@afreakingdork Sooo here is my Weak Spot playlist; Donnie focused instrumentals, a lot of his POV to reader, some Reader to Donnie. So far one Donnie to Leo
I scoured my spotify for songs and ran out; i didn't want to clog it with TOO many instrumentals for now, so just a few.
I will continually add to it as i find more, hopefully i'll remember to update this post
Songs are listed with notes and my personal favorite Lyrics as an eye catch, purple for Donnie, Green for Reader!
@garbagemilkshake i used your WS Donnie doodles as the image, you're credited in the playlist description! Let me know if you'd like me to change the image!
Songs; in order of adding them. Feel free to shuffle the playlist!
Bear in mind some of these songs are NSFW
1. NGAHHH!! - Undertale ost
So many Undertale songs fit ANY donnie's Energy
2. Blah Blah Blah - The Oozes
Donnie @ Leo
"You've ruined the colour blue for me"
3. Honeybee - Steam Powered Giraffe
Donnie to reader
"You didn't have to offer your hand
Cause since I've kissed it I am at your command
But you did"
4. Dummy! - Undertale OST
This song is peak rise Donnie energy in general
5. Everyone But You - The Front Bottoms
Donnie to Reader
"I fell in love
'Cause no one saw me the way you did
And no one's seen me that way since"
6. Love Like You - Steven Universe
Donnie to Reader
"I always thought I might be bad
Now I'm sure that it's true
'Cause I think you're so good
And I'm nothing like you"
7. Blue Moon Motel - Nicole Dollanganger
Reader to Donnie
"Take me to the Blue Moon Motel
Carry me over the threshold
Treat me like I am your young bride
Together on our wedding night
Fuck me in the motel shower
Make my makeup run like a pornstar
Carry me naked to the bed
Fawn my hair out when it's still wet"
8. True Love Café - Nicole Dollanganger
Reader To Donnie
"You have such a beautiful face
I've been dreaming about it between my legs
Come over and crawl into my bed
Kiss me, get me wet, give me head"
9. Lil' Red Riding Hood - Amanda Seyfried
Donnie to Reader
"What a big heart I have
The better to love you with
Little red riding hood
Even bad wolves can be good"
10. This is Love - Air Traffic Controller
Donnie to Reader (big Bad Villain song in general doesn't fit to a T but it is mighty sexy)
"Oh I was hit as a kid
I was good but then I quit
Everyone that tried to fix me
Knows that I can't change a bit
I've got no shame, got no pride
Only skeletons to hide
And if you try to talk to someone
Well then someone has to die
Once you chase me down the hole
Yeah once you think you're in control
You'll believe that we are partners
And you'll feel uncomfortable
Oh then the darkness rolls in
And you'll forget who I have been
But you'll love, love, love it, this is love"
11. 10 Simple Murders - The Future Kings of Nowhere
A Villain song for Donnie
"By this time I had become accustomed to the kill
And I'm not proud about it but I kinda like the thrill
To feel the heartbeat in the throat, the terror in the eyes
The sorry choking noises as they beg you for their lives
Oh, strangulation music... that was number five"
12. Everything Black - Unlike Pluto ft. Mike Taylor
Donnie to Reader
"Baby, you
Should come with me
I'll take you to the dark side
Me and you
You and me
Do bad things in the night time"
13. Addicted To Love - Florence + The Machine
Reader to Donnie
"Whoa, you like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah
It's closer to the truth to say you can't get enough
You're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to love"
Caleb dry humping your leg like a dog while you call him a good boy. Whining into your neck while grabbing onto your waist, squeezing your soft skin through your clothes, panting and drooling as you both finish without touching.
a/n: hi everybody i hope you’re all having a great summer :D. i'm horny and needed some self indulgence so i thought about this and my fingers went to work. disagree w me idc but it’s canon in my head. hope you don't mind the new layout -- i'm probably gonna keep it cuz its easier on the eyes. no song inspo this time, but i WAS bumping doja cat's hot pink album while writing this. freaky music 4 da winnnn
again, thank you to cursed-carmine on tumblr for the sparkle dividers. i’ll be abusing the fuck out of it. and thank you to my lovely bf for supporting my delusions + helping me write this. i feel like this is kind of a taboo topic so i hope this reaches the right audience LOL. as per fanfic etiquette, if you don't like it, don't interact. thank you!
(i posted this SOOOO late. i won't be surprised if it doesn't do well. currently 5:39 a.m. i'm taking my ass to bed.)
wc: 1.5k (not proofread)
tags: caleb x reader, established relationship, submissive caleb/dom reader, mommy kink obv, caleb calls reader mommy, handjob (m receiving), praise kink, orgasm denial (no not edging), reader is a mean dom lol, but caleb is a switch i swear on my life bruh
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹
nowwww like i said yall can disagree with me. you would think that his colonel caleb persona would make him dominant, riiight? riiiiight???
while that’s true, at the end of the day, caleb is still a pathetic loser who is absolutely down bad for you. dominant men need tlc too!
i’d like to think it would happen when he comes home late at night, drained and exhausted from dealing with useless recruits and endless combat reports. he’s tired, not thinking straight, and most definitely pent-up.
he takes a shower, brushes his teeth, changes into pajamas and all that, but he rushes his nightly routine because he wants to get in bed with you.
here’s the thing about caleb: he puts on this strong, caring facade because he’s had to appear like that in front of everybody else for ages. but underneath that facade is the same touch-starved little boy who had no parental figures, no sense of guidance, and no protection. he had to figure out all of that by himself.
it makes sense that the one who takes care of everything wants to shut his brain off and be the one taken care of for once. and who better than you?
anyways, the second he gets into bed with you, he’s immediately clinging to you like his life depends on it. an arm draped around your waist, his head buried into the crook of your shoulder — some part of him is always touching you.
you ask him, “what’s wrong?” in that same playful tone you always use around him, but he mumbles something unintelligible under his breath as he hugs you tightly, something about how much he missed you. you can't quite make it out.
you smile and let him cling to you like a koala for a bit, but your scent gets him hooked. the tip of his nose brushes your pulse point, his breath hot against your skin. soon, he's kissing along your jawline, a pleasant shiver running down his spine as you run your hands through his hair.
sure, caleb is always needy. but tonight feels different.
as soon as you take the initiative, he's already melting like putty in your hands. your lips trail down his neck and he's whimpering like a dog for more. you're not surprised when you reach down between your bodies to find that he already has a raging hard-on.
"missed you s'much," he's slurring, head falling back against the pillows as you begin to massage the growing tent in his pants. he's compliant, and so, so easy to tease in this state. so you play along.
"yeah-- yes-- fuck, pips, just touch me already."
those were the words you wanted to hear.
with agonizing slowness, you pull down his sweats first, your nimble fingers then working their way under the waistband of his boxers. he lifts his hips to help you, eager to get all of the layers off. but of course, you don't let up that easily. it isn't until he tells you what he wants that you finally have mercy on him.
"so desperate, caleb," you can't help but tease. this earns a frustrated whine from your boyfriend, who outstretches his arms with a need to pull you closer. you pull away. "you want it that bad?"
he swallows the lump in his throat, heat rising up to his cheeks. his ears flush red-- he can feel it-- a telltale sign that he's not the proudest of the state he's currently in. yet somehow his submissive state serves to turn him on even more.
maybe it's the fact that you seem to be enjoying yourself. in that case, caleb doesn't mind being submissive at all. not that he minded in the first place. he's just not used to being the one who's getting pampered.
"yes, please," he whines, sucking in a large breath when your hand finally wraps around his erection. you're not satisfied with his answer. in fact, you decide to take advantage of his desperate state to see what else you can squeeze out of him.
(he knows. he's not stupid.)
"please what?" you taunt, your hand unmoving. you squeeze the base of his cock, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him squirm under your grasp. "i can't give you what you want if you don't tell me."
a frustrated groan escapes his lips. caleb's hands fist the sheets beneath him, but does nothing to stop or hurry you. in fact, he seems to be enjoying the teasing. he might look frustrated, but the way his cock twitches in your hands with each berating word that comes out of your mouth says otherwise.
"please, just--" he's cut off, moaning softly as you finally begin to stroke him. "keep doing that, baby."
"doing what? this?" your hand jerks him off slightly faster, pausing every so often to rub the pad of your thumb over his leaking tip. then, you stop, your hand slowing to a torturous pace. he whimpers, but doesn't beg for more. he knows you'll tease him about it. "or this?"
"please, please baby, just--"
"please what? i can't hear you."
"please-- i need to cum-- please, mommy, please!"
bingo.
finally, you give in. you stroke him at the exact speed you know he likes, helpless whimpers escaping his lips. he's mumbling incoherently now, phrases like "so good, mommy," being repeated like a mantra.
"good boy," you praise, leaning in to peck his cheek sweetly. he leans in involuntarily, craving more of your affection. "that wasn't so hard, was it? all you had to do was tell mommy what you wanted."
caleb whimpers at the sound of you referring to yourself as such, his eyes snapping shut as his hips seek more friction.
he tries to apologize with a quick "i'm sorry, mommy" -- but you shut him down quick with a shake of your head and the pointer finger of your free hand held up to his lips.
"it's okay, baby. let's try this again," you hum. "what do you need?"
you feel him twitch in your hand again. he's really enjoying this, and it hasn't even been ten minutes. you realize caleb wasn't lying when he was complaining about being pent-up a few days ago.
"need to cum, mommy," he mumbles, lifting his head up to look at you. his violet orbs are glassy and desperate, a stark contrast to the guarded expression he carries at work. "please. i'll do anything-- mm-- i'll be good. i swear. oh, fuck."
he lets out a groan when you swipe at his tip again, making sure to squeeze slightly with each stroke. he's close.
"say it again," you demand.
he doesn't hesitate.
"please, mommy. let me cum."
"again."
"mommy," he whimpers, pleading eyes locking onto yours. "please."
"again. you can do better than that."
caleb's body trembles slightly with the force of trying to hold back his orgasm, but he obeys, his lower lip trembling slightly when he bites into it. he chokes out another moan, which you would have mistaken for a sob had you not known any better.
if you weren't wet before, you definitely were now. in all your years of knowing caleb, he's never been this desperate. but you love this side of him, and the way he begs you has your thighs clenching together involuntarily.
before you can give him the okay, he's cumming anyway, unable to hold it any longer. his head falls back with the amount of sheer pleasure coursing through his body, his cum making a sticky mess all over your hand and his shirt.
despite his post-coital bliss, he knows he disobeyed you by not holding it in a bit longer. he opens his eyes, internally bracing himself for a punishment.
"i'm sorry," he mutters sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with you. "it felt too good. i couldn't hold it anymore."
you resist the urge to roll your eyes, but you shake your head as you reach for the tissue box on your nightstand.
"it's okay. i'll let it pass this time," you reply, wiping his fluids off your hand. "are you feeling better now though?"
caleb pauses for a moment before replying, ridding himself of his now-stained shirt and discarding it somewhere on the floor. you can just barely see the faint outline of his abs under the moonlight.
"a lot," he admits. "thanks... for tonight."
after that, he's asleep within minutes, which is surprising to you, since he often has trouble falling asleep. but you decide not to think much of it.
the next day, caleb acts like nothing happened, waking up early and making you breakfast like usual. he greets you and kisses your forehead before leaving for work, not mentioning anything about the night before.
he won't admit it out loud, but he liked being the submissive one for once. on the way to work, he's already thinking about how to get you to do it again without having to ask directly.
when he gets home, there won't be words. but there will be signs.
back to masterlist
@alyceres 2026
do not transfer my work to any other platform or feed it to ai. if a post of mine sparks your creativity, please credit/tag me. i would love to read what you write.
Caleb x fem!reader
CWs: heavy pseudo-incest, stomach bulge, Caleb's a meanie, dub-con if you squint but MC's into it, trust
Please enjoy my 'fuck you' to the incessant censorship of Caleb's trope in EN.
"Caleeeeb!" You whine, digging your heels into Caleb's ass trying to get him to push deeper inside you. "Stop being mean! I'm your sister!"
"No, no, noo." He chuckles cruelly. "I’m just your friend remember. That was how you introduced me to your work friends, riiiight?"
"You-you know I don't want that!" You stutter.
His cock slips in the tiniest bit further, his tip notching inside your hole, before sliding back out again.
"What do you want then?" He drawls. "You want me to call you my baby sister while I’m fucking you?"
You nod, tears brimming in your eyes from the frustration of him refusing to fuck you like you need.
"You want me to talk about how much I looove being deep inside my sister's little pussy?" He goads.
"P-please." You whimper.
"Ooh, but I'm just your little childhood bestie." He gives a harsh thrust into your cunt, finally burying himself to the hilt. "The little boy you hung out with for playdates."
He's getting mean and he sounds genuinely disgusted at the idea of not being your brother.
His thrusts are slow but so incredibly deep. You peek down at your stomach and can see the hint of a bulge pressing through with each snap of his hips.
"Oh f-fuck." You moan, pussy clamping down around his cock.
"I'm not the brother who taught you everything you know." He says through gritted teeth. "Not the brother who practically raised you, who bandaged your knee and wiped your tears when you had a fall."
Your tits bounce every time he drives his cock into you and, god, somehow you can feel him in your throat.
"Caleb, please." You whimper again quietly.
"Noooo." He continues, paying you no mind. "I’m just your sweet, innocent friend who happened to live with you," He grunts, shoving his cock in your cunt to emphasise his point. "Be adopted by the same person as you," Another firm thrust. "Who called you his sister his whole entire life."
A tear rolls down the side of your face. You're so overwhelmed, not only by the feel of his cock deep inside your pussy but by the words spilling from his mouth.
"Definitely - hng -" His voice is strained. "Definitely not your big brother who fills your needy cunt every night."
Caleb's thrusts become frantic and his cock keeps slamming into your g-spot over and over again. You can feel the rise in your tummy building up, the one that signifies you're about to make a huge mess all over the sheets.
And then he stops. Holds himself impossibly deep inside you with a long groan.
"F-fuck you, Caleb!" You cry hoarsely. "I was about to come!"
"Say it." He enunciates with purpose, eyes piercing into yours. "Say I'm your brother."
"You know you are!" You pout, refusing to give in.
"Stop being stubborn." He presses down gently on your belly where his cock is peeking through.
"Oh god, Caaaleeeb!" You're keening underneath him, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your g-spot with every desperate roll of your hips up to him.
"Say. It." He leans down even closer to your face, breaths intermingling. "Or I won’t let you come."
You try to turn your head away from him but one of his hands comes up to grasp the back of your head, turning and pulling it up so your foreheads are pressed together and he stares deep into your eyes.
"C'mon." He coos softly. "Be a good little sister."
You let out a quiet sob.
"Y-you're," You sniffle. "You're my b-big brother."
"Mhmm." He moans loudly, fucking into you relentlessly once more. "That’s right, my sweet, baby sister."
The fist in your hair tightens and you feel his hot breath against your face.
"I’m not your fucking kid friend from your childhood." He snarls.
"I’m."
Thrust.
"Your."
Thrust.
"Brother."
Have any ideas you'd like me to write? Send me an ask and I just might!
WT: NSFW, MDNI, smut, pseudocest, roleplaying, consensual, uniform kink, costume, use of toy gun, degradation, rough, possessive. He’s too into the twisted High Marshall’s persona! Or he’s just that possessive.
Premise: AU - Throne of Eros as tv series.
Word count:
A/N: sorry it took longer than needed cause I did some major research. Believe me when I said the amount of research of uniform parts names and the extensive vocabulary needed to capture the feelings I want to convey gives me serious migraine.
Ugh I have to change the smut scene several times in order not to turn it into dead dove 🙈🙈🙈
Purely self indulgent sorry if ooc I just love uniforms that much 🙈🙈
The neon flare of Linkon shopping district reflected through the glass, but your world narrows entirely to the window display. Caleb is a few steps ahead of you, but he noticed the absence of your footsteps right away.
“Hey, pipsqueak, why are you sto—”
Caleb’s voice cuts off as he turns back, tracking the sudden stillness of your posture, following your frozen stare straight to the mannequin behind the glass. It’s an intricate, detailed familiar costume. He wonders from where he sees it before the memory returns to him.
“Isn’t that...?” He steps closer, his shoulder brushing yours, the familiar warmth of his presence radiating through your clothes. He knows the story behind that attire by heart—a modern adult fairytale about an empress and her brother caught in a forbidden, dangerous romance, ultimately uniting warring factions for a happily ever after. A story made for adults who still crave magic. He had watched every single episode until the end of season with you.
But you don't answer. You can’t. His voice along with the ambient noise of the street fades into a dull hum. Your eyes are heavily fixed on the intricate patterns of the dark fabric, the layers of sharp tailoring flowing down to the mannequin's ankles. The heavy silver pauldrons on the shoulders are intricately carved with feathers that shines under the store lighting. Your gaze traces the silver patterns blooming across the high collar and the dark lapels, traveling down to the metallic silver chains that drape elegantly across the waist and the tassels that sway with a quiet weight. How the black leather gloves shine under the spotlights.
“It’s...” Your fingers brush the cold glass, leaving a bloom of condensation as you take another step closer. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until the air leaves you in a shuddering rush, your voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s perfect.”
Caleb’s eyes perk. In his mind, it feels like just yesterday you were screaming at the television about how tall and handsome the Grand Marshall was, muttering under your breath about the flawless details of his uniform every time he appeared on screen.
A sudden thought flashes across Caleb's face.
“Do you want me to try that on?” he asks, his tone dripping with teasing mischief.
The words snap your mind back to reality, your head whipping toward him so fast your neck aches. “No!” Your mouth waters at the sheer thought of it, forcing you to swallow hard as you fight to hide just how badly you want to say yes. “Y-you don’t have to!”
“But I can,” he hums.
Before you can protest, his fingers wrap around your wrist. He drags you inside the costume boutique, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you straight to the viewing couch. The moment he steps toward the changing room with the heavy uniform in hand, the female staff members instantly track him, their eyes wide and mesmerized. A sharp, ugly prickle of annoyance flares in your chest.
Caleb has always been the center of attention. Everywhere he goes, since both of you were children, eyes follow him. The long years of waiting, the agonizing misunderstandings where you both hid your hearts, terrified that a confession would destroy Gran’s peaceful home or that he only loved you as a sister, and the fears that used to crash over your life in waves... they’re all worth it, because now he’s yours. But you can’t completely suppress the bitter twist in your stomach whenever another woman looks at him, trying to catch his eye. At this point, you have to admit to yourself that you are hopelessly, fiercely territori—
“Pips.”
The deep rumble of his voice cuts through your thoughts, followed instantly by the collective, sharp intake of breath from the staffs. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an employee stealthily raising her phone for a photo, only for her coworker to hurriedly swat her arm down. A familiar, territorial heat tightens in your chest.
Then, your gaze finally lands on him.
Your eyes goes wide. Your legs turning jelly, and you’re thankful that the store provides a couch. Otherwise, your knees would have hit the floor right then and there. A sudden heat pools deep in your core, tightening with a desperate ache.
Caleb is always striking, but this is a devastation(?). The High Marshall uniform looks as if it were tailored to his exact proportions. The broad line of his shoulders fills out the coat perfectly, the massive silver feathered pauldrons making his frame look impossibly powerful. With every step he takes toward you, the heavy silver chains at his waist clink rhythmically, a sharp, metallic sound that vibrates straight down your spine.
He stops directly in front of you, the mere sight of him standing while you’re on the couch forcing him to look down. He isn't smiling, but he isn't trying to look stern, either. It’s just a completely casual look as he waits for your reaction to his prank. But the sight of him towering over you like that stirs a heat in your stomach. He has no idea what he’s doing to you.
Everything about him is overwhelming.
Dear God, you think, your heart hammering against your ribs, thank you for making him mine.
A naughty boyish smirk blooms across his face, the corners of his amethyst eyes crinkling with fondness. He’s aware of his effect on you. “Am I that handsome?”
“... yes...”
The single, breathless word slips from your lips before you can filter the thought. The sheer honesty of your tone freezes him in his tracks. Caleb knows the change in how you whisper your answer too well. He knows the heavy, unblinking way you savor the sight of him means you’re completely captivated.
He has always known you have a weakness for uniforms from the day he came home in his colonel attire and you practically jumped him, a desperate hunger driving you to drag him into bed right then and there. You had clung to him so fiercely that his uniform got stained with sweat and juices, completely ruined and needing replacement several times over. He learns to keep extra spares since then.
But he hadn't fully realized how much the obsession affects you until now. The sight of you wanting him so desperately that your thighs are unconsciously rubbing together under your jeans makes him swallow hard, the prominent apple of his throat bobbing heavily against the high collar of his uniform. He realizes exactly what that uniform does to you, and he’s not going to waste a second.
He turns sharply to the counter, pulling out his wallet. “We’ll take this.”
“W-what...? Caleb, they must be expensive—hey!”
Without even bothering to ask for the price, Caleb slides his card across the desk. He doesn't wait and walks straight back into the changing room, the heavy thump of his boots echoing against the floor. He retrieves his own clothes and returns still fully dressed as the High Marshall. His gloved hand takes his card, and before you can process the movement, he hauls you out of the store.
“Ca-caleb, we’re in public...!” You burn hot, covering your face with both hands. You can already spot the lingering whispers and turning heads of pedestrians. You don't know if it’s because he’s practically sprinting while pulling you along, or because he looks like a breathtaking) dark fantasy walking down a modern street.
“I know,” he says, his voice dropping an octaf, tight and unyielding. “We’ll get home soon.”
That tone. Strained, low, and heavy with his own sudden arousal. A wave of heat pools between your thighs, your heartbeat thumping so loud it echoes in your ears. You bite your lower lip in fierce anticipation, your vision blurring with lust and a series of dark what-ifs.
He opens the car door and push you onto the passenger seat. A small yelp escapes you, not because he is rough, but because your cunt is already so sensitive that the slight impact makes yours throb.
Caleb catches the arch of your eyebrows, reading the watery, desperate plea in your eyes, begging for something that will leave you aching after. He loves you, he wants you, and he will always give you exactly what you crave. He almost can’t restraint himself.
He drives faster than usual, the engine roaring through the night, the lights outside blurs into lines. He doesn't utter a single word. Every slight bump in the road forces you to swallow a small, pathetic whimper. You force yourself to look straight ahead. You know that if you glance at him, if you catch the sharp angle of his jaw and his dark eyes looking back at you from the side, you will shatter right there in the seat.
The metallic taste of copper fills your mouth. He smells it instantly.
“Stop biting your lips.”
Caleb’s voice is clipped, cold, and authoritative. The stern command from him makes your folds clamp together so hard that a heavy slick of moisture escapes, soaking into your underwear, threatening to stain the leather of his car seat. But you don't care. Right now, your sanity is hanging by a thread. You’re fighting the urge to climb over to get to his lap and force him to fuck you while his foot is still on the gas. Oh, wouldn’t you love that. The thought makes you shudder again.
But his act deviates from the script flipping through your head. In the drama, the High Marshall is defined by a forbidden devotion—a man who gave up his own right to the throne out of love for his sister. He’s supposed to be a symbol of yearning, not sin. Yet the man sitting next to you is radiating something cold and dark.
He glances at you from the side of his eye, his jaw tightening as he catches the glazed look in your stare. He knows your mind is spinning with the drama, blurring the lines of the fiction you love so much.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice dropping rough that belongs to him, cutting straight through the High Marshall persona for a fraction. “I don't want you thinking about some actor or a character on a screen while you're making yourself wet for me. I'm going to etch this image so deep into your brain that whenever you think of this uniform, you’ll only ever see me. Understand?”
A shaky, breathless nod is all you can manage, your eyes locked onto his profile as your head bobs in silent submission.
The possessive heat of his retort hits you like a physical wave. You feel depraved. You are. The absolute devotion when he caters to your every whim has spoiled you, turning you into a creature that only asks for more and more. And you know, with absolute certainty, that he will always give everything to you.
The car screeches to a halt in the apartment parking lot. He’s out of his seat in a flash, throwing your door open.
“Now... do you want me to carry you, or will you stand by yourself?”
Damn it, it’s not fair. He’s already slipping back into the character of the ruthless High Marshall. You wince, drawing a ragged breath as if his length is already sinking inside you. Your legs tremble violently, nearly giving out, but you steel yourself and stand.
“Go on. Walk.”
He’s going to be the death of you.
The elevator ride is agonizing. You’re secretly grateful the elevator is empty, but the lift feels smaller than usual. He steps inside first, forcing you to stand near the polishd metal doors. Your chest heaving, your thighs are clamped tightly together, your arms crossed tightly over your center as if trying to hide the depth of your arousal.
In the reflection of the elevator doors, you can see Caleb standing behind you. His arms folded across his chest, his eyes cold but searingly hot at the same time as they lock onto your back, already feeling his hands touching you all over. You wonder why the elevator moves so, so slow. Your foot begins to tap rhythmically against the floor, impatient and frantic.
“Didn’t I tell you not to tap your feet whenever you’re anxious?”
You wince under the weight of his voice. “S-sorry.”
With a loud ding that echoes in the small space, the doors finally slide open.
The hallway feels long and dark. You don't need to be told twice. You walk, then faster, almost breaking into a run toward your door, your heart beating louder than your footsteps. It doesn’t help that with every stride the rough denim of your jeans digs mercilessly against your soaked panties, rubbing and teasing your already swollen folds. You finally reach the door. Your mind fogged with lust you can't even remember which pocket holds your keys.
“Here.”
His gloved hand slips into the back pocket of your jeans. The leather movement is deliberately slow, his knuckles pressing heavily against your clothed sensitive skin along the way. You shudder at the contact, your skin burning where the metallic key grazes against your fabric.
You grab the key from him, you could swear the leather of his glove is radiating heat. You rush to slide the key into the lock, and the raw, suggestive visual of the metal sliding into the keyhole sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You blink—you need help.
The door opens with a soft creak. Inside, the apartment is in total darkness, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the large window, catching the dust dancing slowly in the quiet air. You step inside as your eyes finally adjust, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You’re finally, finally ho—
“Empress.”
You draw a sharp breath, turning back. You turn around. Caleb is already standing inside, his hands gripped tight at his sides. The door behind him clicks shut, locked with his Evol.
“Yes, brother...” You take a step toward him, your limbs weak like a newborn fawn. “What do you want?”
“Hand over the Empire.”
His hand moves to his waist, pulling the prop gun he kept from the living room display—the one the ‘Colonel’ always keeps at his hip—and directs the barrel straight at you.
“You—hah—you can have it. Everything.” Your breath ragged. Your knees finally give out, meeting the floor with a heavy thud. It doesn't hurt, the only ache you feel is the unbearable overstimulation throbbing between your thighs, fueled by your imagination.
“Didn’t you want the empire before? Why the sudden change? Kneeling won't save you.” Caleb steps forward, using the cold metal of the barrel to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “You said everything, right, dear ‘sister’?”
He pauses a bit before his lips curls at the edges, parted a bit to almost whisper.
“Take it off.”
“Wh-what...” The words barely form. Your head is heavy with lust, cunt throbbing, begging to be rammed by his cock. “Caleb—”
“That’s High Marshall for you, Empress. The ties we had are long gone.” His eyes are completely devoid of warmth as he lowers his body slightly, bringing his face level with yours, shaking his head slowly. “Don't make me say it twice.”
You don't know where you find the strength to obey, but your weak hands move to your clothes. Layer by layer, you strip yourself bare under his unblinking watch. For the first time in your life, you understand how a gaze can physically burn. Now, you are completely naked on the floor, while he remains fully clothed in the pristine uniform.
“Look at you. Empress of the Great Empire, reduced to such a sight,” Caleb sneers. You shiver as he stands up, turning toward the couch. “Come here. I’m tired of standing.”
He expects you to stand, to walk, but your limbs are entirely useless. You sink to all fours, the heavy moisture from your center dripping down the inside of your thighs as you crawl across the floor. When you finally stop at his feet, the sight makes his own length throb painfully against his pants.
Your curves highlighted in sharp contrast under the cold moonlight, your knees on the floor, your skin glistening with your own arousal. Caleb grips the edge of the couch, fighting himself just to maintain the icy character.
“What’re you doing just sitting there?”
“Ngh...!” A broken moan slips from you.
“I haven't done anything to you yet,” Caleb murmurs, setting the gun down on the coffee table. “Remove my gloves.”
Your hands raise automatically, reaching toward the leather enveloping his hands, but a sudden weigh of his Evol makes your arms feel incredibly heavy, forcing your hands to drop back to the floor.
“Not with hands.” He grits his teeth.
Your eyes widen as the realization hits you. Your heart beats so loudly it fills the quiet room. You lean your head forward, moving close to his leg, your mouth opening near his resting hand, holding your breath. Your teeth sink into the thick leather at his wrist, and with a deliberate tug, you pull the first glove from his hand.
“Faster.”
Your eyes lock onto his, begging for mercy, but his expression remains cold and detached.
“We don't have all night.”
“Y-yes...” Your teeth sink into the leather of the second glove, pulling it free. Your nose brushes the bare skin of his wrist, the warm, familiar scent of his skin wafting, mixing with the heavy aroma of the leather. You whimper against his thigh.
“What a slutty empress,” he scoffs. “The whole Empire hangs on the hands of such a leader, huh?”
“Hng...!” You moan louder, the words hitting you so hard it feels like a thrust in your cunt. “H-High Marshall...”
“Less talking.” He waves a bare hand, directing your attention exactly where you need to bite next—the zipper of his pants.
Your chest heaves as your mouth moves over the rigid fabric. Your tongue slides out, tasting the metal lines under the seams of fabric until you find what you're looking for, your teeth locking around the metal pin of the zipper. Pulling it down slowly, you reveal the heavy, straining length hidden beneath his undershirt. The moment your teeth pulls down the fabric and his hot length is released, your ragged breath grazes his bare skin.
The sudden contact makes him shudder violently. “Fuck...!”
The character slips for a fraction of a second. He stands up, hooking one powerful arm under you and lifting your entire weight with effortless ease. But his free hand doesn't touch the silver buttons of his long coat. He keeps the fabric intact.
He strides toward the bedroom, carrying you with ease. Lost entirely to the fog of lust, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Your completely bare, sensitive inner thighs drag against the material of his uniform, slathering your arousal directly onto the cold metallic chains of his belt. The sharp links bite back into your flushed skin with a delicious friction, makes you only cling tighter.
He practically throws you onto the mattress, his control completely frayed. He isn't angry, he’s simply almost at his limit, driven by lust.
You look up at him, panting, expecting him to finally strip out of the heavy gear. Instead, Caleb hovers over you, completely buttoned up, the massive silver feathered pauldrons glints under the moonlight. The contrast is overwhelming—you’re exposed, trembling and bare against the sheets, while he remains locked away behind layers of pristine military armor costume.
His bare hands come down, his warm, rough palms locking brutally onto your hips.
“You love this uniform so much?” he rasps, his eyes dark, burning with feral heat that belongs entirely to Caleb, not the character. “Then remember exactly who’s ruining you in it.”
Before you can even draw breath to answer, he aligns his throbbing length with your soaked center and sinks all the way into you in one deep thrust.
“Ngh—! Ah!”
A breathless scream escapes your lips. The impact is staggering. Your hips arch off the mattress instinctively, your hands flying up to grip him. Your palms slide over the intricate silver embroidery blooming across his waist, your fingers desperately hooking into the fabric of his long coat just to stay anchored.
He doesn't let you adjust. He begins to move, his pace frantic and heavy, his jaw clenched as he drives himself into you over and over. The rhythm is punishing. With every single thrust, the heavy silver chains at his waist clink rhythmically in the quiet dark, the metallic tassels swaying and slapping against your wet skin.
The sensory overload is intoxicatng. Your soft breasts are pressed flat against the rough texture of his structured uniform. The ornaments dangling on his shoulder brushes lightly against your collarbones, a constant reminder that he’s taking you while fully dressed.
You’re drowning in the scent of him—the heavy, rich aroma of the boutique’s fabric mixing with his clean sweat and the warm intoxicating musk of your arousal. Your arousal drenching, ruining the costume, slathering the thick and heavy liquid over his uniform trousers, soaking into the material with every thrust. You’re destroying another uniform, painting it entirely in the evidence of your submission.
“C-Caleb—ah! High Marshall...!” you sob, your vision blurring into a blinding pleasure.
“Look at me,” he growls, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips, tilting your pelvis up to take him even deeper. “Whose face do you see? Tell me who’s fucking you right now.”
“You... ah! Only you, Caleb!”
“Good,” he grits out, his voice tight and strained against your ear as his pace turns feral. “Keep your eyes open.”
The friction becomes unbearable. Your inner folds overstimulated, rubbing uselessly against his unyielding leather belt line with every stroke. You can feel the precise moment his composure fractures. The rhythmic clinking of the chains turns chaotic, a metallic symphony that mirrors the wild hammering of your heart.
The heat between your thighs explodes. You shatter first, your walls clamping down around him in a violent climax that makes you wail against his neck and makes you see stars behind your eyes.
Hearing your broken cry sends him over the edge. Caleb lets out a defeated groan, his upper body pinning you heavily into the mattress as he delivers three final thrusts. He erupts deep inside you, his length throbbing hard as he fills you completely, his forehead resting against yours as he pants for air.
For a long time, the only sound in the room is the ragged, almost synchronized breathing of your chests heaving together.
Caleb slowly lifts his head. A breathless, victorious smirk playing on his lips. He looks down at the absolute chaos between your bodies. The pristine, multi thousand dollar High Marshall uniform, creased and stained heavily with sweat and your thick, glistening moisture, and you, entirely undone.
He brushes a thumb over your wet lower lip, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing tone.
“Well, pipsqueak,” he murmurs, his eyes shining with pure satisfaction in the moonlight, “I’d say this definitely needs a replacement.”
“Are you uncomfortable, Caleb? The seats are so tiny, and you're so big,” you look at his long legs cramped against the seat in front of him on the airplane.
“It’s okay. That’s why I picked the aisle seat. I can stretch them out a little here. Besides, I’m used to sitting in one position for long periods of time.”
“Maybe we should’ve gotten better tickets than economy. It is a long flight, after all,” you ponder.
“It’ll be a-okaaaay. You just focus on staying hydrated. The air on planes dries out your skin,” he says, handing you a bottle of water.
A few hours pass, you eventually fall asleep. When you wake up, Caleb is watching a movie on the screen mounted in front of him.
“Caleb, can you let me out, please? The washroom is finally free and I really need to pee!”
Caleb pauses the movie and turns to you with a smug grin.
“Do you?”
Oh.. Oh no... You know that grin.
“Caleb, I’m being serious. Not here,” you whisper sharply.
“But what are you gonna do about it, Pips~?” he teases, and you immediately know he isn’t backing down.
“I’ll call a flight attendant!”
“And tell her what? Your boyfriend won’t let you get up to pee? Really?”
You realize now how ridiculous that sounds. Explaining his kink in front of everyone would leave you only embarrassed and mortified.
Caleb’s gaze lingers on you. His eyes drift from your strained expression down to your stomach.
“You sure drank a lot, Pips...”
He lowers his voice as he leans closer
“I bet it’d be pretty difficult to hold it all in, if I...” he places a hand on your stomach and applies gentle pressure.
“C-Caleb!” you immediately cross your legs, yank his hand away and cover your stomach protectively with both hands.
Caleb leans back, that annoyingly handsome grin shifting into the look he gets whenever he’s particularly pleased with himself. Unfortunately for you, that expression always turns you on. Right now though, you're at a disadvantage.
“How about…,” he suggests, “I get to press a few more times, and then I’ll let you go.”
“You know damn well I won’t be able to hold it after that.”
Caleb laughs cunningly, “yeah... I know~”
You reluctantly let him place his hand on your stomach again. His eyes fixated on yours as he applies just enough pressure to make you gasp, your fingers immediately wrapping around his wrist in an attempt to pull him away, yet he doesn’t budge, instead he presses just a little harder.
“No, no... not yet. I’m not satisfied yet,” he says, his voice shaky with excitement.
“Caleb... please.” Your quiet plea only seems to amuse him. A sharp glint flashes in his eyes before he finally removes his hand.
“Okay, I got another proposal.” He glances around discreetly, making sure no one is paying attention.
“Beg for it.”
Oh, by the way he said that, you know he means it, yet you argue.
“Absolutely not.”
“You don’t really have a choice. Show me how needy you are.”
If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were speaking to the Colonel. His voice carries that same commanding authority, except this isn’t the Colonel. This is Caleb. Your kinky ass Caleb.
A quick glance at his lap tells you exactly how much he’s enjoying this. You know he won’t let you off the hook without getting what he wants.
“Caleb... please. Please let me use the washroom.” You try to sound desperate, but it comes out slightly sarcastic.
“Properly, or else...” he says and slips his hand between yours and presses against your stomach again. Now even harder than before.
You tighten all your muscles, because you accidentally couldn’t hold it all in.
“Okay, okay! Caleb, please!” you whisper urgently and beg sincerely now, “Please, I really need to pee. Please let me go!”
Caleb exhales heavily, clearly pleased.
“See? You can be such a good girl.”
Finally, he stands and steps aside, so you can rush to the washroom.
When you return several minutes later, you quietly press something into Caleb’s hand as you squeeze past him.
“Hm?” he glances up to you.
“Your trophy,” you reply.
Caleb looks down at what you’ve given him. His eyebrows rise, his eyes and smile widen as he sees your little panties in them, stained and soaked with several body fluids. He takes in a good sniff, before hiding them in his jacket’s pocket.
“Pips?” he asks now, leaning over to you.
“Yeah?”
“You know I’m going to have to punish you for not following my commands immediately, right?”
“What are you planning?” you ask carefully.
“Drink up,” he hands you another bottle of water, “You’ll find out soon.”
It was already 1am, but you couldn't help yourself. Caleb was half asleep, but you were wide-eyed in the dark. Your imagination was getting the better of you and it was starting to consume you. Caleb told you before that it was alright to touch him when he slept, so your hands don't hesitate when they reach down to Caleb's softened member under his briefs, squeezing until he hardens under your ministrations.
"Pipsqueak," he mutters, eyes half shut. Even sleepy, you knew he wouldn't say no to you. "What are you doing? Do you want it?"
It. Of course you did. You nod back vehemently, and though he can't see you in the nighttime, you know he can hear the rustling of the sheets. He understands. He leans closer to you, leaving the domain of his side of the bed to invade into the space of your pillow. His lips find yours and the kiss is warm and wholehearted. His warm hand reaches out to you under the blankets. They slide under your shirt where his skin warms up your belly before he's reaching higher, up to your breasts, and squeezes the mounds of flesh. You relax as he massages you but suddenly tense when he grazes your nipple. He lightly pulls and rubs at one before moving onto the other. You help him by lifting your shirt up. When he spreads his fingers and grazes both of your nipples at the same time, you can't help the long, low moan you release into his mouth.
"You like that?" he says softly, eyes still shut. His breath is heavy against your lips. He feels soft and cozy next to you, but the movement of his fingers across your chest feels like sin. They spark pleasure up your spine and make it difficult to concentrate on kissing. He asked if you liked that, but you know answering is useless; it's rhetorical because he already knows the answer from the way you're shuddering, by how you're struggling to keep your lips on his since you can barely catch your breath. Your chest has always been your weak spot and Caleb loves to exploit it.
Not one to be selfish, you want Caleb to feel good too. So you stroke him again until you feel a bead of precum well up. You spread his precum across the entire head before stroking the shaft again. He swells under your hand, so erect that the foreskin stays peeled back. When he sharply pulls on one of your nipples, the cry he elicits from you seems to trigger something in him. His cock wells up with fluid again, and his breathing against your lips grows heavier. When you slip your tongue into his mouth, searching for his, his breathing roughens before he takes over to dominate the kiss.
Yes, you think. You've managed to rile him up and you moan to let him know of your receptivity.
Every time his fingers brush against both your nipples simultaneously, you feel yourself growing wetter in your underwear. Unable to take it any longer, you let go of his member only to slip your hand under your own waistband to furiously pleasure yourself. Caleb's disappointed by the loss of contact but hums in approval when he realizes what you're doing.
He detaches his lips from yours. Instead, he cups and squeezes one of your breasts before tilting his head down to suck on them. You whine when his teeth graze against the sensitive nub. They harden under his touch, even more so as his tongue laves against the skin, as he engulfs on them as if trying to draw milk out. He moves from one to the other before returning again. Your fingers are relentless where you're pleasuring yourself. The soft sounds Caleb makes as he has his way with you, the way electricity runs up your spine, it's all too much. Your toes curl into the sheets as your muscles tighten and you fall over the edge, your breath knocked out of your lungs.
Suddenly, you're much too sensitive. Each touch becomes almost painful and you push Caleb's mouth away.
"Please," you whisper. "I can't take it." He obliges, his head falling back against his own pillow again. Your body is still buzzing from your release, but you reach out for Caleb's cock again. This time, his entire member is soaked. Just from sucking on your breasts.
You coat his shaft with the fluids and listen to the gasps he makes. Without warning, you urge him to take off his briefs then rearrange yourself so you face where he's tumescent. You swallow him into your mouth and undulate your head. You can't see his expression, but you imagine it: eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape, face slack.
He runs fingers through your hair, trying to push back the strands so they're not in your face. He's salty and his body scent is slightly sweet. You bob your head as his sticky fluids coat your mouth. You even run your tongue over the wrinkled skin of his balls and feel them tighten up. Your hand caresses the shaft while you do this, even wrapping the palm of your hand over the slick head. Caleb practically curls in on himself when you do this, the tip too overstimulated. You only release him when he tugs harshly at your hair. Stars are swimming in his vision.
"C'mere," he says, breathless. He draws you back up and onto him so you're straddling his middle. He reaches under you, pulling aside your underwear and lining himself up. Slowly, you sink down. It's been awhile since you two have done this. His cock is stretching you open and you relish in the sensation of the intrusion. Once fully seated, you lean down for a quick kiss as you get used to his size. You rise up and start bouncing, feet planted firmly on the mattress, hands against his chest for leverage. When he tries to touch your breasts again, you whine in disapproval; your chest is too overstimulated now, nipples so stiff that it's bordering on pain. You redirect his hand down to your clit instead, and arch your back as he rubs your bud.
You never can manage to be in this position for long, so when he senses your tiredness, Caleb rolls you off him. Despite his drowsiness, he pulls you to the edge of the bed until your legs dangle off. He positions himself between your legs, aligns his member, and pushes in.
You don't make a sound as he starts thrusting, but your eyes are closed, savoring the movements and touch. You bite your lip so hard it leaves a bite-shaped indent.
Perhaps Caleb thinks your silentness is an inimical sign, so he lifts your legs until your ankles are on his shoulders. He pushes your thighs together and starts grinding deep into you, repeatedly pushing hips against hips until it feels like he's splitting you open. You can't help moaning at the pleasurable pain.
Relief washes over Caleb when sound finally leaves your lips. He wants to hear you coming apart for him, after all. For good measure, he grinds desperately into you unceasingly, angling his hips differently each time he presses in. You swear his tip is abusing the opening of your womb, pushing against your cervix like as if he's seeking entrance. He keeps it up until you're practically crying.
Finally, he draws your legs apart again and holds onto the back of your knees, bending your legs into your chest. He pistons his hips, dragging loud, sharp wails out of you. It's not enough for Caleb though. You got him all riled up and if he can't see your melting expressions in the dark, he at least wants to hear you and he wants to hear you loud. So he does what he knows you love.
His hands move away from your bent legs and reaches up to your throat. One hand on either side, fingers curling around you. He doesn't press down hard, just enough to put pressure on your windpipe, to show you who's boss. And you trust Caleb so wholly—trust that he'd never actually harm you—that the pressure cascades utter pleasure through you instead of fear. He holds you for leverage as he wildly jackhammers.
Your gasps are sharper and breathier from the lack of air and the occasional moans you emit are cut out each time he presses his fingers down a little harder. Every single sound you make is music to his ears.
At some point, it gets too much for you and you can't control how your cunt clamps down on him. Your muscles tighten around his cock so intensely that if you both weren't so wet and leaking for the other that Caleb wouldn't even be able to thrust any further. You squeeze around his cock until it feels like he's the one who's being choked.
Finally, his breath begins to stutter before his hips do. He lets go of your neck to grip your hips instead in a bruising hold, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your pelvis.
"Fuck," he swears, "I'm gonna cum."
You nod and whine in approval. Your hand moves down to rub against your own clit.
"Shit," he wheezes. "Are you touching yourself?"
You don't answer him because soon after, he lets out a choked sound and stills. His cock pulses against your walls as he releases ropes inside you. Even in his daze, he takes over for you. His thumb rubs against your clit over and over, and when you reach your second climax, you wrap your legs around him to pull him hither as your walls constrict his member. This movement collapses him over you, his body completely spent. When his cock softens and slips out, you feel his fingers push his release back into you, so a part of him remains inside you always. It's perverse, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
summary: zuko's straight-forwardness in appreciating the attractive qualities of the lone stranger saved by aang has you curious on whether you could get him to spill on what he thinks of you. (no major movie spoilers)
"He's very attractive." Zuko admits, eyes unblinking as he stares at the unconscious stranger.
The entire team whips their heads to stare at Zuko in unconcealed shock.
"What?" Zuko mutters, gaze lingering on the surprised expressions casted onto him, before eventually landing on yours. "He is. It's all in the bone structure."
You blink, unable to process his straight-forward words that landed on you like a gut punch. You've never considered it, the fact that Zuko also found others attractive.
It seems like a completely, silly notion now that the thought has verbalised itself in your mind. Of course Zuko would notice if others were considered attractive. Maybe it just never occurred to you in all your years of knowing him—of also finding him—
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away from his prying gaze, confusion alight in his eyes from your taken-aback expression.
If he's unconsciously considered the attractiveness of this stranger... has he ever—no, this should not be your priority. It doesn't matter what he thinks of you, it's not like it would change a thing. He's practically admitted it non-verbally through that monotonous admission of his, that a person's looks is assessed by him in a completely, impersonal standpoint.
Bone structure? You shouldn't be curious. Knowing Zuko, he might accidentally insult your structure if you asked.
The curiosity does not disappear. In fact, it digs deeper and deeper into the crevices of your mind—subconsciously affecting your attitude around Zuko.
It doesn't help that it's painfully obvious that he's noticed your strange behaviour ever since his comment. Once, when his hand had come up to your shoulder to alert you that everyone was boarding the ship—and your entire body jumped in response. Again, when you completely blanked out when he asked if you would like some firecracker buns.
It's not like you wanted to hyper-focus on his observation on purpose. It's just that after years of knowing him and pushing down that sub-concious attraction—of not allowing yourself to even see him as anything more than the Zuko you know, the rebound impact of all your resurfacing emotions combined with his lingering presence is far too much.
Zuko isn't the type to beat around the bush either, one of the rare habits his uncle hasn't passed onto him. In a moment of needed reprieve, your attempt at regaining your composure fails spectacularly when you find yourself in a stand-still, cornered in the back of the ship—one firecracker bun in his hand as an offering.
"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?"
Zuko's gaze is akin to a puppy's, wide-eyed and brows furrowed. Afraid that he's done something wrong, overlooked the choice of his words once again and destroyed the atmosphere without realising.
Straight to the point as ever, you'd appreciate it more if he had given you a few more minutes to come up with a reasonable excuse. Something more plausible than 'Do you find me attractive?', a lingering question that should've remained buried in the soil that you departed from nearly an hour ago.
"Not exactly." Taking the firecracker bun from his hand, the crumbs coat your fingers. You needed something to muffle your words, anything to distract you. It's easier to focus on the lingering spice that melts into your tongue, rather than his unblinking stare.
"So—I did say something." His mouth parts, a slight tilt downward in the corner of his lip. "Or I've made you uncomfortable."
There was no winning with him. Swallowing your last bite, you brush the crumbs against your sleeve, the slouch of your posture a key sign of surrender, your invisible white flag waving at the sight of his increasingly dubious expression.
"The first one." You admit with a sigh. "Earlier—"
He leans in subtly, a habit he does when he's listening attentively, and the luscious wave of his bangs brushes against your knuckles. His amber eyes pierce through you, and the words practically die off your tongue.
Why is he looking at you like that?
It isn't fair that he has such an effect on you. You still remember the old days, when he had a worser temper instead of the softened expression that lingers warmly on you. Plus, that horrible haircut, a singular ponytail with the rest of his hair shaved off forever engrained in your mind. Even recalling the image doesn't help calm your thundering heartbeat when the Zuko in front of you is so—overwhelming.
"You were saying?" He prods gently.
You swallow, averting your gaze. "When you mentioned... about attractiveness. Was that like—a spur of the moment kind of thing, or do you have a first impression for everyone you meet?"
His brows furrow for a moment, before recognition lights his golden gaze. "Ah—that."
"Right, that." You feel the seat warming beneath you in your embarrassment, a hallucination of senses in your sudden need to escape his assessing gaze. He barely even remembers his comment, and here you are, still obsessively prying over it.
"I was only answering Toph's question." He states. "No one was stating the obvious."
"The obvious." You muse. "Do you assess the attractiveness of everyone you meet?"
"I suppose it depends." He mutters, hand rubbing over his chin in consideration. "If it was during a battle, I wouldn't be prioritising on considering the opponent's appearance. As compared to someone knocked out on the ground, it gives me plenty of time."
You barely resist a snort. Only he could treat a topic like a person's attractiveness like one of his battle strategies. "I suppose you didn't have time during our first meeting then."
As soon as the words leave your mouth, both you and Zuko freeze. Your lips clamp shut, an immediate wince shuddering through your frame. Cat's out of the bag, you suppose.
"Never mind." You wave it off, your own laugh echoing much too loudly through your ears. "It wasn't like I was wondering—well, maybe I was. You just sprung it out of nowhere earlier, and I got... curious. You don't have to answer—"
"I did." He cuts you off unceremoniously.
You blink, his vague words echoing in the thin distance between the two of you. "What?"
He swallows, and for once, he's the one flustered in this conversation. "I did notice, during our first meeting."
No way. Your first meeting with Zuko was anything but pretty. You remember being covered in sweat, grime, and ashes coating your clothes as he shot flames at you from his palms. The twisted grimace on his face when you had him writhing under your grip, as he loudly declared his revenge on you, rupturing your eardrums with all his yelling.
"You mean—" You barely resist a grin stretching on your lips. "—when I pinned you down on your airship, and you were spitting death threats into my ear."
"Yes, that." His long locks cover his ears now, but you can bet the rims are reddened from the reminder. "You were formidable."
Formidable. No, that wasn't enough. His sudden focus on the floorboards of his ship made it obvious that he was simplifying his observation.
"I was gaining the winning hand." You state out-right, disbelief coating your tone. "And you had time to notice?"
A restrained sigh escapes Zuko's gritted teeth, already regretting his slip of tongue.
"What of the angle? Does the Fire Lord recall my bone structure during our first battle too, when I pinned you to the floor?" You tease.
He scoffs in a light-hearted manner, shoulder lightly bumping into yours. "It was the first time anyone had pinned me down. I wasn't exactly given another view to look at."
"Was the view bad then?" You prod.
"Not at all." He answers absentmindedly—quickly without hesitation.
Your lips part, speechless. Zuko immediately separates his shoulder from yours, a bashful expression overtaking his features.
"Objectively." He states hurriedly, waving his arms. "I was expecting to find the Avatar at the time, not... you."
The way he says it, the almost breathless note that leaves his lips. You devour it hungrily, now being the one to lean in, prying.
"And how did you find me, Zuko?" You ask earnestly.
He huffs in defeat. His softened gaze finally meets yours again, his eyes roaming over your features, ones that he's familiarised with for years, and yet... it still takes the breath out of him. "...You were the most beautiful person I've ever sparred with."
Oh... wow. You didn't expect that.
"You were threatening to kill me." You recall in disbelief.
"I was multi-tasking." He mutters, ashamed.
Your intended snort escalates into a cackle, unable to contain yourself. "I would have never guessed that from the way you glared at me. So full of shame—and destroyed pride."
"What about you?" He asks in a hurry, though his tone drops towards the end in hesitation—hinting his regret in the wrong change in topic. He grimaces, gaze dropping to his tightened fists over his lap. "...Did you find my scar hideous?"
Surprise colours your features.
Immediately shaking your head, you're at a loss for words on how to convey just how off-course he was on his guess. How could you ever find Zuko hideous? Your heart barely survived your visits to the Fire Nation, not when their own Fire Lord always insisted on attending to your presence personally, even when it arose suspicion of your shared bond with him, to have him so easily distracted when you arrived on his lands.
Even now, he's overwhelming your vision. Healthy muscles that are barely hidden under his clothes, or the hair he's refused to cut ever since his youth that now flows lusciously down his broad back. His amber eyes that glint golden when the sun reflects his irises, and even the conjured image of the way his arms move when he's fire-bending.
He's— "Beautiful."
By the time you realise your second slip of the tongue, Zuko has already blinked once, caught off-guard.
You purse your lips, finding this conversation to be as riveting as it is a weaponised self-attack. "Objectively speaking. You're attractive, Zuko."
"Objectively." He repeats slowly, amused that you're using his own deflecting choice of words.
"Fine, like really attractive." You deadpan. "It's annoying, because I'm supposed to be focused on the mission, and you're just... standing there."
It was the truth. You couldn't be the only one who noticed it. His subtle change in demeanour over the years, how he carried himself into a room now instead of randomly announcing his arrival at the worst timings. Even Sokka noticed.
He snorts, and the sound deflates the tension in your chest. "Funny, I should be saying that about you."
You gasp, expression aghast. "You're joking."
"It is not honourable to lie." He shrugs. "You've always been the most magnetic in my eyes. I can never find myself looking away from you."
You grow quiet, the genuine sincerity in his words leaving you defenseless. Have you been blind all along? Is that why he always sent letters—asking you to visit his nation for purposes other than meetings? Or why he sought for your company constantly during this entire trip, despite it being the first time the entire set of Team Avatar being together in months?
You had been too focused on what was comfortable and familiar, to teasing and prodding, that you never considered this.
"For the record." You whisper, leaning in to truly look at him. "I never found your scar hideous. You were always beautiful to me, Zuko."
He swallows, something intense flickering in his gaze—but too fleeting for you to catch onto it. Maybe it had always been there, when his eyes linger on your form when he accompanied you in his palace gardens, or even back then, when he was a banished prince who sought for you, even with a grimace on his face.
"That haircut when we first met, though?" Your smile breaks out into a toothy grin. "Absolutely hideous."
The softness in his gaze falters, before a groan rumbles past his throat. "Will you ever let that one go?"
"Never."
He lets out a low breath, drained of his energy. "I admitted to finding you attractive, and this is my repayment?"
"Who's finding who attractive?"
Sokka's voice strikes a jump in your shoulders, and Zuko's in an impressive halt, frozen completely after being caught red-handed.
"Ah, between the two of you—" Sokka whistles. "I was wondering who was going to break first. Congrats, love-birds!"
"We're not—" Your voice clashes with Zuko's. "This isn't—"
You sneak a glance to Zuko, and his hand is already covering half of his face, his embarrassment shielded by the shadow of his large palm.
Sokka's confused gaze switches between the two of you, blinking slowly.
"Ah, couple years too early?" Sokka shrugs, before clicking his tongue. "That's rough. I'll check back in with you guys in another time." Making his way back towards the front, he shouts once more to prove his point. "Just don't let me catch you guys making out or anything, I'll need to poke out my eyes for that one!"
"...We better restrain him before he starts blasting it as news to everyone." You groan.
"Agreed." He mutters.
Right as you made your move to leave, Zuko's hand grips yours—stopping you.
You lift your head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"
His Adam's apple bobs up and down, consideration clear in his expression before he decisively leans in. His voice is a warm hush, soft and intimate when he whispers. "For the record." Your own words echo back to your ears in the low hush of his voice. "I wasn't only referring to our first meeting when I said that you're beautiful."
His smile quirks up into something tender, a secret expression reserved only for you. ...At this rate, your curiousity was really going to be the death of you.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
a/n: i need to write more firelord zuko stat. he looks so good and still so awkward my childhood crush has been reignited.
zuko bringing his tiny baby to council meetings, cradling her carefully in the crook of his arm like she’s the most precious treasure in the fire nation.
she keeps cooing and gurgling happily the whole time, little hands waving in the air. every few minutes she gets louder and zuko gently pats her round belly with two fingers, leaning down to murmur in the softest voice, “not now, my little valley dove… daddy’s trying to work.”
the baby just kicks her chubby legs harder and lets out the cutest squeal, completely unbothered.
and the entire council?
they’re absolutely melting. grown generals and advisors who usually look stern and serious are now fighting back smiles, exchanging soft glances, completely enchanted by their fire lord and his happy little daughter.
zuko keeps trying to stay composed and regal, but the tiny smile that keeps tugging at his lips gives him away completely.
adult fire lord zuko x wife!reader
warnings: 18+ nsfw, fluff, breeding kink, baby fever, daddy kink
summary: when fire lord zuko sees his wife holding babies, and with everyone constantly pestering for an heir, his mind can't help but reel to darker places.
“fire lord zuko! when can we expect an heir to the fire nation?”
“fire lord zuko! are you and the fire lady expecting?”
“who will take the throne as the prince now that you have been reigning for some time?”
the relentless questioning left zuko restless. he had hoped the weight on his shoulders would ease once he transitioned from prince to fire lord, but the pressure had only increased tenfold.
you, on the other hand, were as cool as a cucumber.
as the beloved fire lady, you were adored by the entire nation. while zuko was buried in council meetings and ledgers, you spent your free time at charities, local orphanages, and schools. to put it simply, you were constantly surrounded by families—more specifically, children.
zuko watched from afar as toddlers wrapped their chubby arms around your skirts, peering up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. parents took pride in seeing the fire lady cradle their infants, and even the fussiest babies seemed to settle the moment they were tucked into your arms.
“my! you would make such a wonderful mother,” one woman remarked.
“the fire lord is a lucky man indeed,” the citizens added. “a beautiful wife and a natural mother.”
while zuko often flushed with embarrassment, you took every remark as an opportunity to tease him.
“hear that, zuko? it means we’ve got work to do,” you joked, gently rocking a sleeping infant while the crowd erupted into laughter.
it wasn’t until you were talking to one of the elderly ladies from a distance that the conversation took a turn, her voice not-so-quiet as she described the struggles of pregnancy.
“pregnancy is a beautiful thing, but very, very tedious,” the elderly lady explained. “you’re constantly waddling around with a big, round belly. your feet are swollen and bare, and your…” she motioned to your chest, “always swollen and aching.”
your face flushed with embarrassment, but zuko, on the other hand, found his mind admiring the idea.
he wasn’t in a rush to have kids, but the image of you—his wife, waddling around the palace barefoot in nothing but a flowy dress. your belly, round from carrying his baby, and your breasts swollen with milk.
it was perfect.
and that was how you ended up here, sprawled across your shared bed with your legs hooked over zuko’s broad shoulders as he held you folded in a mating press.
his cock—thick and swollen—pounded into you relentlessly, the air filling with vulgar sounds that made your eyes roll back and your ears burn.
“zu—zuko!” you cried out in pleasure.
“gonna… get you…” zuko grunted, his hips drawing back as he drove into you deeper. “pregnant… gotta breed you—”
zuko was a mess of incoherent babbling, muttering about keeping you full of his seed and the image of you walking around barefoot. his heavy body completely enveloped yours, his hands tangling into your hair to pin you in place, keeping you trapped in that vulnerable position.
“gonna keep fucking you until it takes,” he promised darkly. “until our kids are running around the palace.”
you were a moaning mess beneath him, your legs dangling in the air as he pounded into you, forcing you to take every deliciously agonizing inch of your fire lord.
“how many do you think we’ll have? one? two?” zuko laughed raspily against your ear, the vibration making your body tingle. “or twins. that’d be nice—wouldn’t it?”
“so… so nice,” you managed to moan.
zuko laughed again, adjusting his angle so he could fuck even deeper into your warm, aching core.
“fuck. you gonna make me a daddy, baby?”
“yes, zuko!” you cried, nodding your head frantically against the pillows. “yes—i’ll make you a daddy—”
“shit,” he cursed, his body drawing tight as he felt himself ready to pump you full. “say it again.”
“daddy!”
daddy. daddy. daddy.
the sound of it was music to his ears. he tossed his head back, his long, dark hair damp with sweat against his bare skin as his cock pulsed deep inside you, pumping ropes of thick, hot cum into your aching pussy.
“god, that’s it,” he growled, peering down at you with lustful, golden eyes as his chest heaved.
“gonna make sure it takes. you’re going to give me an heir, aren’t you? my beautiful, perfect, sweet wife.”
☽ ⋆ ⋅ it’s not zuko’s fault his wife can’t keep her hands off him.
☼ cw ; fem! reader, fire lord zuko, being late to a meeting because you can’t stop riding zuko, mentions of all the babies you guys have, sokka being sokka. the gaang’s all here (after the sex).
☽ ⋆ ⋅ m.list
“Come on Zuko— one more time? Please?” You’re panting, naked, hands braced on Zuko’s sweaty chest as you grind back and forth in his lap.
His breath hitches from the sheets, squeezing your hips. “Seriously? I’m already late. How does it— fuck. Stop that!” Zuko frowns and pinches your ass when you tighten around his cock on purpose.
“How does it look if the Fire Lord can’t stop fucking his wife long enough to attend a simple meeting with the Avatar?” He continues.
Zuko is still half hard inside your pussy, cum trailing down his shaft— filling out thick and hot by the second.
“Then why are you getting hard again?” You tease, dipping down to suck on his throat.
“That— that’s unfair,” he moans. You draw back to look at his face, and his cheeks are flushed such a similar color to his scar it almost blends together entirely.
“And if you really thought this meeting with Aang was important you wouldn’t still be in bed with me.” You place your palm over Zuko’s mouth, grinning at the way his eyes go wide and his cock twitches.
“Now shut up and let me ride my husband one more time.”
When you walk into the fire temple chambers where the meeting is taking place, the entire group is there.
Aang and Katara share a look, laughing at the picture you and Zuko make. Hair mussed and clothes ruffled, a hickey high on Zuko’s throat.
Sokka looks thoroughly annoyed and throws his hands up in exasperation.
“Seriously dude?!” He shouts, jumping from his chair and jabbing a finger at the poorly hidden hickey. “This is why the fire temple is crawling with your offspring!”
Toph snickers, and Zuko doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.
forgive me i wrote this in thirty minutes immediately after i watched the movie.
A heavy hand ruffles Zuko's hair softly, starting at the top of his head and effectively ruining the style he did that morning. He merely sighs as he accepts his fate, soaking up the begrudgingly relaxing feeling of his friend carding his fingers through the long, silken strands.
“Do I get to know why I'm being groomed like an ape?”
Aang laughs good-naturedly, an easy shrug of broad shoulders as he broaches the subject. “I thought you said you were gonna cut it; what made you not bother?”
The question freezes him momentarily, and then he takes a sip of tea to avoid the other man's near-scrutinizing gaze. A flush overtakes your lover's cheeks as he thinks about how best to answer his friend, who's waiting with an expectant yet fond look.
Logically, Zuko knows he should say it's the way you make moving wayward strands from his eyes look so tender and domestic. Another safe answer is because his hair is the first thing you absentmindedly reach for when you want to keep your hands occupied in some way. He often lets you toy with the strands, plaiting or twisting the locks into various sizes while he works and having to stifle a snort or quiet laugh when it tickles his ear.
How does he say it's really the way you'd loop your fingers through the dark tresses after he's had a long day?
You'd be straddling his lap, his arms tight around your frame and head on your shoulder, while your fingers would run through his hair, smoothing out whatever knots you could. Every so often, they'd weave themselves in the strands closest to the root, and it always made him shiver in anticipation.
Blunt nails would lightly scratch at his scalp and nape, making him grunt quietly as he sinks into the couch, trying to push himself closer to you at the same time. Then your fingers would tighten and yank, forcing a startled but relieved groan from his throat. His hair spills from the spaces between your fingers as you bunch the locks in your grip. Your teeth find the column of his neck, and his answering keen was one he couldn't quite hide.
The blissful tugs on his hair are so hard they sting, so hard they swell his dick until it's almost painful. A whispered plea and you're quick to indulge him. With your free hand stroking his cock, the other is still in his hair, twisting his head to the side to suck a bruise into perspiring, pale skin. His digits sink into the plush skin of your thighs, trying to ground himself as the smarting tug had him arching his spine as if it were suddenly malleable.
Your lover would always end up with fluttering lashes, uttering a mouthful of curses when your thumb would swipe over his weeping slit, the same time you yank hard enough to tilt his head back. His Adam's apple bobs under your lips, breath coming out in a shudder as you lave your tongue and nip your teeth at his throat.
His hips buck when you force his gaze back to you with another harsh tug. But he just couldn't stop his darkened and lidded eyes from rolling to the back of his skull when you started to fondle his balls, other hand still gripping his now disheveled hair.
The esteemed Fire Lord surely couldn't tell his friend that he'd also miss the fact that his hair is the first thing you grab onto when he finds home between your legs.
When his warm tongue teases your slit and laps at your arousal like he's dehydrated, you forget your restraint; completely disregard that there's a person attached to all the hair you're pulling, and he loves it. It makes him even greedier for you, that you got so caught up in the pleasure he's giving that you don't even realize the literal strands you've managed to pull from his scalp.
The sensation and thought had him grinding into your shared bed, his long, pretty cock weeping pre that stains the expensive sheets a darker shade of red. There's going to be a crick in his neck from how hard you pulled his hair to drag him in for a kiss. But he supposes that's his fault for wanting to be a willing puppet, to let your loving hands manipulate his strings with an expert but tender grace.
When your hands grip his biceps, he's soothing you with a kiss to your forehead. When he starts bullying himself inside you, said hands find his hair. The tip of his cock weeps at your entrance, begging to be let into your warmth, and that was the night he realized your pussy is the only thing tighter than your stabilizing grip on his hair. You're panting into his shoulder, teeth digging into the skin with a muffled whimper as he rolls his hips into a tentative thrust.
The pull of his hair and your sweet whines make him impatient; he doesn't want to wait to sink inside you. It's a little like pulling teeth waiting for your warm and wet hole to give; hurting you is the last thing he wants to do, but the soreness in his scalp makes his cock throb. The tingling at the base of his skull has him near whimpering as he fucks his leaky tip into your sopping cunt, the warmth making him shudder and bring your legs up, pressing them to your chest.
“My wife likes it.” He finally answers, and it might be underwhelming to the other male, but it's a safe deterrent from more questions. He doesn't feel like explaining that you're pulling on his hair makes him bust faster than anything, spilling his cum hot and heavy inside you, while his hair spills like ink from the spaces between your fingers.
By the time the sun had climbed high over the Fire Palace, Fire Lord Zuko had already accepted that he was being followed.
Again.
He noticed it first in the corridor outside the eastern archives, when he turned after dismissing a messenger and saw the small figure at the far end of the hall, just barely peeking around a carved pillar. When he kept walking, the figure moved too, quick and quiet and determined to remain unnoticed despite being about three feet tall and wearing a bright red dress that made “stealth” entirely impossible.
Zuko stopped.
The little shadow stopped too.
He folded his arms. “Suri.”
A beat of silence.
Then, from behind the pillar, his daughter stepped out with a solemn expression that she clearly believed was very convincing. Her hair had been tied back by your hand that morning, though now half of it had escaped and curled around her face in loose dark waves. She looked at him with all the seriousness of a royal guard.
“Yes, Papa?”
“You have been following me all morning.”
Suri blinked once, then looked mildly offended. “I have not.”
Zuko raised one brow.
She considered this, then changed course without hesitation. “I have been… walking nearby.”
“That is still following.”
“It is different.”
“How?”
She put one small hand on her hip, just like you did when you were being theatrical on purpose. “Because I am not following you. I am making sure you are safe.”
The answer was so matter-of-fact, so entirely confident, that Zuko had to bite back a laugh.
He crouched slightly so he was eye level with her. “You are four.”
“I know.”
“That is not usually the age when children patrol the palace.”
Suri frowned. “I am not patrolling.”
“No?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “I am helping.”
Zuko stared at her for a moment, then glanced down the hall as if appealing to the spirits for guidance. “Helping.”
“Yes.”
“And what exactly are you helping with?”
She thought seriously about that. “You.”
That stopped him.
The stern line of his mouth softened before he could stop it. “Me?”
Suri nodded as though this should have been obvious. “You have important work. Important work needs watching.”
Zuko exhaled through his nose, looking away for a second so she would not see how close he was to smiling. “Who taught you that?”
“Mama.”
He should have known.
He straightened and offered her a hand. “Come on. If you are going to insist on being my shadow, you might as well do it properly.”
Suri’s face lit immediately. She took his hand with both of hers, and the two of them continued down the corridor together, her tiny steps keeping pace beside his much longer ones.
For the next hour, she was there for everything.
She accompanied him to the receiving chamber when a pair of merchants came to present a proposal about imported tea. She sat very still on a cushion beside his throne while he listened to them explain shipping costs, trade routes, and the politics of ceramic jars. When one of the merchants glanced at her and smiled, Suri smiled back with unnerving solemnity.
Zuko could feel the man trying not to be distracted.
“Go on,” Zuko said dryly. “My daughter is not judging your numbers.”
Suri whispered loudly, “I am not.”
That, unfortunately, made it worse.
After the merchants left, Zuko found her swinging her feet on the cushion and staring at him in complete absorption.
“What?” he asked.
“You were very serious.”
“I am usually serious in meetings.”
She nodded as though this confirmed something important. “You look serious all the time.”
He leaned against the arm of the throne and gave her a look. “That is rude.”
“It is true.”
“And your mother says you should not say every true thing you think.”
Suri brightened. “Mama also says I am very honest.”
“Did she say that as a compliment or a warning?”
Suri grinned, entirely unrepentant.
By noon, the palace had begun to notice the tiny royal escort.
A servant carrying a stack of folded linens nearly tripped when Suri appeared beside Zuko in the hallway, silent as a cat and twice as determined. Two guards at the doorway to the council chamber exchanged glances when she tried to mimic her father’s stride, planting her feet with great seriousness and swinging one arm just slightly too much. Zuko caught one of those looks and immediately sighed.
“No,” he said.
The older guard straightened at once. “Your Majesty?”
“I know what you are thinking.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“You are thinking she is adorable.”
The guard’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “I would never presume,”
“She is,” Zuko said flatly. “You are not allowed to laugh.”
The second guard cleared his throat, suspiciously close to a cough.
Suri looked up at him. “Papa, why can’t they laugh?”
Zuko opened the council chamber door for her and muttered, “Because then they will never stop.”
Inside, the room fell into the usual uneasy silence of a meeting beginning too early in the day. Advisors sat around the long table with scrolls and ledgers stacked neatly before them. A few looked mildly alarmed to see Suri following Zuko in and taking her place right beside his chair as though she had every right to be there.
One councilman leaned toward the others. “Has the princess been invited to this meeting?”
Suri heard him.
She turned her head and said, with complete composure, “I invited myself.”
The room went still.
Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is also not how invitations work.”
Suri blinked. “But it worked.”
It did not, strictly speaking, help the atmosphere.
The meeting dragged on through border disputes, grain supplies, and a long, tiresome discussion about reconstruction budgets in the western provinces. Zuko spoke when necessary, listened when he had to, and tried not to smile every time he looked down and found Suri sitting on the floor beside his chair, drawing tiny fire lilies on scraps of paper with a charcoal nub one of the servants had given her.
She was very quiet there. Very focused.
Every few minutes, though, she would look up at him.
Just to check.
Just to make sure he was still there.
Still safe.
Still hers to follow.
At one point, as one advisor droned on about tax levies, Zuko noticed Suri leaning against the side of his chair, her little eyelids beginning to droop. She had made a heroic effort all morning, but the palace was warm, the room was stuffy, and being a tiny shadow required more endurance than she could keep up forever.
She rubbed one eye with a tiny fist.
Zuko lowered his voice without interrupting the speaker. “Suri.”
Her head lifted at once. “Mm?”
“You can go find your mother.”
She shook her head immediately. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am helping.”
He nearly smiled again. “You are falling asleep.”
“I am not.”
She said it with such offense that one of the advisors coughed into his hand to hide a laugh. Zuko heard it.
He pointed at the man without looking away from his daughter. “Do not encourage her.”
Suri straightened her back valiantly, determined to prove him wrong. “I can stay.”
“Of course you can.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You do not believe me.”
“I believe you are very stubborn.”
“I learned it from you.”
That drew a real smile from him at last.
The council chamber, which had been miserable ten seconds earlier, visibly struggled not to react. Zuko looked down at his daughter, who was now swaying only slightly in place, and his expression softened in a way no one in the room was meant to see.
“You did learn that from me,” he admitted.
Suri looked victorious.
Then, suddenly, she yawned so wide that she nearly lost her balance.
Zuko stood at once, startling the entire council into silence. “Meeting is adjourned.”
One advisor opened his mouth. “Your Majesty, we have not,”
“We have.” He reached down, scooped Suri up before she could protest, and settled her against his shoulder. She immediately melted into him with the trust only a child could have. “Continue tomorrow.”
The advisor looked scandalized. “Because the princess is tired?”
Zuko’s gaze lifted, calm and unyielding. “Because my daughter has been following me around the palace all day and I have decided she has earned the right to nap.”
No one argued after that.
By the time he reached your chambers, Suri was already half asleep in his arms, her cheek pressed into his robes and one small hand curled in the fabric at his chest. You were sitting near the window when he came in, reading with your feet tucked beneath you, and the moment you looked up, your face changed.
“There she is,” you said softly. “My tiny spy.”
Zuko gave you a tired look. “She claims she was helping me.”
You closed your book with a smile. “Was she?”
“I think she believes she was.”
You stood and crossed the room to meet him, brushing your fingers lightly over Suri’s hair. Your daughter stirred at your touch, then sighed and burrowed deeper against him.
Zuko looked down at her, then at you, and something warm passed across his face.
“She followed me everywhere,” he said quietly. “The throne room. The archives. The council chamber.”
You laughed under your breath. “And did the Fire Lord survive?”
He adjusted Suri in his arms with careful hands. “Barely.”
Your smile softened. “Did she tell everyone she was helping?”
“She did.”
“And did anyone believe her?”
He paused, then answered with complete seriousness, “I did.”
That made you grin.
Zuko glanced between you and the sleeping child in his arms, then sighed in the long-suffering way of a man who had been defeated by affection and did not mind at all.
“She is very small,” he said.
You reached up and touched his cheek. “Yes.”
“She is also very determined.”
“Yes.”
“And she thinks she is my guard.”
You kissed the corner of his mouth. “She is.”
He looked down at the sleeping bundle in his arms, then back at you. “I think I may have created a problem.”
You smiled. “A very cute problem.”
Zuko huffed quietly, but there was no complaint in it. Only love.
He bent his head and kissed your forehead, then carried his tiny shadow toward the bed, where he could let her rest after a long day of important work.
despite the tremendous growth zuko has had over the years in regulating his emotions and reeling back his more sadistic ways of achieving his goals, it’s no surprise that there are still moments where his past behavior peeks through in places that aren’t quite. . . standard for him.
“hm? I didn’t quite catch that, baby,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your flushed face as he pulls you closer, grip possessive, vice, the tension between you palpable and unmistakable. he forcefully bounces you on his thick cock as steam curls around you, water harshly sloshing with every sharp thrust your husband plants to your abused hole. it’s nothing unusual for zuko to pull you into the royal baths like this, craving a quiet escape from his relentless advisors and the chaos of certain friends who have always surrounded him.
but this time. . . this time was different.
“i—mph! i’m sorry! i’msorryi’msorryi’msorry—!”
“sorry for what? be more clear.”
“for ah! running straight into danger when you told me not to.”
“exactly. with absolutely no regard for your safety.” he clicks his tongue, a large hand coming down to swat at your asscheeks. “i know you’re a big, strong girl, but dealing with bandits alone isn’t something i want my wife to be doing in her spare time, especially when i’m off on avatar business,” he growls, tone edged with something firm but familiar.
frustration, worry. a deep desire to keep you safe in his domain.
you nod frantically, eyes glossed over with a mix of pleasure and guilt. you know how much zuko worries about you, a non-bender from foreign lands still unfamiliar with the true weight and danger of the fire nation territory.
you aren’t used to this, to life as royalty. to be waited on by maids and fed by famous chefs. you were a kyoshi warrior, above all. the only thing you knew here was him. his patience, steady presence, and strength. the way he looks at you like you hung up the moon and stars.
the fiery, dilated eyes that you cannot currently see.
“wanna look at you, zuko. haven’t seen your face in days.” you whimper, tears staining the crimson ribbon, the one tight around your eyes— the one he uses to keep his hair up.
“bad girls don’t get to have their way, princess. make me cum, and maybe i’ll grant you your wish.”
he slides his hands up your torso, teasing and featherlike. you could only shudder as you kept moving against him, your hands clinging to his shoulders and arms, stronger and broader than you remember, shaped by the years that have passed around him.
he thumbs at your nipples, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face as his thoughts begin to wander. he feels the subtle change in you, the way you tense and draw closer, and his expression shifts into something more devious (and a tad vengeful) as he watches you carefully.
zap!
you gasp at the sharp sting against your chest.
lightening. from his fingertips.
“i didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart. you don’t get to stop until i punish you properly.” he tilts his head. “now, should i make you count?”
he’s still angry, but not unfair. zuko soothes the sting with his mouth, lips pressing and suctioning and lingering where the heat blooms, easing it with slow, careful attention from his hot tongue— the way he does to your achy cunt on the days of your period where your cramps hurt the most.
then, he does it again. lets a spark flicker against the flesh of your ass, clit, and chest again and again until you’re trembling against him, unable to keep yourself upright.
relentless and ruthless and so, so, so in love with you.
“i’m sorry, zuko. won’t ever do it again.”
“i know you are, baby. but i can’t forgive you just yet.”
“wh-what can i do to make you feel better?”
he pauses, thoughts drifting once more as he begins to picture you warm and glowing, a soft hand resting over the gentle curve of your stomach. that’s all he’s been thinking about, really. in meetings and missions, at night when he’s got an arm slung over your tummy as you sleep.
what it would be like for you to bear his children.
you have always been so patient, so natural with aang’s son bumi, and the image lingers longer than he expects. he can’t fathom anyone else standing beside him, anyone else he would trust with something as important as having his heir, something that felt like a future he once never thought he’d have.
(and it’d give him all the more right to be fussy and obsessive about your safety. to keep you in his palace and in his line of sight at all times.
to tie you to him for eternity and more.)
“a baby.” he quickens his pace, rough hands glued to your hips, now full on slamming into you. he’s delirious with want, the animalistic need to mark you and solidify your position as lady of this land once and for all. “give me a— fuuuck— baby. i want an heir, princess.”
“ah—! ah—! zuko, slow down! a wh-what? a-a baby?”
“yes. need you bred and pregnant by the end of the week— no— by tonight. that’s an order.” he jests, but there’s a heavy glint in his eye. your walls flutter at his words. “and i think this pretty cunt agrees with me.”
a vow. you would bare his child at once.
“o-of course, zuko.”
“then we can’t have the water washing away my cum now can we? gotta make sure it takes.” he presses a kiss to the side of your head, slow and lingering. then his teeth catch lightly on the ribbon, tugging it loose before he pulls it away from your face, letting it fall as he finally looks at you again.
he grips your ass. makes a move to stand, cock still buried to the hilt of your quivering pussy. you instinctively tighten around him, grappling at the expanse of his muscular figure.
“missed you so much.” you sigh, nuzzling into his face and nipping at his scar. he breathes in your scent. agonizes over the fact that you’d smell so much sweeter once you’re full of milk and spiritual energy. “wan’ a baby with you too, zuko. been wanting one for so long.”
he begins fucking upwards again, letting gravity drag you down his girthy length. “why didn’t you say so before, petal?”
“you were so busy with nation affairs and. . . with everything you’ve been through.” you bite your lip. “and we cannot guarantee our first born would inherit fire-bending.”
he chuckles. his sweet, thoughtful girl. “all the more reason to have one, flower. or many. it would strengthen the throne— strengthen foreign alliances— regardless if the fire lord can bend fire or not. and it would heal my past wounds in ways that you can’t even imagine. to see you and watch you be the most amazing mother to our children. . .” he groans as he feels himself drawing close.
you moan at his words, at the weight of him inside you and what this meant. “i’m so close, zuko. wanna feel you fill me. wanna give you a baby. make you a good father, too.”
his hips falter for a moment, breath catching. your arms wind around his neck, pulling him down as your lips meet his in a rushed, desperate kiss, the kind that says more than either of you can put into words as zuko leans into you without hesitation. he cums with a moan into your mouth, his semen coating your guts in long, endless spills. he feels your slick envelope him, walls milking him for everything he has.
“i love you.” he whispers into the crown of your head. “what an honor it’d be to start this new chapter with you.”
you can only smile against his chest, eyes drifting closed as sleep slowly takes you. you trust that he’ll always make sure you’re clean and ready for bed, wrapped safely in his arms.
your dreams blur soft and warm, filled with him, with the quiet image of zuko standing tall, a smaller version of him clutching the front of his robes as he holds them close, steady and sure like everything you’ve come to find in him.
cw: cockwarming, penetrative sex, teasing, male whimpering, hair pulling, bicep biting, multiple creampies (two), pet names, not proofread.
ⓘ featuring Zuko cockwarming with his wife, for the first time.
Zuko could feel his eyes bulge out the moment you'd asked if he could stay seated inside you after his orgasm, "Cockwarming sounds like it'd be really intimate... I'd like to try it out if you're open."
He hated how tempted he was the moment you asked; his back was still actively smoking & effectively turning your bedroom into a sauna, for fuck's sake.
Not to mention his arms were still shaking, his lungs were failing to catch air as quickly as he'd like, and he could have sworn he'd reach another orgasm within seconds if your walls wouldn't stop greedily gripping his cock.
But fuck. You looked so desperate asking for him, so needy, and he loved making you feel good, so he slowly nodded.
Carefully, Zuko cupped your cheek. His rough thumb brushed over your cheek as he pressed his hips forward—successfully bottoming out once again—with a deep groan.
"Y-yes, my love. We can try that out—" he choked out, hips twitching as you fluttered around him. "—Ah! ...For how long?"
You brought your hand to press firmly against his lower back with a soft moan, thighs twitching around his hips.
"Hold on, let me think." Your free hand pressed against his chest, tracing one of his scars, attempting to refocus your thoughts on anything but the sweet pleasure growing from every point of contact with Zuko. "Uhm. Maybe just a few minutes to try it at first?"
"Fuck. Okay, yeah, that sounds good... really good." He whispered, lowering his face to press quick kisses to your jaw. "Just tell me when to pull out."
"Mm," you nodded, nails sinking into his back for a moment. "Mm-hmm. No problem." A small moan broke through your lips, gone just as fast as it came but very much noticed by your husband.
"Stop staring, you idiot," you groaned, covering Zuko's eyes teasingly. "It's embarrassing and weird."
"My wife is moaning from nothing but a stretch, and me staring is weird? I think it'd be weirder if I weren't mesmerized." Zuko breathlessly cooed, quickly pressing a kiss to your cheek.
"This isn't going how I wanted, Zu." Your fingers slid from his eyes to tangle in his hair, & tugging softly, a flush dusted your cheeks at the groan that escaped his lips.
"Well, baby, I'm doing what you asked," he whispered, pulling back to stare at you with soft eyes. "Just tell me what you really want, okay?"
"I thought you'd be begging to fuck me again by now—" You pulled him back down until he was hovering just above you, holding himself up carefully, "—but no. You're making me ask."
Zuko paused, a laugh escaping his lips, before pressing them against yours. "My love. You said you wanted to try cockwarming. Not a second round."
"Yeah, and cockwarming typically leads to a round two, Zuko." You hissed, pressing your thighs tightly against his hips, scratching your nails up to his shoulders.
"Oh no, Love is using my first name—I'm going to die." He teased, kissing you on the cheek. "Here, baby, we can go again."
He gasped softly as he drew his hips back, giving a testing thrust before setting a comfortable pace.
"Oh, my god." Your voice broke, crushing him against your chest with a sharp moan—Zuko's eyes widening once more as he flexed his arms against the mattress.
"My love, this already isn't going to last long; no need to speed the process up by being touchy like that," Zuko huffed, stiffening as you locked your ankles against his lower back. "Fuck."
Zuko took a deep breath, relishing the way each stroke of his hips left your nails greedily clawing at him, leaving a pleasant sting in their wake.
"You're so mean to me," you hissed, pushing sweaty strands of hair from his face to cradle his cheek and pull him down to kiss his lips.
"Mm-hmm," Zuko rasped, giving a particularly cruel thrust just to hear you moan. "I love you too."
You paused, glancing away from his gaze momentarily before leaning up and sucking his bottom lip between your teeth and nipping playfully.
Zuko groaned lowly, hips snapping against yours with more force—leaving you to gasp and let go of his lip between moans, his hands grasping your hips as he fucked into you deeply.
"Son of a bitch," he purred, fingers gripping tightly as white-hot pleasure tore through you both, Zuko leaving you with the second creampie of the night.
"Holy shit." You whimpered, thighs loosening around him as you unlocked your ankles, brushing through Zuko's hair slowly, trying to catch your breath.
"Baby, you were right. We need to do that more often." He sighed before effectively collapsing on top of you.
Clussy Eater @mothmans-left-nipple - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
