommy.”
Tom exhales as the door closes, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. This day had been nothing like he expected. You entered the Great Hall with bounds of energy, disrupting his peace and his friend group. Then you turned around and spoke to him in the softest tone, relaxing into a poised demeanor during the night. You were so complicated. There were parts of you he recognized, and parts that he was bewildered by. You were still the same smart, kind girl he knew – but you carried an air of pride wherever you went, almost challenging the Gryffindors. He didn’t know what to think. Tom felt like his head was spinning. What were you doing to him?
He decides it’s best to rest. Sleep is what he’ll need if he’s to keep up with you. Tom walks back over to his desk and closes his notebook, leaving his History of Magic essay unfinished. It’s fine, he has plenty of time.
You crawl into your own bed not long after. The sheets were cool against your skin, while the quilt warmed you like a hug. You missed this place. Ilvermorny was great, but Hogwarts was like no other. A calm sense of nostalgia washes over you as you close your eyes, surrendering to your first night of sleep in your old home.
You’re back.
a/n: this is only slightly proof-read so if there are spelling errors please let me know. i wrote this in a daze at 2 am. i did a huge deep-dive on the lore of ilvermorny and mahoutokoro and now i have a bunch of random knowledge floating around in my brain. oh well
These days, lots of public libraries have a "library of things" collection where you can check out kitchen appliances or yard tools or toys, and, as a children's library assistant, the most popular library of things item that I handle regularly is a plastic scepter thingy called like "unicorn princess magic wand". And whenever I check it out I make a big show of looking at the little kid and being like "do you solemnly swear to use your unicorn princess magic powers only for good and never for evil?"
And pretty much without fail, the little kid will get the world's most mischievous grin and go "I'm gonna use it for EVIL!!!"
"children need more safe space online" children have always had more than enough safe space online. what you're seeing is children deliberately coming into online space that is meant specifically for adults. and I am not saying they are not welcome by the way, as long as adult space is what they CHOOSE to be in and as long as they keep themselves safe (however, it is not an adult's job or responsibility to look after a random kid or what content they consume on the internet).
but YOU. you see children deliberately choosing to consume adult contents and say "oh no we need more children's space, and in doing so, we must ban and censor adult contents FROM ADULTS' SPACE that children deliberately choose to be in.”
and you know what else I know? you don't actually care about children by demanding more children's space online, you are just hiding behind the "we are protecting children" claim while actively trying to control people what they can or can't create/consume in their own adult space. you are just trying to push for censorship, the fascist tool that you love so much.
a/n: this is a 'x f!reader' fic. there will be no mention of the reader's appearance (other than her clothes), first name, race, or any other identifying features. i gave her a surname (Kerrigan) purely for the sake of convenience in dialogue, but you can just replace it in your head with your own.
her blood status is implied to be pureblood, but there is no actual confirmation on that so you can insert whatever lineage you want. the only info on her family that i took the liberty of putting in was making her parents criminals in the wizarding community, since it made the most sense for her being in the orphanage/transferring schools.
anyway, hope you enjoy! ⊹₊⟡⋆
SUMMARY
Riddle and Kerrigan grew up together. Well, sort of. Kerrigan was briefly placed in Wool’s Orphanage while her parents were in prison for crimes against wizard-kind, leaving them unable to care for her. While in public housing, she met Tom. A mysterious boy, but one that seemed to understand her. Kerrigan and Riddle were each other’s only friends in the years she was at the orphanage with him. When Professor Dumbledore arrived with acceptance letters for the two pre-teens, they were elated. They would finally be someplace where they weren’t outcasts or freaks. Somewhere they belonged.
The first two years of Hogwarts were spent by each other’s side, researching ancient histories and honing their magical skills. But in the summer of 1940, when Mr. and Mrs. Kerrigan were released from prison, they took back their daughter and moved across the pond – forcing her to transfer to the North American wizarding school, Ilvermorny. Her and Tom wrote each other letters in their years of separation, remaining each other’s closest friends despite the distance.
In the fall of 1944, during Riddle’s seventh and final year at Hogwarts, Headmaster Dippet announced that the school would be the host of the first Triwizard Tournament in over a century. The two were reunited once again, but the four years they spent apart changed the both of them drastically from who they once were. With Riddle going down a path toward darkness and Kerrigan finally finding her own sense of purpose, will the once unbreakable friendship stand, or will their allyship finally yield to fate?
series content labels/warnings: tom riddle x fem!reader, mentions of childhood trauma (relating to Wool's and such), friends-to-strangers, strangers-to-lovers, mentions of murder (tom is evil), dark themes, angst with fluff sprinkled in, smut later in the series (not until they're 18), ooc tom riddle (he is capable of feeling love), hogwarts as its own trigger warning
PROLOGUE (Tom's POV)
wc: 1.1k
Friday September 15, 1944. Exactly two weeks since Tom’s seventh year at Hogwarts began. His final year. With his O.W.L.S complete and his N.E.W.T.S on the way, Tom spent the entirety of his summer studying. Normally, he would have liked to get a head start on studying for his final exams, but his summer between fifth and sixth year was a bit busy… so he had to settle for some, what he considers to be, last-minute review. Sure, he could have waited until the school year started, but he figured that with the recent news he had received, he would be a bit distracted from his studies during the year.
The table in front of him was decorated with a green and silver table runner, with matching colors adorning his and his classmates’ robes. Empty plates were waiting to be filled with conjured meats, vegetables, and desserts– while excited students hovered over them in anticipation. Although dinner in the Great Hall was normally optional, Headmaster Dippet called for a special feast, in which attendance was required. Students all around were whispering about what the occasion could possibly be; but Tom was silent, because he already knew.
‘I’ll see you soon.’ Those were the last words in her letter, other than her signature. The words that had been replaying in his mind since June. For the first time in 152 years, the Triwizard Tournament would be taking place – with Hogwarts being the hosting school. The competition was called off indefinitely after the last tournament in 1792, due to the high death toll of the students. But magic had evolved significantly since then, and new safety measures were put in place, allowing the tournament to commence once more. The trials would still be challenging, some of them even dangerous, but thankfully not life threatening.
Tom never cared for sports, choosing to sit-out every Quidditch match that took place on the weekends, but he found himself intrigued this time. The two other schools what would be attending were Mahoutokoro, the magic school located on one of the isles in Japan, and Ilvermorny, the North-American wizarding school– founded by one of Slytherin’s descendants, and attended by her. After four years of being apart, Tom Riddle would be reunited with his closest friend.
The chatter in the room died as Dippet stood in front of his podium. “Attention students,” the Headmaster raised his wand to his throat, casting a silent Sonorus spell. “There will come a time in everyone’s life where they will be asked to demonstrate a tremendous amount of courage. This demonstration may take many forms, depending on the individual,”
Although he typically didn’t care for Headmaster Dippet’s droning speeches, Tom found himself tuning in this time. This speech was going somewhere. “The form does not matter so much as the intent. Whether it is a feat of athleticism, a test of the mind, or a show of one’s magical ability, we will all be tasked with an obstacle we must overcome. Wizarding schools all over the world have been given the task to train their students in such a way that you all will be prepared for whatever life throws at you,” A smile crosses Dippet’s face as he speaks. “I believe that I, and the many professors here at Hogwarts, have trained you well.”
“It is because of this that I am glad to announce that, for the first time in almost two centuries, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament.” The room descended into a series of hushed conversations and animated glances. Each of the houses stirred with a newfound excitement at the news, including the surrounding students at the Slytherin table. Tom was excited too, but he refused to show it, favoring his typically cool demeanor.
“Let us give a special welcome to our guests, who will be boarding with us for the remainder of the school year.”
The large doors to the Great Hall swung open, seemingly on their own, once Dippet gave the cue. Every head turned toward the entrance to see the witches and wizards that entered. First was Mahoutokoro. Rows and rows of students in robes of every color filed into the hall with practiced precision. Leading the way were five young wizards in garbs of gold, while a few dozen wizards dressed in pink flanked the group. They made their way down the aisle with grace, a few of the students raising their wands to add some illusionary effects to flourish their entrance. Tom watched the students gather to the left of Headmaster Dippet, near the Hufflepuff table. Mahoutokoro’s Headmaster, Kobayashi, shook hands with Dippet and exchanged a few quiet words of respect. Tom paid attention to the group, though this wasn’t the one he was most interested in.
Mulciber, who was seated on Tom’s right, leaned in to whisper to him. “I heard that Mahoutokoro has the best flyers in the world, they’ll surely be a challenge.” Tom gave him a nod, but chose not to grace him with a verbal response. Mulciber shrugged it off and turned to the rest of the group, gossiping about the new arrivals. Just as the crowd began to settle, the doors gave way to the second group.
About a hundred witches and wizards filled the entryway to the Great Hall. Tom immediately turned his head toward the group, making no effort to appear nonchalant. He didn’t care about his persona, not now. Loud, obnoxious horns blared in true American fashion, announcing the entrance of the students of Ilvermorny. Sparks flew from the foreign students’ wands, shooting fireworks high into the room. The students made their way down the aisle with a generous amount of ego, though not entirely undeserved. Freshly-pressed robes of blue and cranberry marched in tight lines, save for the three students leading the charge, who seemed to have shed their outerwear in favor of white button-downs and colored ties. Tom’s eyes immediately focused on the student walking front and center, her eyes gleaming with pride. Tom didn’t miss the hint of nostalgia that washed over her face as she looked around the room, following her Headmaster up to the main platform. Ilvermorny’s students were situated on Dippet’s right, closer to the Slytherin table. The girl shot Tom a knowing look, he returned it.
The surrounding noise of chattering students and sounding trumpets faded away as he met her gaze. His best friend, perhaps his only real one, stood tall and proud on the platform. The girl he met at Wool’s, the one who shared his same strange powers, the one who understood him like no other. The girl who left his side years ago, with no promise of return. A small smile, a genuine one, fell across Tom’s lips before he could stop it.
She’s back.
a/n: this will be a multi-chapter series. i'm aiming for 5-10 chapters spanning over the final year at hogwarts and a bit beyond, but who knows. more specific content labels/warnings will be added with each individual chapter
hope you guys are as excited for this as i am! if you like my work, please consider commenting and reblogging, as your feedback is incredibly motivating to me.
i'm thinking of creating a taglist for this series so if you want to be notified when chapter one comes out, let me know in the comments :)
my name is ronnie. i'm a full-time college student, a part-time fast food worker, and a 24/7 fangirl.
this blog is going to be dedicated to my love for the hp fandom, specifically our good pal moldy voldy ❤︎
the fics that i plan on writing are going to mainly focus on tom riddle. because of that, i would like to make a disclaimer:
canon tom is a genocidal maniac, whose actions i do not support. my love for the character comes from how well he was written (fuck jkr tho) and the complexity he adds to the story.
i will be writing for a more fanon version of tom -- still a villain, but a little more humanized. canon-compliant tom is problematic asf, so i'm fully aware that my humanized version of him is ooc. that's the point. i'm going to do my best to stay true to his demeanor and values, but he will be softened enough to be palatable for my tastes (sorry not sorry)
with that being said, i really look forward to sharing my fics with you guys! i'm also always looking for moots, so feel free to chat with me if you feel like it ❤︎
Suguru loves two people more than anything - you, and Satoru Gojo.
You're his girlfriend, and Satoru is his best friend, but fuck if you and Gojo don't just constantly fight. Bickering like an old married couple, the more you stay over, the more you both argue, especially when you dipped into Satoru's Mochi stash.
Suguru thought he may just fucking lose it if the two of you don't start getting along, it's not like Satoru has ever asked him to leave you, no, it's more Satoru threatens to actually kill you. And your mean little ass gets off on it, giggling like a psycho every time you get him madder.
"You're such a little brat," Satoru grumbles today, looking at the expensive ass shirt you have on. "That's mine!?"
"It looks good on me," you tease, tapping Suguru's chin and leaning up to kiss him, your thighs and half your damn ass hanging out, making Satoru ache.
He can't stand you.
"You are trying to piss me off, Suguru tell her to fucking take it off," Suguru sighs then, tilting your chin up, smirking.
"Take it off, Princess."
"Thank you - ah!? Right here!?" You slip the shirt right off over your head, leaving you in just a pair of slutty lil boyshorts, smiling at Satoru as you toss it. "You're..."
"There, you have your shirt back," you sigh as Suguru cups your pretty tits in his hands, tugging your bqack against him, Satoru's cheeks flush a bright pink as his gaze trails to where he's gripping. "Is that better, Toru?"
"Don't call me that..." He's throbbing, leaking pre against his boxers, shirt crumpling up in his hand. "I can't stand you."
"I know," you moan when Suguru kisses down the side of your neck, peeking over at Gojo. "Sugu..."
"Why don't you two try to get along?" He says, like he always does, but this time - it's just a little different.
"I'll never get along with your menace of a fucking girlfriend," Satoru crosses his arms, looking away, when Suguru's next words fuck him up.
"Why don't you let her make it up to you? You can, right Princess?" You gasp, looking back at him now, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "Why don't you use that perfect mouth, he clearly is tense."
Satoru says nothing - utterly dumbfounded as you, when you look into Gojo's dazed, lidded eyes. "He wouldn't want that."
"Yeah I wouldn't... um..." Suguru chuckles against your neck.
"I want you both to get along, but if you don't want her mouth on your cock, then-"
"Wait, wait!?"
He's damn near flapping his arms, Suguru hardly holds in his laughter, raising a brow.
"I mean... we could if... I..."
Somehow Satoru ends up in his bed with you bent over, tongue lapping along the underside of his cock, trailing a vein as Suguru sits in the chair, palming his already hard cock. Satoru's eyes betray everything he says out loud, blue eyes darting to your face, brushing your hair back as he watches your tongue swirl right along his tip.
Fuck you're pretty.
He almost babbles it when your tongue scoops out some of that leaking white, eyes glaring right at him, even as you nip his tip with your teeth, making him yank your hair hard.
"Fuckin' brat," he grumbles, you're laughing softly, kissing it instead, he could almost bust from that, hands trembling. "Don't let her bite me, Suguru, fuck."
"Princess," you are so wet Suguru can see it, dripping from your puffy lips. "Show him how good you can be."
"Yes, daddy," Satoru rolls his eyes at that, scoffing - not like he'd ever want you to call him that!?
Right?
No way.
You start really sucking him, slurping him all up, letting him fuck up into your throat with messy, filthy lil strokes, the sounds of you choking on him just urging him more, all while Suguru strokes his own cock. The sight of you swallowing his friend had him pulsing, his veins pressed up, so hard it hurts.
"F-fuck... you're so pretty like - I mean!? You're okay at - ah! It..." Suguru snorts, leaning back further as Satoru's half ass praise has your pussy dripping down his sheets.
"She loves praise, keep goin' hmm?" Satoru lets out a shaky breath, hand gripping your hair at the base of your neck, his other slipping across your bare shoulder, sliding down the side of your neck.
"Doin' such a good job, shit..." He whispers, feeling your moan vibrate around his length, tightening right up. "Feels s'good and... there, fuck you're..."
He's whimpering.
Satoru hates you more for whatever it is you're doing to his cock, sucking him so hard he almost busts, tugging you up instead. You press him back when he tries to flip you over, straddling him with your hands on his chest, leaning low, seeing his snowy lashes all lowered, he's so goddamn needy right now, feeling your slick along him.
"Open, Toru," you tease, he glares, but does just that - opening so you can spit a trail of saliva right in his mouth, landing on his tongue.
Satoru may be in love with his best friend's psychotic girlfriend.
"Good boy," you feel his cock twitch, leaning down and sliding it, letting Suguru watch the sight of his best friend's cock slipping into his girlfriend's pretty cunt.
"Fuck..." That's Satoru and Suguru, when you slam right down on it, making him cry out as he swallows your spit down his throat, his hands right on your waist, your cunt is so fucking tight wrapping him, tip already snug on that puffy cervix.
He could cum if you move.
He pins you down, leaning up and kissing up your chest, teeth nipping your skin, your nails dig into his shoulders, body trembling as you try to take control, but he's wrapping your waist, pinning you down.
"Let me move," you cry out when he uses his muscles to hold you there, pulsing right in your cervix, peeking at Suguru, seeing how thick his cock is right now, making you even wetter. "Don't you wanna come here, Sugu?"
"I wanna watch you two make up," his lips twitch as he sees the filthy sight of your slick dripping down his best friend's balls. "Let me see you make her cum, Satoru - or you won't get to fuck her again."
This could happen again!?
Satoru almost panics at how fucking excited he is, holding it in and leaning back, raising you up and down by the fat of your ass, landing in a filthy, wet smack, your whines escaping your throat as you cling to his chest. "I'll make her cum, Suguru."
Satoru does make you cum, fucking you from one orgasm into another, flipping you over and arching your back, yanking both your arms behind you as he pins your wrists right behind your back, leaving you momentarily under his control, though he knows your crazy ass will have him whining out again.
"Grippy socks, grippy pussy," you gasp, opening your mouth to yell at him just to get your cunt pounded, dizzy from how mean his fat cock is bullying your tacky little walls. "It's true."
"You dick, w-was a few days there," he slams deep, making you arch more. "Sugu, tell him to be nice."
"I love her grippy socks," Suguru's words have you both laughing softly, as Suguru's stroking his cock faster, Satoru pounding you into that mattress like he indeed could fuck every frustration out on your cunt. "Play with her clit, Satoru."
Satoru releases your wrists and leans over you with a hand braced on the bed, his hand reaching around to rub circles on your neglected little clit, the first time he's even touched your cunt. You were so damn wet from sucking him and having Suguru watch, he hadn't had to get you ready.
"Slutty lil brat," he murmurs in your ear, as your head falls back, and he's running meaner circles. "Gonna cum for your boyfriend, gonna have me pump you full and him eat it out of you?"
"Y-you're the slut," you bite out, right before you shatter around him, cunt just clamping right down, as that orgasm fucking wrecks you.
"Fuck, she's squeezing me so tight," Satoru groans, his rhythm faltering for a moment, about to bust right with you with how you're milking his cock. "You like that, don't you? Cummin' on my cock while your boyfriend watches?"
Your only response is a series of incoherent whimpers, ones you'll regret later when this little menace makes fun of you, but you're too fucked out to care.
If this was hate sex, you were here for it.
"Too much, sh-shit," you mumble as he continues toying with your clit, pinching it between two fingers. "Sensitive!"
"Awww, are you crying?" He's chuckling at your tears, when Suguru clicks his tongue.
"Satoru..."
"Sorry, fuck," Suguru's strokes become faster right along with Satoru's thrusts in your loud, messy hole, eyeing the way Satoru's glistening cock disappears into your swollen folds easier and easier, the way your back arches for more, until you're both babbling.
"F-fuck..." Suguru busts his hot, sticky load into his own hand, thick ropes of his release coating his fingers and palm as Satoru cums right with him, filling up your pussy and whimpering your name over and over.
It shows everything he thought.
Satoru didn't hate you, he just really wanted to fuck you.
"God, f-fuck you're so... felt so perfect and..." He's crying out as you laugh, making Satoru glare again. "Psychotic, I swear..."
"You love psychotic pussy," you giggle as he pulls out, and Suguru walks over, tilting your chin up, swiping drool off the corner of your lip. "Hi, Sugu."
"Hi baby," Satoru's gripping your waist, pulling out with a filthy pop, as you eagerly suck the mess Suguru made of his hands off his fingers, and Satoru watches the mess your cunt is, gooey white just drippin' right out and down on his own bed.
"Wasting all this? Tsk," he gathers it and slips it back in your cunt, making you lashes flutter closed as Suguru's fingers slide in your throat, choking you, letting you lap the salty white release off.
"Will you two get along now?" Suguru asks quietly. "Or do I need to fuck Satoru's cum in your cunt, and fill you with mine? Make him eat both loads out?"
"I like that idea," you giggle, expecting an argument, but Satoru likes that idea even more than you do.
Suguru is a master at getting people to make up <3
*****
this was an idea in my comments for cuck sugu (@vamqyx) hehe, this rly is filthyyy help
I feel like simply calling JK Rowling a transphobe isn't strong enough anymore. Like. This is not your grandpa calling you by your deadname at a restaurant kind of transphobic. This is her wanting to eradicate all trans people (with an extra special hatred towards trans women specifically). This is her trying just that by personally funding transphobic hate groups with millions to push around laws in the UK. It is not hyperbolic to call her a dangerous, genocidal maniac.
It's not about cancelling a problematic writer. It's about literally trying to save lives by denying her as much money and power as possible.
She's a bigoted, hateful, bully that's thrown her money behind right-wing, authoritarian parties and extremist hate groups. She parrots white supremacist and eugenic talking points. She's absolutely queerphobic at every level.
I mean, ffs, she's promising to sue AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL over their pro-trans activism. You know what kind of person does that. Name it.
content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor.
[tw: MDNI, longfic, angst/fluff/smut, slowburn apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head]
notes: this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance?? lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
I could see him using temperature play with his tongue/mouth to make you feel the sensations a bit more intensely. leaving heated kisses on your thighs, or directly to your clit
seeing his pretty hair splayed between your legs would probably drive you insane-
incredibly passionate and has taken the time to get to know your body, the things that make you tick, etc. out of his adoration for you (maybe a bit for his own pleasure too)
biceps wrapped around your thighs hhhghhhhh
wants to see how many times he can get you to cum with just his mouth-
Toph:
messy eater 100%
she'd have her hands firmly placed on you, making sure you can't squirm or shift away from her (that grip is STRONG too, you aren't moving)
I imagine her heightened senses would make it fun for her, being able to pick up on your every tremble, jolt, etc. due to how in tune she is with them
super unrelenting, she'd def overstimulate and keep going after you cum just to get your reaction
Katara:
probably the one out of the gaang to get you there the fastest
because of this I imagine her spending a lot of time on foreplay, exploring your body with her hands, or her bending
gentle, but very intentional. she doesn't have to do much to get you drenched almost immediately
because of how in tune she is with your body, she'd be able to sense when you're getting fairly close too
Sokka:
hungryyy. doesn't leave behind any scraps
I could see him getting pussy-drunk really early too lol
lots of body worship, would probably talk you through it, praising you while he's down there
uses his hands to his advantage; making lightwork out of finding your g-spot while his mouth focuses on your clit once he notices you getting close
Aang:
very tender and sweet- will often steal glances at you, trying to read your expressions during it
holds you up like you weigh nothing while he eats you out- keeping you stable by holding you against a wall/another firm surface with your legs draped over his shoulders
just a liiitle handsy- feels up your ass and thighs while he's working, wanting to take in your softness. he also does it to ground you when he notices your breathing get erratic
"There was only one rule in your marriage with Zuko: only having one child, to avoid the same mistakes his father made. Unfortunately, the Fire Lord himself seems to be struggling to respect it, especially when it comes to keeping his hands to himself.”
── ⟡ FireLord!Zuko x FireLady!Reader.
── ⟡ Word count: 4.3k
── ⟡ Content: Mention of Zuko and reader already having a kid. Fully sfw except for like one or two jokes that are suggestive.
This was supposed to be a small story and then i went a bit overboard with the length and him suffering lol. There may be slight ooc behaviour bcs i haven't seen the show in a while! I'm rewatching it so i might edit it later to fit better. Either way, any correction on that or grammar is well received, english is not my first language blah blah. Requests open, lowkey.
It’s rare for Zuko to be still asleep when you wake.
Sleeping late isn’t a luxury the Fire Lord gets often, and today it’s not an exception; you’re the one waking earlier than usual. For once, your duties of the day outweigh his: paperwork, organisation of next week’s reception for Earth Kingdom dignitaries, afternoon tea with local directors of healing centres to discuss improvements they need. And on top of that, trying to spend as much as possible with your daughter.
‘Well, things aren’t going to be done magically’, you think as you move, carefully removing Zuko’s arm from your waist, where it had rested protectively even in sleep, quietly getting up from the bed of your shared chambers to reach for the formal daily robes that had been laid out by your attendants while you were resting.
“Don’t do that.” You hear the voice of your husband behind you, clearly raspy from sleep but with a certain edge underneath it, one you’ve grown familiar with over the past days.
“Good morning to you, too.” You don’t turn around as you speak, keeping your motion to remove your sleeping robes to change into the required ones for the day. “Don’t do what? Get ready for my day?”
“Look like that in front of me.”
His voice now sounds muffled, which lets you know he has turned into the pillow, probably hoping it’d spare him from his early frustration at himself. By the faint huff that he lets out a few seconds later, you assume it didn’t help.
After all, these past days had been… particular, to say the least.
Though it all started a few years ago, before you two even got married.
Back then, you two had settled on establishing boundaries before committing to each other, in every aspect that was relevant. One of them, clearly, was the matter of children.
Which, even if a bit scared due to his own childhood, he did want it (‘if it’s with you, I do’ he had said back then on an outburst of honesty). With just one particular condition, one you understood perfectly:
One child.
Just one kid you could raise with all the care and love you could both offer. No siblings that could cause rivalry, no comparisons of who’d be a better heir, nothing that he could accidentally turn into a pressure for anyone else.
Which, over the years, resulted in your daughter Izumi. Now four years old, and the highlight of both your lives, even if he pretends not to melt every time she hugs him or calls him ‘papa lord’ in her sweet little voice, trying to mimic the formality of the people around him when addressing the Fire Lord.
And things had been peaceful enough until two weeks ago, when, for a few days, you believed you might be pregnant once more. Something completely against the plans that the two of you had previously agreed on. Luckily, it had only been a scare, but it made him aware of how easily something so important to him could revive his own fears about fatherhood.
So, he found his resolve on…restraint. On moderating your nights together. On disciplining himself into being a devoted husband in more ways than settling his hands over you or letting his kisses wander in the privacy of your room.
He had lasted exactly two days before his own decisions made him go into the most ridiculous type of spiralling.
“You were the one saying you didn’t want to touch me, a few days ago.” You remind, undoing the ties of your sleeping robes despite his earlier words, letting it pool at your feet. Then, moving to reach for the elegant silks that had been your daily wardrobe for years now.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” He corrects in a voice too stern for the topic, voice a bit clearer, which lets you know he had the courage to gaze at you briefly. “I said it’d be better if I didn’t. We can’t risk another scare. Or worse, for it not to be a scare. This is the responsible option.” He adds, his tone firm despite the expression of longing he directs at you, as if you weren’t only a few steps away.
“That’s very honourable of you.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not. You have your reasons. I respect them fully.” You answer genuinely, back still turned to him as you fix the ties of your formal clothes, smoothing the fabric into place. Only then do you turn around to look at him; propped on his elbows now, long hair cascading over his shoulders, sleeping robes slightly open at the neck to let you a small glimpse of his collarbone and chest. And an expression that shows, quite easily, that he’d rather for you to not be so clothed right now. “I suppose you’re thinking about respecting your own wishes, aren’t you?” You add, almost entertained.
“…I am.” He lets out abruptly, gaze averting from you to get up from the bed with more effort than he probably intended. “I made that rule for a reason.”
“You did.”
“And it was a good reason.”
“It was.” You reply easily, but the faintest amusement can be perceived in your words.
“And I don’t regret it.” Zuko adds almost defensively, noticing your tone and stance as you walk through the room to reach the doors of your shared chambers, already halfway out.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, it’s alright, love.”
Zuko is a disciplined man.
That’s what he believes. What he has proven to himself over the years; ever since his teenage years while chasing the Avatar (even if later his goals changed), even while becoming Fire Lord at such a young age, even while upholding the title for the following years, while helping restructure a nation buried under years of violent mentality.
…and apparently, it’s still not enough for him to actually commit to keeping his hands away from his wife. Not without a (internal) fight, at least.
Not even while being in the middle of his personal study, with one of his advisors standing next to him while reciting recent trading issues that have to be solved with utmost priority, stating the benefits and risks of each, while Zuko is, supposedly, attentively listening to his words.
The illusion of it is given by the very well-paced ‘hm’ or ‘indeed’ he apparently has a good sense to utter despite being lost in the conversation, more focused on you sitting in one of the divans of the room, completely absorbed in reading a scroll related to the latest initiatives you have to oversee for the next few weeks.
You’re not even aware of his gaze on you, and if you are, you’re good at pretending the opposite. That makes it worse for him; how utterly unaware you seem to be of the effect you have on him, even in broad daylight, while wearing your usual formal robes, not even showing an inch of skin that could provoke the thoughts he’s harbouring. Just you, existing, in your…maddening, beautiful way of being.
“Your Majesty.” The advisor then clears his throat, gaze focused on him as Zuko pretends not to be startled at the call of his title.
“Yes?” He answers without hesitation, with all the composure and confidence of someone who had been listening intently; something he clearly wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to let it show.
“You seem rather…absorbed in your thoughts.” The man speaks carefully, tone polite either way. “Perhaps you’d rather discuss these matters at another moment?”
“I was merely thinking about the trade agreement of the eastern port, I assure you. That one is rather…demanding, even if very appealing.” He says instead, his eyes daring to gaze at his wife for a brief second, like his words weren’t precisely about diplomatic treaties. “...Appealing given the terms that were offered, of course.” He continues with a cough, as if to bring himself back into the matter at hand.
“Precisely the reason why the council wants to solve it as swiftly as possible, Your Majesty. Do you have any preference regarding the matter?”
“I do.” He nods, hands reaching for one of the scrolls of his desk like he’s searching for a particular term of the treaty, eyes searching even if they don’t know what for. “But I’d rather consider it more carefully. We’ll continue after this afternoon’s council session. You’re dismissed.” The advisor bows politely at him, walking towards the door, not before bowing slightly to the Fire Lady on the close divan, before he actually leaves the room.
Silence reigns over the space, which makes him believe the universe has finally mercifully allowed him a moment of peace.
“You didn’t hear a single word he said in the last few minutes, did you?”
Zuko sighs at your amused tone, very briefly considering the possibility of deflecting the question. But his instinct tells him you already know the answer, and anything else he may utter might be senseless attempts to ignore a fact.
“I didn’t hear anything since he arrived.” He ends up saying, his resigned tone letting you know this was a deliberate bruise to his pride. One that would’ve hurt more if he hadn’t been honest with you.
“Poor little Fire Lord.” You reply with a mocking, pitying sigh. “Too distracted by his wife to focus on his work. She must have you quite neglected if she occupies your thoughts this much.”
“You aren’t the one at fault here, and you know it well.” He exhales heavily once again, hands let go of the scroll he had been pretending to read a few seconds ago. “I made the rule; you just accepted my wishes.”
“Mhm, I know. Which means you can just ignore it, you know?”
“Not possible.” His hand finds his quill, determined to actually get work done and to commit to his own principles. “I won’t risk another scare.” He adds, like it’s enough to finish the conversation. And given that you add no answer, it seems to have been effective.
It stays quiet for a few minutes. The peace is barely interrupted by the occasional sound of his quill against paper, and the movement of the scroll you’re reading, or the faint sound of movements outside the room, a reminder of the structure of the life you both have.
But even if it makes no sound, you can almost feel the recurring flex of his free hand against the side of his desk where it’s resting, like he’s anchoring himself to avoid acting on certain thoughts.
“…do you want to come sit next to me?” You end up offering after a while, avoiding any mocking tone that might make his pride flare up, sensing his inner turmoil.
“My desk is fine.” The excuse doesn’t answer your question, but it does provide an answer at all, which to him is enough.
“You won’t get me pregnant by sitting next to me, Zuko. You know it doesn’t work like that.”
He pauses at the slight patient edge of your tone, like you know he’s craving to feel your presence in at least some way. It should irritate him that you know him so well. Instead, he complies.
“…That’s a fair point.” He nods, already standing to continue his work along you, posture regal as if walking towards a formal event instead of towards his very beautiful, very tempting wife.
“Do you want to lean against my shoulder?”
“Yes, please.”
Zuko was a man used to rational thinking.
To consider all the possible variables to reach the most beneficial decisions, to make himself as neutral as he could to avoid his judgment being clouded, to deal with the constant pressure that, if he didn’t, there’d be consequences. One cannot lead a nation without that ability.
And for all the discipline he had in theory, he realised during the past few days, it wouldn’t be enough. Not this time.
Not with you waking up in his arms every morning. Or holding him after long days. Or with how much you enjoyed running your fingers through his hair late at night when the weight of the world outside the doors of your shared room seemed to ease.
Not with him being so infuriatingly in love with you.
That much he decided one bright morning, when, for once, he had no urgent matters for a while. Which made you suggest that you both could spar in the open hall of the palace, for old times’ sake.
And he had agreed, because who was he to deny you, really?
It had been easy at first. Letting the sparring match guide him and ease his thoughts, to focus on the way you lit up every time you managed to catch him off guard or make him stumble.
Or even more so, to notice with endearing precision how you were one of the few people who could match him in a fight; not because you were stronger than him, but because you knew him so well that you could predict his forms with almost clinical accuracy.
That, of course, until he managed to sweep you off your feet, his body naturally moving to pin you against the floor of the hall with an unconscious reflex.
By the time his mind caught up to his actions, he was braced above you, one of his hands holding your wrists over your head. Face close enough that your breaths mingled like they have done multiple times in far more private settings.
And before he could even begin to make himself aware of the press of you against him, the expression of your eyes as you gazed up at him with a shaken demeanour or the way you exhaled shakily due to exhaustion, before he could bask in it…he let go of your wrists, promptly standing up. And then, immediately offered you his hand to stand up, because he might be forcing himself to control his emotions, but he’d rather die than let such a thing get in the way of your comfort.
“Well, at least you aren’t going easy on me.” You comment with a light laugh as he helps you up. Right away, you're already moving into a fighting stance, intending to continue the sparring. If you noticed his internal agitation, you made no comment on it.
And in that precise moment, Zuko decided, he would make use of his rational thinking to find alternatives to end his suffering without risking his principles. And once he decided something needed solving, he didn’t let it go.
Zuko is a resourceful man.
Years into the role had taught him to look for options where there seemed to be none, to twist his proposals until the council accepted them without losing their main goal, to be aware of how, even when things seemed complicated, there were always ways out.
Surely, he could apply such ability to his current predicament.
“Something on your mind, Fire Lord?” He lets go of his quill as soon as he hears your voice as you enter his private study, the scrolls on his desk (ones this time he had actually been working on) almost judgmental of his newly distracted demeanour.
“…trade agreements.” He replies simply, even as you walk closer, a small tray of warm tea in your hands, which you place delicately on the free space of the table that isn’t buried in paperwork. Despite his stern tone, his hand still finds your wrist, moving towards your now free hand, almost unconsciously lacing your fingers with his. “You didn’t have to bring the tea yourself.”
“I wanted to do it. Can't I give myself the pleasure of seeing my husband work so diligently?”
“…You can.” His grip on your hand tightens for a brief moment, sensing the warmth of your skin before reluctantly letting go. “Just don’t expect me to stay focused.”
“You needed a break, either way.”
“Maybe.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Not the empty kind, but rather the one that grows between two people comfortable enough in each other’s presence to not need to fill it with small talk.
You lean slightly against the desk, your eyes briefly scanning the room until you realise you’ve left the door slightly ajar while entering with your hands full with the tray. You’re about to walk towards it to close it fully when his voice interrupts the quiet.
“I’ve been thinking.” He begins, hand reaching for one of the cups of tea, tone stoic as if he was about to, in fact, discuss trade agreements. “About our rule.”
“I assume you aren’t going to suddenly ask for another kid, are you?”
“I’m not.” He denies calmly, taking a sip of the warm liquid. “But I’ve been thinking of alternatives.” That catches your attention.
“…alternatives?” You mutter, tilting your head slightly, already curious given how, by his attitude, one would assume he’s discussing a crucial political agreement instead of…your private life as a couple.
“Yes, ways we could avoid…distance.” Zuko phrases it carefully despite the slight confidence in his voice. “While still keeping our decision.”
You laugh lightly, already entertained by how serious this seems to be for him. “Do tell.”
“We don’t have to avoid it completely. There are…other ways we could-” He sighs against his cup of tea. “Physical closeness can be done in more than one way. And you’re…good with your hands. So am I.”
“…are you saying that, for now, we should only-?”
“It’s a safer alternative.” He interrupts. “It’s not inherently a risk, depending on how we approach it”
You stare at him for a few seconds. At the slight furrow of his brow, at his too serious expression and slight frustrated edge beneath it.
“You know if we do only that kind of thing, you probably still will get carried away in the moment and we’ll end up having sex either way, right?”
“…I’ve considered that.” Zuko sips once away from his cup of tea, as if it’d shield him from the slight embarrassment of his tone. “But if we’re mindful, there are ways to reduce the risk.”
“…reduce how?”
“If I’m careful of the timing.” He begins, still with a light frown. “It might still be avoidable.”
“Zuko.” You call, already sensing where his words are going and determined to save him from that kind of mortification. Even more as his tone seems a bit more frustrated now. And if you have learned anything through the years, it is that when he runs out of options, he tends to get blunt in a way that later haunts him at night.
“I mean, the chances would be lower if I didn’t-”
“Zuko.”
“If I don't-” He pauses, searching for a better choice of words. He doesn’t find them. “If I don’t finish inside.”
…
There it is.
You sigh, already opening your mouth to answer, when-
“Ahem.”
You both freeze immediately. Then, almost at the same time, you both slowly turn your gaze toward the door.
The same door where the Grand Chamberlain (who clearly had been waiting for the right moment to announce himself without interrupting, which didn’t arrive in the most graceful way) stood with a stack of papers in his hands, things that surely needed immediate attention from the Fire Lord.
It didn’t help that he didn’t look awkward; his face just showed the exhaustion of someone who had clearly heard too much, but that wasn’t about to make a show out of it in front of the most powerful man of the Fire Nation.
The same man who, for a few seconds, looked like he’d rather fight his sister again rather than deal with this.
That, clearly, until he masked his face with the same expression he used for every formal event and council sessions, leaving his cup of tea back on his desk with such calm precision that it seemed to belong to someone who wasn’t discussing how to not get his wife pregnant again a moment ago.
“Grand Chamberlain.” His voice is firm. “The door was closed for a reason.”
“It was not closed, Your Majesty.” He replies in the same polite tone he always directed at him. This makes Zuko gaze at you, almost silently looking for an answer. You shrug slightly, letting him know that, in fact, you hadn’t closed the door.
“…Is there something you need?” Zuko speaks again despite the obvious flush of red on the tip of his ears.
The chamberlain clears his throat again, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “I brought the new reforms you need to approve for the afternoon.”
“Of course, give them to me.” He asks, despite how clearly he was avoiding eye contact now from anyone who wasn’t the scroll of his desk, which suddenly seemed incredibly interesting. Not even after the Chamberlain left the documents on his desk and left the room with a small bow (and a very respectful ‘I’ll close the door on my way out’) did he take his gaze away from the paper.
“Now that we’re alone again.” You begin once more, tone clearly entertained even if you also felt completely mortified. “Do you want to…finish your earlier thought?” You add, tone amused.
“…I was finished.”
“Were you?” You continue with a small laugh, which makes him catch the intention of your previous joke, the flush of red now extending to his face.
“Please leave my office.”
Zuko was a defeated man.
He had faced the council during his early years, where traditionalists wanted nothing to do with him as the new Fire Lord, had spent years reforming a nation to erase the brutal motivations set by his father, and had spent the rest working himself to the bone to ensure peace.
And this was his defeat.
“This is ridiculous.” He sighs, a small flame escaping from his lips along it, frustration represented by the most unconscious use of his firebending.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed of your shared chambers, duties already done for the day, which should have left him to change into his sleeping robes. That, if it weren’t for his predicament and the still lingering mortification of the earlier unfortunate moment with the Grand Chamberlain.
“You seemed troubled.” You enter the room, your tone without any mocking, even after you (very mindfully) close the door of your room, returning from putting your daughter to sleep after she had been fussy and wanting to hear more stories than usual before settling in her own room.
“You know well why.”
“I do.” You nod, walking closer until you make room for yourself, settling to sit on his lap, arms wrapping around his neck for both support and closeness. “Talk to me.”
He sighs once again, leaning into you despite his frustrated state. “It’s just that…I love you.”
“Oh.” You get startled at his sudden words, then recover your composure. “And that’s a problem because…?”
“It’s not a problem. I am.” He clarifies right away, leaning against you so his face rests on the crook of your neck. “Because I want to love you properly. Not just physically. I want to…be close to you. Show you my care. Let you know how much you mean to me.” He nuzzles deeper. “But I can’t let that get in the way of keeping the rule, and I refuse to have the slight chance to make the same mistakes my father did with Azula and me.”
“You would never be the same as him.”
“You don’t know that.” He counters back, not unkindly. “I’m trying to be better, but…if we had more than one child, I might end up favouring one without knowing, or passing them the pressure of being the better heir. I’d never do that to Izumi.” He adds, honest in a way he only allows himself when he’s too tired for his usual filter. “I’d never forgive myself if I did it without even noticing.”
You stare at him for a few seconds, endeared by his worry towards your daughter, by the genuine worry of wanting to be better, of balancing his love for you with the sense of duty that had guided him his whole life.
So you take his face between your hands, away from your neck, fingers delicate against the warmth of his skin as you lightly caress the space beneath his eyes, mindful of the scarred segment of his features. And then, without much thought, you lean to kiss him, hoping it would reach him easier than any word might do right away.
He leans immediately into it, his own arms circling your waist to press you closer with almost a gentle touch. His lips move against yours like this had been what he had needed all day, and his shoulders relax enough to confirm it to you.
And after a few seconds, he separates slightly, with an almost reluctant demeanour but caring more to let you room to breathe properly, even if he remains close enough that both your breaths still mingle.
“You already are the best father she can have just by caring this much about her.” You speak then, fingers still lightly caressing his face to reassure him. “And if you don’t want more children, I’ll continue to respect your wishes. But don’t force yourself to hold back with me.” You continue, voice soft. “You don’t have to choose between loving me and staying true to your beliefs.”
“But the risk-”
“Will get worse if you force yourself to stay away from me in any way.” You interrupt gently. “Let’s just be careful, not turn this into something extreme just to keep you restricted.”
“…Alright.” He exhales, getting more relaxed at the idea of not keeping himself on such a tight leash, given how devoted he had always been when it came to loving you. And when you notice he seems less troubled, you continue, tone almost amused.
“Maybe we can even go with your suggestion. The one earlier at your study.”
He perks up slightly, gazes towards you like he wonders if he heard correctly.
you all genuinely have no fucking fandom etiquette. calling out weird stuff is one thing, but to just randomly bully people for stupid shit??? the block button is easily accessible. i hate using this term but, you newgens genuinely have no idea how to operate in fanfiction/fandom spaces. you come in with your weird ass rules and lack of respect that ruins the purpose of fanfiction. this is supposed to be a fun safe space for people to share their stories about characters that we all love. but because you’re all so immature and lack an understanding of online spaces like this, you run wild and make things miserable.
your behavior really shows that a lot of you just jump straight into this from freaking tiktok instead of taking the actual time to curate your experience the way it should be.
learn how to be in fandoms and fanfiction spaces before you come in and ruin things for people.
