마캐라

grown woman

[mindflamer]

the way history can feel so mundane when you’re alive for it. donald trump indicted for conspiring to overturn the election and i’m like. making dinner in the microwave

[catchymemes]

[importantcatpics]

[importantpics]

[importantcatpics]

[vexheart]

the things you are drawn to naturally matter a lot. they are clues. your job is to figure out why.

[aazizam]

do 10 sets of yearning for me

[pullmecloseman]

YOU MAKE IT DIFFICULT

summary: Clark Kent is helplessly in love, catastrophically awkward about it, and somehow even more charming because of it.

Clark “Superman” Kent

word count: 3k

a/n: this is a little something i made this week while i was waiting for my next class (cause why is there always a 2 hr gap??) I hope you enjoy! (*cough cough* jake seresin next?) side note: have u ever had a teacher who’s been edging u w the perfect grade? cause that’s me in english rn like pls i was so good in hs what is happening now

warnings: dangerously awkward flirting, excessive yearning, Clark Kent being down horrendous, coffee casualties, physical affection, kissing, secondhand embarrassment, umbrella sharing, weaponized eye contact, mild language

Clark Kent looked like the kind of man who should know how to flirt.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Gentle eyes hidden behind glasses that absolutely did not disguise the fact that he was unfairly handsome.

And yet—

“I panicked,” he admitted as coffee spread across the bullpen floor.

You stared at him from beside your desk, blinking slowly while reporters twisted in their chairs to watch the disaster unfold.

“You spilled an entire latte because I touched your arm?”

Clark adjusted his glasses with the expression of a man facing public execution. “In my defense,” he said weakly, “you’re very pretty.”

Somewhere across the newsroom, somebody choked on a laugh.

You looked down at the coffee dripping off the edge of Clark’s desk. Then back up at him. Then at the completely soaked stack of papers in his hands.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“No, I mean—” You pointed at the papers. “Weren’t those your interview notes?”

Clark glanced down.

The color drained from his face. “Oh no.”

The bullpen erupted.

Jimmy Olsen burst into laughter so hard he physically folded over his desk. Someone else wolf-whistled. Perry White shouted something from his office about professionalism that nobody listened to.

Clark stood frozen in the middle of it all looking deeply, deeply miserable.

And weirdly adorable.

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “You’re kind of a disaster, Kent.”

He looked at you over the rim of his glasses, visibly horrified. “You think I’m a disaster?”

“I think,” you said carefully, “that you just sacrificed your notes to avoid having a conversation with me.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Mostly.”

Jimmy made a loud fake coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like he likes you.

Clark shot him a betrayed look.

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

And that—that seemed to make Clark’s entire brain shut down.

Because he stared at you for half a second too long, looking startled by the sound, before smiling instinctively.

It hit you like a truck.

Not because he was handsome—you had unfortunately noticed that weeks ago when you’d first started at the Daily Planet—but because his smile changed his whole face.

Clark smiling felt warm. Soft. Like sunlight through open curtains.

Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.

Clark seemed to realize he was still staring at you at the exact same moment you realized you were staring back.

He immediately looked away so quickly he knocked another coffee cup over with his elbow.

“Oh my God,” Jimmy wheezed.

-

Working at the Daily Planet meant existing in a constant state of chaos.

Phones rang nonstop. Reporters argued across desks. Perry barked deadlines like military orders while interns sprinted through the bullpen carrying stacks of papers and half-dead laptops.

You’d only been there three months, but somehow it already felt normal.

Mostly because of Clark.

Which was ridiculous.

You barely knew him. Technically.

But Clark Kent had this strange gravitational pull to him. The kind that made people naturally drift toward him without realizing it.

He remembered everyone’s coffee orders. Held doors open. Asked about your day and actually listened to the answer.

He was impossibly kind in a way that should’ve felt fake considering he looked like that, but somehow didn’t.

Honestly, the man looked like he’d been engineered in a lab specifically to make people stare.

Broad chest. Strong hands. Dark curls that always fell messily over his forehead no matter how many times he pushed them back.

And his eyes.

Jesus Christ.

You’d made the mistake of maintaining eye contact with him once during a meeting and forgotten your own name halfway through a sentence.

Which apparently wasn’t a problem exclusive to you.

Because Clark got nervous around you too. Painfully nervous.

At first you thought you imagined it.

Then you noticed patterns.

Clark dropping things whenever you walked too close to him. Clark forgetting what he was saying mid-conversation because you smiled at him. Clark volunteering for stories on the opposite side of Metropolis whenever you wore something nice.

It was honestly kind of endearing.

Today, however, was especially bad.

You walked into the break room around noon and stopped short.

Clark was standing at the counter holding a mug that literally bent in his hand.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Ceramic cracked beneath his fingers.

Clark stared down at it in horror.

You stared at him.

“…Did you just Hulk-smash a coffee mug?”

Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. “What? No.”

You pointed.

The handle fell off the mug and hit the floor.

Clark looked genuinely distressed. “I can explain.”

“I would love to hear this explanation actually.”

He glanced around the empty break room like he was searching for divine intervention.

“It was slippery.”

“The mug exploded.”

“It’s a very slippery mug.”

You laughed again.

Clark visibly melted.

Not metaphorically either. The man genuinely seemed to lose all motor function when you laughed near him.

It was becoming a problem.

“You know,” you said, leaning against the counter, “for a Pulitzer-winning reporter, you’re a terrible liar.”

Clark ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. “That obvious?”

“Clark, you once told Perry your laptop stopped working because of solar flares.”

“They can interfere with technology.”

“Sure.”

“It’s science.”

“You sounded like a conspiracy podcast host.”

Clark huffed out a laugh.

God.

That was dangerous too.

Because Clark didn’t laugh quietly. He laughed fully. Warm and surprised and bright like he couldn’t help it.

You liked making him do it.

Probably more than you should.

“You’re staring,” Clark said softly.

You blinked.

Shit.

“I am not.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

You folded your arms immediately. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Clark’s ears turned pink.

And for some reason, that made you bold.

“You get flustered really easily for someone who looks like he belongs on a magazine cover.”

Clark made a choking noise. “A magazine—”

“You know exactly what you look like, Kent.”

“I really don’t think I do.”

“That’s actually insane.”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I think you’re beautiful, so maybe we’re both insane.”

The room went completely silent.

Your heartbeat stuttered.

Clark seemed to realize what he’d said a full three seconds later.

“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself.

Then he physically walked into a cabinet.

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

Clark stood there with his eyes squeezed shut like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“You okay?” you asked, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Never better.”

“You hit that cabinet really hard.”

“I’m durable.”

You snorted.

Clark looked absolutely devastated by his own existence.

And somehow, impossibly, it made him even cuter.

-

Lois Lane cornered you two days later.

“You like him.”

You nearly inhaled your own coffee. “What?”

Lois sat casually on the edge of your desk like she wasn’t about to ruin your entire life.

“You and Smallville.”

“We are coworkers.”

“You look at him like he personally invented romance.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Lois smirked.

“Oh my God,” you muttered.

“Yeah, that’s usually the reaction.”

You dropped your head onto your desk dramatically. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me? Absolutely.”

“This is humiliating.”

“Nah.” Lois nudged your shoulder. “It’s cute.”

Cute.

Right.

Except your crush on Clark Kent felt less cute and more actively life-threatening.

Because the problem with Clark wasn’t just that he was attractive.

It was that he was good.

Everywhere you looked, Clark was helping someone.

Carrying absurdly heavy boxes for interns. Staying late to help fact-check stories. Walking little old ladies across busy streets outside the Planet building.

Once, you’d watched him stop in the middle of a conversation because he noticed a little kid crying outside through the bullpen windows.

Clark had excused himself immediately and come back twenty minutes later with melted ice cream on his sleeve and a shy explanation about helping the kid find his dad.

Who does that?

Who is actually like that?

“You’re smiling,” Lois said knowingly.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Unfortunately, she was right.

Lois leaned closer. “So what’s the hold up?”

“What?”

“With Clark.”

You stared at her. “There is no ‘with Clark.’”

“Please. That man looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

“That’s dramatic.”

“It’s accurate.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called your name from across the bullpen.

You looked up instinctively.

Big mistake.

Clark was walking toward you holding a file folder against his chest, glasses slipping down his nose slightly. His tie was crooked. His hair looked windswept like he’d just sprinted back from somewhere.

Which honestly was possible.

The man moved weirdly fast.

Clark smiled the second he saw you.

And there it was again.

That stupid, soft sunlight feeling.

Lois watched your entire expression change and looked unbearably smug about it.

“I’m going to kill you,” you muttered.

“Worth it.”

Clark reached your desk, slightly out of breath. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

For a second, both of you just stood there smiling at each other like idiots.

Lois made a fake gagging noise before hopping off the desk. “I’m leaving before this turns into a Hallmark movie.”

Clark looked alarmed. “What turns into a Hallmark movie?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

“Everything,” Lois corrected.

Then she disappeared into the crowd of desks before either of you could stop her.

Clark looked adorably confused.

You looked anywhere except directly at him.

“So,” Clark said after a moment. “I, uh… brought those files you asked for.”

He handed them over carefully.

Your fingers brushed his.

Clark froze.

You felt him freeze.

The entire atmosphere shifted instantly.

It was ridiculous.

A tiny touch shouldn’t feel electric.

And yet.

Clark swallowed hard. “You okay?”

“You’re asking me?”

A nervous laugh escaped him.

“You just—” He stopped himself abruptly.

“What?”

Clark stared at you for one long second like he was debating something internally. “Nothing.”

“Clark.”

“It’s not important.”

“Clark.”

His shoulders slumped in surrender. “You just make me nervous.”

The honesty in his voice hit you straight in the chest.

“You make me nervous too,” you admitted quietly.

Clark blinked.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“But you seem so calm around me.”

You stared at him. “Clark, last week you smiled at me and I walked directly into the women’s restroom instead of the elevator.”

For a beat of silence, Clark just looked at you.

Then he laughed.

Not a polite chuckle.

Not a soft huff.

An actual laugh.

Head tipped back slightly. Eyes crinkling behind his glasses. Warm and bright and helpless.

Your heart basically dissolved on the spot.

“You think I’m funny?” you asked weakly.

Clark looked at you like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.

“I think you’re incredible.”

Oh.

Oh, you were in serious trouble.

-

It started raining halfway through your walk home.

Not normal rain either.

The kind of dramatic Metropolis downpour that felt personally targeted.

You groaned as cold water soaked through your jacket within seconds. “Seriously?”

“You forgot your umbrella too?”

You turned.

Clark stood a few feet away under a massive black umbrella, glasses speckled with rain.

Of course he had an umbrella.

Clark looked like the kind of man who reminded other people to bring umbrellas.

“You stalking me, Kent?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Coincidence. I was getting groceries.”

He lifted a paper bag slightly.

You frowned. “How are those not soaked already?”

Clark glanced at the perfectly dry bag in confusion before quickly holding the umbrella lower. “Good umbrella?”

You narrowed your eyes.

Clark smiled innocently.

Suspicious.

Still, he stepped closer, angling the umbrella over both of you.

Warmth immediately surrounded you.

Clark smelled ridiculously good. Like clean laundry and coffee and something faintly earthy after the rain.

You tried not to notice.

Failed horribly.

“You can’t walk me home every time it rains, you know.”

Clark looked down at you. “I can try.”

Oh.

Oh, that was dangerous.

The city blurred around you as you walked side by side through the rain.

Cars hissed past on wet streets. Neon signs reflected off puddles. Somewhere nearby, someone played music loud enough to echo between buildings.

Clark kept subtly adjusting the umbrella to make sure you stayed covered.

Meanwhile his own shoulder was getting soaked.

“You’re terrible at sharing umbrellas,” you informed him.

Clark blinked. “I am?”

“You’re getting rained on.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, move over.”

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged him closer underneath the umbrella.

Clark immediately went completely still beside you.

Your arm brushed his.

Heat radiated through the contact even through layers of clothing.

Clark looked down at you slowly.

And there it was again.

That look.

Like you were something precious.

Something worth handling carefully.

It made your chest ache.

“You know,” you said softly, “for someone who panics every time I touch him, you really like standing close to me.”

Clark’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I enjoy the panic.”

“Is that what this is?”

“No,” he admitted quietly. “Not really.”

Rain hammered softly overhead.

Clark’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up.

Your breath caught.

He noticed.

You knew he noticed because his own breathing changed instantly.

And suddenly the space between you felt very small.

Very warm.

Very dangerous.

A car horn blared somewhere nearby.

Both of you jumped apart like guilty teenagers.

Clark cleared his throat violently. “Well.”

“Yep.”

“That was—”

“Definitely something.”

Clark laughed nervously.

You smiled despite yourself.

Then, before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand.

Clark went silent.

His fingers instinctively curled around yours.

Warm.

Careful.

Like he was afraid to hold on too tightly.

You looked up at him.

Clark looked completely undone.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like I personally invented happiness.”

Clark stared at you for one long second.

Then he smiled softly.

“I might argue you did.”

Your heart was never recovering from this man.

Ever.

-

By the time you reached your apartment building, neither of you had let go of the other’s hand.

Clark looked mildly stunned by that fact.

You were trying not to look equally affected.

Rainwater dripped from the edge of the umbrella while the city buzzed around you in blurry lights and distant traffic.

Neither of you moved.

“This is usually the part,” you said carefully, “where people say goodbye.”

Clark nodded immediately. “Right. Yeah. Goodbye.”

Neither of you let go.

A smile tugged at your mouth.

Clark noticed instantly.

“What?”

“You’re still holding my hand.”

Clark looked down like he’d genuinely forgotten.

“Oh.”

But he still didn’t let go.

Instead, his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles.

The movement was absentminded.

Gentle.

Your heartbeat nearly climbed into your throat.

Clark looked like he realized what he was doing at the exact same moment.

His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses.

“You should probably kiss me now,” you blurted before your brain could stop you.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Clark stared at you.

You stared back in horror as your own words replayed in your head.

“Well,” you said weakly. “That was terrifying.”

Clark still looked frozen.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “Forget I said that.”

“No.”

Your eyes snapped back to his.

Clark stepped closer slowly, like he was worried you’d disappear if he moved too fast.

“No,” he repeated softly. “I really don’t think I can.”

The rain suddenly felt very far away.

Clark lifted one hand carefully toward your face.

Even now—even with the way he looked at you, with your fingers tangled together, with every charged moment between you hanging in the air—he still hesitated like he wanted permission.

You leaned into his touch before he could ask.

Something in Clark’s expression melted instantly.

Then he kissed you.

And—

Oh.

That was not a first-kiss kind of kiss.

There was nothing uncertain about it.

Clark kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for weeks and was only now allowing himself to do it.

Warm lips. Careful hands. The soft sound he made when you kissed him back harder.

Your fingers curled into the front of his jacket automatically.

Clark’s free hand settled against your waist like he physically couldn’t stop himself.

And somehow, impossibly, he still kissed like Clark.

Sweet.

Tender.

Like he was trying to memorize you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were visibly breathless.

Clark looked completely wrecked.

His glasses were crooked.

His hair was damp from the rain.

And he was looking at you like you’d personally rewritten his entire universe.

“You kissed me,” he said softly, sounding genuinely awed by it.

You laughed quietly. “Pretty sure you kissed me too, Kent.”

“I know, I just—” He stopped to smile helplessly. “Wow.”

You smiled so hard your face hurt.

Clark looked at you for another long second before blurting suddenly, “I have wanted to do that since the first day you worked at the Planet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “The first day?”

“You smiled at me in the elevator and I walked into a wall.”

You stared at him.

Then burst into laughter.

Clark groaned immediately. “Please don’t laugh.”

“You walked into a wall?”

“It was a glass wall,” he muttered.

“That is somehow worse.”

Clark covered his face with one hand while you laughed harder.

“I’m trying to be romantic.”

“You are romantic,” you promised, still grinning. “You’re just also deeply awkward.”

Clark peeked at you through his fingers. “You still like me though?”

The fact that he sounded genuinely unsure nearly killed you.

You reached up, adjusting his crooked glasses carefully. “Clark Kent, you spilled coffee on yourself because I touched your arm.”

His ears turned pink again.

“You carried one umbrella specifically big enough for two people.”

Clark looked away innocently.

“You looked at me like your entire life changed because I held your hand.”

A soft smile spread slowly across his face.

Then he leaned down and kissed you again.

Softer this time.

Slow enough that your chest physically ached from it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“So,” you murmured, “does this mean you’ll stop destroying office supplies every time I flirt with you?”

Clark considered that seriously.

“…Probably not.”

You laughed.

And Clark smiled like it was still the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

[importantpics]

[missgoldnweek]

🙂‍↕️

[trying-trying2lyk]

i love writing out numbers and then putting them in parentheses like "one (1)" even when i dont need to i think its funny

[marvel-hiddles-stark]

I’m so serious David Corenswet playing Superman legit feels the same level of once-in-a-lifetime casting as RDJ for iron man. Like he was BORN for that role.

[luckiestangel-deactivated202509]

breaking news: woman is insane about that fictional character, even more so than yesterday

[iscreamvanilla]

We go where no one goes

Zuko x f!reader | wc 1.7k The Fire Lord takes you for a ride on his dragon. no cw, fluff only (maybe heights?)

You didn’t remember him being this big. When you first saw Druk it was both mesmerizing and amusing. He was just a tiny, scruffy, smoke-snorting lizard who'd trip over his own wings and sneeze sparks into your hair. Absolutely no hint of the stern composure expected by what should be an imposing creature.

Now though he looms over half the palace, grown into the legend of its kind, hard scales of copper gleaming in the afternoon sun. You’ve been gone a little less than a year for ambassadorial duties and can’t quite believe it took only this amount of time for him to grow that much. When you enter the rear palace his stare is on you in an instant, gleaming yellow eyes the size of shields pointed in carefully inspection.

For a moment you wonder if he recognizes you, and you frantically start to look around for his companion and master in case he decided you’re a threat worth incinerating. But a low rumble vibrates in the dragon’s throat. And then a gentle hand squeezes your shoulder. When you meet Zuko’s eyes, his warm smile greeting you, you settle instantly, at ease. “He remembers you”, he says, guiding you closer with a careful nudge. Concurring with his master, Druk lowers his head to nuzzle against your shoulder once you’re close enough. He’s so brawny and impossibly warm. Not just his scales beneath your hands but the heat rolling off him in waves as he crouches down, smoke curling in soft spirals from his nostrils. He’s even more massive from up close, where you can see and feel his wings twitch with restless energy, claws scraping grooves into the ground.

“You used to fit in my lap”, you tell him, scratching the spot under his jaw he used to love. With no surprise he still does, since the vibration increases. He always had somewhat the manners of a cat. Behind you, Zuko huffs though his nose. “He lit your sleeve on fire”. “That happened once”. “Three times”. You ignore that and keep running a hand along the smooth red scales of his neck. “Still love when I do this, huh?”. Zuko’s expression softens at the sight. It always did when it came to Druk. Or you. And both of you in the picture melt his heart instantly. “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “He does”. Druk wasn’t the only one that grew up, you couldn’t help but notice as Zuko adjusted the saddle straps one final time before your departure. Today he traded Fire Lord’s garments for lighter traveling clothes that highlight his broad shoulders, a cloth belt wrapped around his waist. The wind whips through his hair, his headpiece still on, a shiny star in the dark firmaments of his locks, bright in the afternoon light. He promised a breathtaking view as a gift for your return, but you think he’s already giving you one.

Zuko settles into the saddle with practiced ease and extends his hand to help you up. You vault into the saddle behind him with what you hope is graceful confidence, settling your hands lightly on his shoulders. "Ok. Perfectly balanced”. “You sure you’re alright?”, he asks. You scoff. “Please, I got this”. The mere though of holding on to another part of him, being closer to that chiseled body, makes your blood run as hot as Druk’s. Zuko makes a fond sigh. His hand reaches back for a moment as he checks your harness. “Besides, I’ve known this little lizard all his life”. Druk growls in offence. “First: don’t call him that”, Zuko gripes. “And second: you're going to eat those words in about three seconds”. "I never—"

The world drops away when the dragon surges upward with a powerful beat of his wings. One second there’s safe earth beneath you and the next there’s only sky and violent wind and the terrifying realization that nothing is holding you up except an enormous flying reptile. Each downbeat rolls through the air with a deep, leathery boom, a sound halfway between a ship’s sails snapping and the muffled crack of distant thunder.

The air slams into you like a solid wall and your hands fly from Zuko's shoulders to wrap around his waist, clutching him with enough force to probably crack ribs. Your press your cheek flat against his shoulder blades, squeezing your eyes shut as the wind roars in your ears. "Oh, Spirits—!" Zuko barks out a laugh that gets lost in the wind. “Oh, shut up”, you yell over the noise in your ears. “I didn’t say anything”. “You’re thinking it”. “I’m thinking”, he shouts, putting one hand over your locked arms on him, “that maybe you should hold on tighter”. When you do so, even though with a displeased grunt, he leans back into you with a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He relishes this closeness, the way you’re practically fused to his back. Every climb presses you backward. Every dive makes your stomach lurch into your throat. Until after a few moments, Druk levels out and the ride smooths into a gentle, soaring rhythm. "Still with us?", Zuko’s voice vibrates through his chest and into your cheek. Clinging to him in response, you keep your eyes shut still. "You can open your eyes now”. How does he know? "Trust me”. You crack one eye open. Then the other. And forget how to breathe.

The world stretches endlessly beneath you, The Fire Nation capital now shrinking, turning into a miniature model of red tiles and winding canals. The forests all around it are a ripple of green ocean and rivers twist through valleys like silver veins, catching the sunlight. Villages appear for only a moment — tiny clusters of chimneys and torchlight — before vanishing behind clouds.

You loosen your grip on Zuko just enough to look around properly, though one arm remains firmly around his waist. A quiet woah escapes you in a breath. You’d traveled around the world and seen your fair share of things, but never like this. Not from this angle. Everything looks softer from the sky. Bigger somehow, and smaller at the same time. Wind tears past your ears in a constant roar. It steals breath from your mouth and turns every inhale razor-cold. Sometimes Druk exhales and heat rolls back over you in waves, carrying smoke and sulfur. Zuko turns his head just enough to look at you. His eyes of molten gold catch the sunlight and he gives you a cheerful smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought the first time too”.

Druk gives a proud trill as he soars higher, catching a warm current. When he banks, the entire horizon tilts and the earth swings sideways. You yelp, but this time not in panic. There’s now an exhilaration bubbling in your chest as you lean with the movement, following the subtle tilts of Zuko’s body. “Oh Spirits”, you laugh. “We’re flying!”. He echoes your sentiment; you can’t hear his laugh, that crystalline sound that pours from his lips from a place deep within him. But you feel the way his chest rises beneath your arms, and his shoulders bump, and something about the closeness suddenly feels easy. Natural. Once again, you rest your cheek against his back, now enjoying the view with wonder-wide eyes.

Then suddenly, Druk lets out a low, rumbling huff, folding its wings for speed and free-falling for a few second before snapping his wings open again with a deafening WHUMP. Your entire body jolts as the fall transforms back into flight. “DRUK!”, Zuko reprimands, but the dragon thrills and ignores his master’s grunts. “Sorry, he likes to show off when he has a guest”. “I didn’t know the Fire Lord offered free rides”, you say teasingly, not without a certain edge to the tone. “What? No, I don’t—”, he stammers, squirming in his seat trying to look at you. He’s cute. “Hope I’m not gonna be charged for this since it was your idea”. “There are no guests!”, he shouts, just a bit too loud, to be heard over the whirling wind. He’s a little warmer than before, even through the layers of clothes. You let a little giggle escape you. “Druk is just happy to see me, then?”. “Well, it has been quite a while. And you stopped writing”. “Didn’t know a dragon was reading my missives”. “I used them as bed-time stories”, he says drolly. You’re about to make another witty remark but he stops you, pointing at something in front of you. Couds become physical things at this height, and Druk carries you to them. You don’t just pass through, you enter them. Mist beads against your skin and for a few second you’re surrounded by a glowing rosey-gold silence. Quickly, you burst free above the cloud layer into amber sunlight and endless sky, now slowly turning violet. The world below disappears entirely, replaced by a sea of clouds stretching farther than any ocean.

For a while you’re both quiet, taking in the view. Druk glides smoothly through the clouds now. The rhythm of his wings becomes steady beneath you, almost calming. Your hands still rest around Zuko’s middle. At one point he places his hand over yours, fingers warm and gentle as he gives one light squeeze. "You know, I like this”. "Flying?". "This." He squeezes your hand again. "Having you close. You're usually so... independent. And quite stubborn". "Watch it, Fire Lord”, you admonish, with no real edge. He chuckles. He wants to tell you that the way you're holding on to him now, like he’s the only solid thing in the world, it’s awfully nice. Instead he takes advantage of a little bump in a current to say “You can hold on tighter, if you want”.

He feels you tilt your head on his back. “I’m already holding on”. “I know”, he tries to make the sentence flow smoothly, running over the slight pitch in his voice. “Just making sure you feel secure”. You narrow your eyes and let a moment pass. “You like this”. “Flying?”, he mirrors you. “The excuse to get cuddled”. Zuko is very silent for a while. Druk lets out a happy chirp, as if agreeing. “…Maybe”, he mutters.

Hiding your flushed cheeks and merry smile on his back, you tighten your arms around him, but this time it’s not out of fright. It’s because you want to stay right here, wrapped around him, flying above a world that suddenly feels full of possibilities.

dividers by @uzmacchiato and @/saradika-graphics

@radicaldualism it took a while but here we are, soaring high :3

[importantcatpics]

[kamiflix]

▶︎︎ Legendary Lovers (starring . fire lord zuko)

synopsis . Overstim with your husband but he keeps accidentally setting things on fire because of it. content . afab!reader, masturbation (m!receiving), established relationship, improper use of fire bending(?), overstim, wife!reader, switching dynamics, bondage, pet names, nipple play (m!receiving), somewhat dom!reader, missionary, manhandling, etc.

“S-Shit,” Zuko huffed, hips insistent with their bucking as he uncontrollably drives the frustrated head of his weepy cock up into your hand.

You sat at his side with your eyes innocently watching as he fell apart entirely under your touch, “Does that feel good?”

He couldn't take his eyes off the way your fingers looked wrapped around his length, “Hhngh-, fuck.. So good,” He huffs, admiring how perfectly you jerked him off and struggling greatly with the bit of rope neatly tied around his wrists—which are positioned behind his back. “D-Don’t stop. Please.”

You squeeze at his base and feel how his veins pulse ‘n twitch against your palm, the tip of his cock a flushed shade of tanned red.

Then your gaze flicked up and you caught the way he threw his head back, letting the long, loose strands of his silky hair flutter all elegantly with the motion. There was certainly nothing more endearing than watching the fire lord come undone before you like this.

A slopped mess of slick cum keeps your hand steady with its slippery motions up 'n down his dick, his balls aching and heavy with need to release yet another load into your palm. You grin before silently leaning forward, letting your lips press into his chest all lightly as you hear him struggle with whines and grunts.

“Ah, your hand is always-, shit… s-s’soft..” Zuko mumbled, his abs tensing at the feel of your touch. Without warning, he nearly whimpers at the sensation of your lips cupping his nipple. “Oh God-,” Your husband's breathing tangles up in his throat, “Wait-, fuck.. Y’know I’m sensitive there, wait—“

“Mmnh..” You hum delightedly against him and let your hands pace quicken against his cock, feeling the entirety of his body heat up for a moment before he begins to twitch all over the place, his wrists fighting against the restraints keeping them in place.

This whole thing had been his idea. He'd asked you time and time again to tie him up and do whatever you want to him, but just like all the times in the past where this has been tried—he never seems to last too long before-

The smell of fumes hit your nose.

You pop your lips off his swollen nipples and halt your sucking for a moment just to look up at his teary-eyed face, admiring the pout he’s got on. “Zuko…” You purr with a slightly raised brow.

He angles his head back down to meet eyes with you, batting those dark pretty lashes at you as if he'd done nothing wrong, “Yes, love?”

“Are you burning through those ropes again?” You ask.

The fire lord shakes his head, “N-No..?”

“Then…" Your gaze narrows at him skeptically, "What’s that smell?”

Before he gathers his thoughts enough to answer you properly, you turn your head to see one of your nightstands on fire.

Damnit. That’s the third one this week!

Luckily enough for the both of you, the flame isn't as large as it'd been previously. Though, as you let your hand halt in jerking your lover off and try to pull away for a moment to go put the fire out, there's a stronger scent of fumes flying into your nose.

This time it's the smell of burning rope.

Followed by which is the sound of something snapping and suddenly—there's a pair of grabby hands meeting your arms and your body is being pushed right over.

A flutter of royal-red and gold fabrics scatter around your frame and drape your sides whilst your attention is redirected upwards. Panting above you is your needy husband Zuko, who's got his brows furrowed slightly and his eyes pleading as they land down on you, "Ignore it," He suggests.

You flash a confused look at him and then playfully swat at his chest, "I can't just ignore it, that's the third one this week!"

He shyly glances off to the side before muttering, "...So?"

"What do you mean so?" You scoff, "We'll have to rebuild the entire bedroom suite at this rate!"

His eyes find yours again and you feel his body coming closer to yours, flinching at the wet swipe of his drooling cockhead over your inner thigh as he adjusts himself. "You're the one who insisted on teasing me."

"You asked me to." You remind him.

"Well,” He frowns a little, “When I told you to use me, I was hoping..."

Your hands reach up to cup his face and pull him down impossibly closer—the warmth of his body enveloping you further. "Hoping what, my lord?" You whisper.

He shoots you a short-lived glare, "What'd I tell you about that?" You give him a cheeky smile and he rolls his eyes at it. "I was hoping you'd use me in here," To add emphasis to his words, his cock comes pressing against the soppy wet-spot in your panties.

"Zuko!" You gasp in surprise, earning a sleazy little smile from him.

Then comes a quick finger to swat that measly fabric out the way, his tip rushing to kiss the saturated lips of your cunt and smear the apart for entry.

Just before he can push into you, "Wait," You huff, "When and how did you break free?"

"Hm?” Zuko raises a brow, “Free of what?" He hums innocently.

Your expression is entirely unconvinced of his innocent act. Deadpanning, "You burned the ropes again, didn't you?"

Another smile paints into his perfect features before he grinds his hips down into yours, throbbing cock sliding ever-so-gracefully into you as if to distract you. Zuko leans down to your ear to whisper, "What ropes?" and you hear some sort of flame crackling in the distance.

He definitely just set something else on fire just from pushing himself into you, but it’s not like he gave you much room to care. Not with the way his dick felt easing your walls open and stretching you out in the same fashion you’d beg him to nearly every other night—if not every single night.

Surely the fire nation would be expecting an heir to the throne any day now. Though, you’re not sure this heir would come about with your bedroom in one piece…

Especially since Zuko has a bad habit of burning things when he cums.

(not proofread btw) || banner art by Rororogi Mogera || tags:

@stardewplz @muddiedlove @rain-market @mayashoee @kayxox123 @yoshinorecommends @whimsynojai @blcknebula @sukubusss @iiakithegoat 

@1ana22 @miss-f0rtun3 @helloxkittylo @p-plenitude @bunbun812 @cuffiescariche @ily24 @neoroneo88 @taemfvante @gracewinston

@shesthemanluver @kayxox123

first time writing outside the jjk fandom in years, if it's bad i'll just jump off a cliff sorry! <3

edit: more zuko here 😵‍💫

[sugar-petals]

lots of admiration goes out to the grogu puppeteers, they're doing such a stellar job 🥰