The walls at headquarters were laughably thin. You knew when someone stayed up too late reading, when someone got sick, and when someone was crying into their pillow after a failed mission. Most of all, you always knew when Toji came home. His room was right beside yours. Heavy footsteps. The scrape of a chair. The dull thud of a sword against the wall. Sometimes the shower running late into the night after training. You never listened on purpose. You just… noticed. Everyone noticed him. It was hard not to. 6’1, broad shoulders, scarred arms, and a permanent expression that looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. New recruits whispered when he walked past.
Morning training was brutal. “Again.” Your lungs burned as the girls around you groaned. “Again.” Nobara bumped your shoulder while trying to catch her breath. “I think he actually wants us dead.” A tiny smile tugged at your lips. Toji caught it. His eyes flicked toward you for the briefest second before returning to the group. “If you can joke,” he said evenly, “you can do another lap.” A chorus of complaints filled the gym, but everyone obeyed. He never went easy on any of you. Not once.
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Unlike the other instructor. “…Lower,” the man told one of the girls stretching. “Arch your back more.” His eyes weren’t watching her form. They were watching everything else. The girls exchanged uncomfortable glances. You quietly moved toward the back of the group, hoping to disappear before his attention landed on you. “There you are.” Your stomach twisted. Before he could walk over, a voice interrupted. “Enough.” The single word came from across the room. Toji. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t have to be. The other trainer clicked his tongue. “I’m teaching.” “You’re wasting time.” The room immediately fell silent. Toji walked over, stopping between him and you. “I’ll finish stretching.” The instructor rolled his eyes before walking away. Only after he disappeared did everyone seem to breathe again. Toji didn’t make a speech. Didn’t ask if anyone was okay. He simply demonstrated the stretches himself. Professional. Correct. His hands never lingered on anyone while fixing posture. If someone struggled, he’d explain it verbally first. If he absolutely had to adjust someone’s stance, he’d ask. “Permission.” Every single time. It made everyone feel… safe. You appreciated him for it more than you’d ever admit.
You and him never actually spoken. Not really. The closest had happened months ago. You’d been carrying laundry through the hallway when he’d rounded the corner. “Morning.” His deep voice caught you completely off guard. You looked up, straight into blue dark eyes that had already been looking at you. Your heart nearly stopped. Your gaze immediately dropped to the floor. Nothing came out. Not even a squeak. You hurried past him. Behind you… “…Hm.” Just a quiet sound. When you dared to glance back, he’d rubbed the back of his neck before continuing on his way. After that, he stopped trying. Not in a cruel way. Just respectfully. If you didn’t want to talk to him, he’d leave you alone.
Two years. You’d known him for two years. From a distance. Watching him train recruits until they could survive. Watching him carry injured people back after missions. Watching him silently repair equipment when nobody else wanted to. Watching him sit outside headquarters some nights with a cigarette, staring into nothing. Somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for someone who barely knew your voice. It was embarrassing. So you kept it to yourself. Only Nobara knew. “You like him.” “I don’t.” “You blush every time he walks in.” … “I’ll take that as a yes.” She never teased you or brought it up again, knowing you’d rather not talk about it.
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Then he left. A mission. Three days. Simple. Routine. That’s what everyone said. Three days became five. Five became eight. Then twelve. Rumors spread through headquarters. Communication lost. Unexpected resistance. Delayed extraction. No confirmation. Every day his room stayed dark beside yours. Every night you found yourself staring at the shared wall. Listening to… nothing. You caught yourself slowing outside his empty door. Just for a second. Before walking away. Nobara noticed. “You worried?” You hesitated. “…Mm.” The tiny hum barely left your throat. It was enough. She smiled sadly. “He’ll come back.” You hoped she was right. Because somehow… headquarters felt far too quiet without the heavy footsteps next door.
It was almost midnight. Rain tapped softly against your window. You sat on your bed reading the same page for nearly twenty minutes. You couldn’t focus. Then, thunk. A door…next door. Your head snapped toward the wall. Silence. Then… heavy footsteps. A bag hitting the floor. Cabinets opening. Movement. You froze. Your heart started pounding so hard it almost hurt. He’s home. He actually came home. Without thinking, you slipped on your pink bunny slippers and opened your bedroom door. The hallway was dimly lit. His room was only a few steps away. You stood outside it with your hands clasped tightly together.
What are you doing? Just go back. He probably wants to sleep. He’s probably… You raised your hand anyway. Three tiny knocks. Footsteps approached. The handle turned. Your heart leapt. The door opened. You could feel him before you saw him. He appeared, a towel draped over one shoulder, damp hair pushed back from his face. He wore nothing but small white boxers. They sat low on his hips, his happy trail leading to something you tried to not stare at. Healing cuts crossed his jaw, fresh bandaging wrapped around his side, and dark circles rested beneath his eyes that hadn’t been there before he’d left. His gaze landed on you immediately. Just like always. Steady. Direct. You looked down after barely a second. Neither of you spoke. He noticed your hands trembling slightly.
He frowned. “…Need something?” You opened your mouth. Closed it. You’d imagined saying Welcome home. Or I was worried. Or even just I’m glad you’re okay. Instead… nothing. Heat rushed into your face. The silence stretched. A tiny sound escaped you before you could stop it. “…j-…” It was barely audible. Toji’s eyes narrowed, not in annoyance, but because he was trying to hear. You swallowed hard.. “just glad to see you’re alive. and that.. you’re okay.” you said quietly while looking at the floor. Silence.. For the first time in an entire two years… he’d heard your voice. It was so soft he almost wondered if he’d imagined it.
Your eyes finally met his for the briefest moment. They were filled with unmistakable relief. Not obligation. Not politeness. Relief. Before he could respond, embarrassment overwhelmed you. You dipped your head again quickly. “I’m sorry.. Goodnight.” You turned to leave but he started to speak, “Hey.. i’m okay” he said with a tired voice. He stepped out of his door frame, you turned back toward him. “Got lost without any instructions, took me a while to make it home.” He said while scanning your lacy pajamas that hugged your figure nicely. You realized what you were wearing and your arms crossed around your chest. He looked away at anything else.
“I was worried.. you normally come back quick” you said as he leaned against his door frame now. “Yeah, sorry I worried you” he said while taking his towel and rubbing it into his hair. “Finally took a shower” he said with a laugh. You smiled awkwardly, the silence filled the hallway. It seemed like he wanted to keep talking but didn’t know what to say. “Do you want to come in?” he asked while stepping into his room. You hesitated but walked in. The smell of his body wash and after shave filled the room. You looked around, seeing how clean but messy his room was. His navy blue bedsheets and clothes on the end of his bed really screamed Toji. Your eyes saw his devoured food on the floor.
“Ordered takeout” he said while tossing the towel on his chair. He sat down on his bed as you stood and let your arms fall to your sides. The cold air hitting your chest. You looked at his desk and saw some sketch books. You walked over and looked, he drew simple things, a pond, his sword, the beach. He watched you do this, looking around his room to make sure he didn’t have anything embarrassing out. “I like your little pajamas” he said while looking at your chest. Your cheeks warmed, “Thank you.. they are my favorite ones” you said innocently back to him. “I see why” he said with a smirk. You looked away, back at his desk.
“So how are you feeling?” you asked while looking at him now. “Fine, it’s not bad, got stitches earlier.” he said while gesturing to sit next to him. You walked over and sat down slowly. His bed being a lot softer than you’d expect it to be. You sat criss cross in his bed, he layed on his elbows and faced you. Telling you what happened on his mission. You listened and never interrupted. You started to feel a bit more comfortable around him the more you both spoke. You placed your hands on the bed behind you, one of your pajama straps falling from your movement. You didn’t notice, his eyes flickered to it before looking away.
sexual content 18+
“So you were worried about me” he said while sitting up. “Yes” you answered while watching him move closer to you. His hand coming up to your shoulder. He fixed your strap. Your cheeks started to heat. “Why” he asked while his fingertips traced your shoulder now. “I…I care about you” you said while noticing his boxers starting to sit on him a bit tighter than they did just a couple seconds ago. He noticed your eyes widen a bit at his early erection. He smirked, “Mm.. really? We never speak” he said while his eyes met with your lips. He started to move closer to you. “I know but.. you’re still my neighbor” you said while looking down at his lips a couple times nervously. “I guess I am hmm” he said softer before leaning in to kiss you. You kissed him back, slowly he started to makeout with you. You gently layed down on his bed, he got on top of you. His hand moving from your shoulder to your waist.
You placed your hands on the back of his neck, not knowing how this even ended up happening. You were nervous, shaking and your breathing was uneven. He kissed your neck and licked down your collar bone. Pulling your loose strap down and sucking on your breast. You moaned softly, almost testing if you were allowed to. If this was even real. His other hand cupped your left breast. His tongue swirling around your nipple. He didn’t make much noise, just small groans every now and then. He pulled off your shirt and kissed you again. His fingers intertwining with yours, placing both your hands on either side of your head. He let go once he did this, letting his hands pull off your shorts. You wore small underwear underneath. He smiled.
He tugged those off as well, seeing you completely bare in his own bed now. You watched him look at your body with admiration. His own hand rubbing his cock over his boxers. “Fuck, you’re so hot” he said while taking off his boxers. His huge cock making you want to scream. You didn’t know how to even take that… if you could even take that. He threw his boxers in the corner. Before focusing on you again, he kissed your inner thighs and then licked your folds. You moaned while he swirled his tongue around your clit. He licked up your body till he was back above you, he kissed you sloppily. His cock rubbing against your folds. His shaft wet now from your own juices. “Gotta get you ready baby” he said before slipping two fingers into your entrance. You moaned and gripped his shoulder when he did this. “Fuck you’re tight” he said while pumping his fingers in and out of you.
“Can you take me?” he asked while watching you struggle to make up a sentence. “Yes” you finally said, he hardly believed you. “I know i’m a lot” he said while your eyes looked at his full erection. His red tip oozing with pre cum. “If it’s too much..” he started to say while slowly down his fingers pumping. “It’s not.. please, I want to take it” you said while grabbing his neck and pulling him closer. He kissed you in response. Rubbing his cock on your vulva so he can get lubed up before entering you. You gripped the pillow beside your head and braced for him to slip inside you. He held your waist and let himself push into you. Sharp pain hit your brain faster than you thought it would. Your breath hitched, jaw clenching from the pain. He stopped for a second and let you adjust to half of him.
He kissed you and proceeded after what felt like 20 seconds. The rest of him entering you, your fingertips digging into his shoulders. “Fuck you’re so tight” he said while you hid your face in the crook of his neck. “Let me know when you’re ready baby, take your time” he said while your walls stretched and tore from his size. Eventually he moved just slightly, you moaned instead of hissed. He slid out and slowly back in. “You alright?” he asked quietly before placing a kiss on your neck. You nodded quickly, not being able to speak. A soft moan left his lips as you did so. “Fuck you feel so good… even better than I imagined” he said while starting to pick up his pace. You layed down completely now, looking up at him. He held eye contact with you while his bed started to make quiet creaking noises.
“I’ve thought about you for a long time” he said while looking down at your body. “I never imagined you’d be this fucking good to me” he groaned. “You take me so good” he said as his head tilted back. The veins on his neck popping out for your pleasure. Your hand reached out and traced his abs, his soft skin making your legs squeeze around him even more. His pace started to get faster, your moans getting louder with each thrust. “You feel… so good” you managed to get out. He looked down at you and kissed you. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long” he said into your lips. You whimpered in response. “I don’t know how many times i’ve thought about you like this” he added on. “Me.. too” you said while he looked at you in disbelief. His thrusting stopped and his posture returned.
“You’ve thought about me?” he said while both of you caught your breath. “Yes.. all the time” you said nervously. “You’re everything I want” you added on. His lips crashed into yours as his hips rocked into you harder than before. “Fuck baby keep talking” he said while fucking you so hard you started to sweat. “Keep saying things like that to me, you’re such a sweet girl for me” he moaned out. His face turning into almost a pout. “You’re so deep- in me- I- I can feel you in my stomach-” you barely added on, his eyes closed while you spoke sweet words into the air. “Just like that” you said after he moved positions slightly. “Oh fuck, yes Toji~” you said while his thumb started to rub your clit. He watched you moan and squirm around underneath him. His eyes darker than ever. You gripped onto his thigh and moaned loud. “Fuck! I’m cumming” you said as his cock felt pulsating walls around it. A sudden wave of warmth hitting his length. He moaned, “Good girl” he said while continuing to fuck you. His hand came up to your throat as he placed light force on it. “Cum all over me, you feel so good fuck. You’re so fucking pretty” he said as the feeling of your own liquids took over his mind.
Your own hand cupping around his wrist as support. When you did this, his grip on your neck tightened more. You looked up at him as he watched your breasts bounce from him thrusting into you. One of your hands reached down and pulled him out of you. You pumped him a few times before he let go of your throat. You switched positions with him, you on top now. He moaned when you started to ride him, his hands gripping your hips hard. He helped you up and down. His stamina never slowing down. He sucked on your breasts as you rocked your hips back and forth to have your own satisfaction. He watched you do this and he layed back on the bed. “Come here” he said while lifting your bum off his own lap. He pushed you forward, you moved up to his face. Sitting down gently on top of his mouth. His tongue pushing into your entrance as his hand pumped his own cock.
Your hands braced on the wall and you moaned as he licked and sucked on your womanhood. “Fuck you feel so good” you said while your legs shook underneath you. “Turn around sweetheart” he said while helping you do so. You quickly felt his tongue back on your bead. His hands squeezing your ass as you leaned down and started to take in his cock. Your hands helping you pump him, you gagged when you tried to take him deep in your mouth. Only making it to halfway down his shaft. Your orchid parted with his mouth when you leaned down more, sucking his balls. He moaned loud, you continued to do this while pumping his cock. His moans changed, almost eager. “Fuck that feels- fuck” he said while gripping the bed sheets. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he cried out for you.
His moans filled the room much more than before. You felt his cock start to twitch, you quickly latched your mouth back onto his tip, swirling your tongue around it. Using your soaked hand to keep giving his balls attention. He groaned loud before hot liquid shot into your mouth, you choked on him and swallowed it all. Gagging from the over doing of your throat. He whimpered from behind you. His fingers slipping into you, you moaned while he was still in your mouth. The vibrations making him moan louder. His mouth found your vulva again and you moaned while pumping his cock slower than you did before. Helping him ride his orgasm. He pumped his fingers in and out of you while licking your clit. His thumb started to swirl around your other entrance.
Your body gave out and your cheek rested on his upper thigh, you moaned loudly while he fucked you with his mouth. “Don’t stop” you said while feeling your legs start to shake. His mouth parted with you and he rubbed your clit with his fingers, his tongue now punching into you over and over. Your finger tips gripped the sheets and his leg. His tongue dragged up to your other entrance and you moaned even louder. His fingers causing you to climax, “Fuck! Toji it’s- i’m cumming” You yelled out to him, he moaned in response, still putting his mouth to work. Your legs tensed up and he slowly stopped. The sensation of his tongue eventually left. “You okay baby?” he asked as you layed on top of him frozen. “Yes I.. I’m-“ before you could answer he quickly helped you lay down on your back. His hands gentler than ever.
He kissed you softly while you caught your breath. “Thank you” you said while looking at him with tired eyes. Your legs continuing to shake as he kissed your lips with soft small pecks. “You did so good” he said before standing up, grabbing you something to clean up with. You panted and sat there staring at the ceiling. “You can stay here tonight if you want sweet girl, I think it’s time we get to know eachother” he said somewhere in the room. Your eyes shut slowly. Not knowing how you just had sex with Toji Fushiguro. Your trainer, coworker, neighbor.. now …your lover?
thank you so much for reading i hope you guys enjoyed this oneshot! it’s kind of a sloppy fanfic cause i’m half awake right now lols. i would appreciate a reblog it would help me reach more people since i am new to tumblr. :3
Gojo’s house looked like something pulled straight out of a Christmas movie. The huge living room glowed with soft golden lights, a massive white christmas tree stretching nearly to the ceiling, every branch weighed down by ornaments collected over the years. Wrapped presents spilled out beneath it in every direction, ribbons tangled together in whites and silver. There were so many gifts it almost looked impossible that they all belonged to one group of sorcerers. “It’s tradition,” Gojo declared proudly, arms spread wide. “I make enough money to spoil everyone.” “No,” Nobara corrected while eyeing an expensive-looking box with her name on it. “You have a shopping addiction.”
Yuji immediately started guessing what every present was. Megumi looked like he’d rather disappear than participate. Panda and Inumaki were already trying to shake boxes without Gojo noticing. Maki threatened to hit them if they broke anything. You simply stood near the tree, smiling to yourself. Yuji wandered over and threw an arm around your shoulders like he’d done since you were kids. “Can you believe this?” he whispered. “Last Christmas we were eating convenience store chicken because we were broke.”
“And now we’re here.” he said with a smile, “We’ve peaked.” he added on while jumping up in the air. You laughed. The two of you had known each other long before Jujutsu High. Meeting again after enrollment had felt like fate, slipping back into the same easy friendship as if no time had passed. Even now, surrounded by everyone else, Yuji somehow made every room feel familiar. Across the room, your eyes drifted toward someone else… Choso. He stood a little apart from the crowd, quietly watching everyone instead of joining the chaos. One hand rested in the pocket of his hoodie while the other held a mug of hot chocolate Geto made for everyone. His long dark hair up in a bun, some strands poking out in the front. Every so often Yuji would wander over to drag him into another conversation.
Choso never complained. He simply followed. When he looked up, your eyes met for the briefest second. His gaze lingered. Then, almost immediately, he looked away. You pretended not to notice. The night slowly settled over the house. Movies played in the background. Cookies disappeared from trays faster than Geto could replace them. Someone convinced Yuji to sing Christmas songs until everyone begged him to stop. Eventually people drifted off to their assigned rooms. The house, once loud enough to shake the walls, fell into silence.
Outside, snow continued to fall. Inside, only the Christmas tree remained awake. Gojo left his living room speaker playing quiet christmas songs. His house set to probably 60 degrees. “To set the mood!” He told everyone while having two blankets over himself. You weren’t if that’s what woke you. You were freezing or maybe you were thirsty. Maybe it was the unfamiliar bed. Maybe it was the smell of cinnamon still lingering through the house. Whatever the reason, when you blinked awake and looked at your phone, the screen read 2:17 A.M.
Everyone else seemed asleep. You slipped quietly from beneath the blankets, your hands crossing over your chest as the cold air hit your small white pajamas. The hallway was dark. Only the warm glow from the downstairs Christmas tree reached the second floor. You slowly walked downstairs in your fuzzy socks, his tile floor freezing cold. The house felt completely different now. Peaceful. Almost magical. The lights on the tree blinked lazily across the polished floor, wrapping the room in white and red. Hundreds of unopened presents sat untouched beneath it, waiting for morning.
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You smiled. Then you smelled a chocolate sweet scent. The kitchen light was already on. Someone else was awake. Choso stood barefoot in the kitchen. He had one hand wrapped around a mug while the other searched through one of Gojo’s cabinets with quiet determination. His bare muscular back making you stop walking. His hair was down, but looked freshly washed, some of it messily flipped over to the side. His pajama pants hung low on his hips, nothing underneath them but his own skin. Small candy canes covered his thin pants. He looked over at the sound of your footsteps.
His shoulders straightened slightly. “Oh.” His voice was softer than usual. He looked at you nervously while you walked into the kitchen. “I… didn’t expect anyone else to be awake.” You said with a smile as you leaned against the doorway, crossing your arms. “I could say the same thing.” he said while resting his lower back against the white marble counter. “I couldn’t sleep.” he added on. “So you decided to raid Gojo’s kitchen?” you asked with your eyebrows raised. “…Yes.” he said shyly. Rubbing the back of his neck. His toned body stealing your train of thought. You laughed quietly.
A faint smile appeared on his face. Small. Almost shy. You wandered farther inside, letting your hands fall to your sides. He pushed his hair back, fixing the messiness of it as you opened the refrigerator. “So…” you said while looking through the shelves. “Find anything good?” He glanced down at the mug in his hands. “Hot chocolate” he said quietly. “I was hoping for cookies.” you said while stretching. “…There are cookies.” He said while his eyes looked over your body, his eyes stopped at your chest, the thin fabric you wore allowing your areoles to peak through, hard from the cold air. You turned dramatically to him, catching his eyes quickly look down at the floor. “Why would you hide this information from me?” you said while your brain realized he was looking at your breasts.
“I wasn’t hiding it…” His sentence trailed off as you grinned. “You almost had me searching every cabinet.” You replied, not teasing him about looking at you. “I didn’t mean to.” he said as his cheeks turned red. “I know silly.” you said softer now. His ears were turning pink. It was kind of adorable. You found the cookie tin on top of the counter and held it triumphantly above your head. “Victory.” you said as his eyes trailed down your body again. He didn’t mean to, it was hard not to with what you were wearing, and how your body was exactly what he desired in a woman. He let out the quietest chuckle. It caught you off guard. You’d heard him speak plenty of times. You’d seen him fight curses without hesitation. But hearing him laugh… That was rare.
His small smile making you smile back for a different reason, his eyes flicked back up to your own. You furrowed your eyes brows slightly while watching him smile at you softly. You walked over and leaned against the counter beside him.
“So.” you said. “So?” “You’ve been avoiding looking at me all day.” He nearly dropped his mug. Looking at you with wide eyes. “I have not.” “You absolutely have.” “I…” His eyes darted everywhere except your face. “I don’t think I have.” he said while running his hand through his hair. He set his mug down behind him, his hand placed on the counter. The veins going down his arm more visible now.
“You’ve looked at the Christmas tree more than you’ve looked at me.” you added on. He smiled shyly. “I was…” He paused. “…looking at the ornaments.” “The ornaments?”
“…Yes.” You raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.” you said while now looking at the tree across the room. “They’re… festive.” he said while pointing at them. A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “You are a terrible liar.” He hid his face in his large hands. “I don’t usually lie.” “I can tell.” You said while smiling to yourself. Silence settled between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. Just warm, comfortable.
Snow drifted past the kitchen window while the lights from the tree reflected faintly across the floor. You reached into the cookie tin, taking one for yourself before holding another toward him. He grabbed one from the tin, his eyes darting to your chest one more time before he quickly looked away again. Knowing for a fact you caught him that time. His eyes shut for a second. “For the record,” you said.
He looked at you.. scared of what you might say. “You blush really easily.” you said while looking at his red cheeks. He froze. “…I do?” “Mhm.” “I wasn’t aware.” “I don’t think you’re aware of a lot of things.” “…Like what?” he said innocently.
You smiled, tilting your head just enough to make him noticeably more flustered. Your hair softly falling onto your shoulder. “Like the fact that you’ve been staring at my body since I walked down here.” For a full second, Choso forgot how to breathe. Then he looked away with a quiet cough, the tips of his ears now unmistakably red. “I…” He searched desperately for something to say. Nothing came. You couldn’t help smiling a little wider. For someone so intimidating on the battlefield, he was surprisingly easy to fluster.
“It’s okay” you said while setting the cookie tin down. He turned away from you, facing the counter now. You watched him do this with confusion. “I’m sorry it’s disrespectful I know” he said while looking down at his mug. His hair falling forward a bit. “Seriously it’s fine” you said while your hand softly landed on his back. He tensed up, his eyes shutting like it almost hurt. You removed your hand when he reacted this way. “Sorry I just.. you’re… i’m sorry” He said while turning toward you finally. You could tell he panicked cause you thought you crossed a line my touching him. Your mouth opened to speak as you looked down and your eyes widened. Your sentence disappearing in your throat. He had an erection, he quickly looked down and covered it with his hand, at least he tried to. His length pushing against the pajama pants with full force. His whole face turning red.
“God i’m so sorry Y/n” he said while turning around again. “This isn’t my best moment” he said while sighing. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. He went to leave, walking past you without facing you. You walked toward him and the stairs. “Hey wait” you said while reaching for his arm. “N-no i’m sorry this is embarrassing” he whined while refusing to look at you. His footsteps stopped the moment you touched him. His breath hitching. Your hand on his bicep, you felt his pulse through his veins. His heart was pumping rapidly. “Calm down, i’m not mad” you said as he shut his eyes. You let go of his arm and moved your hand to his hair, moving it out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. He finally exhaled.
“I can’t help it..” he said while his lip quivered. He finally looked at you, his eyes desperate. You didn’t respond to what he said, your own hand moving his that was covering his erection. His cock sprung back up fully erect as he shut his eyes. “Look at me” you said while your hand traced up his arm. His breathing was unsteady, he opened his eyes and held eye contact with you. You moved his arm toward you, his hand touching the middle of your chest, your heart beating fast. He stared at his hand in between your breasts. “I’m nervous too” you said with a smile. He breathed with relief.
You then moved his hand to your right breast, his hand not knowing what to do. His eyes widened by your boldness. You pushed his hand into you, helping him squeeze your breast. He let out a small whimper while looking at his own hand touching you. You let go of his hand and stepped closer, his hand squeezing your breast on its own now. You pushed his hair back out of his face and leaned upward. Standing on your tippy toes you met him half way, your lips colliding with his. He made a soft whimper noise as you kissed him. His lips parting before kissing you back.
You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. His hands finding your waist quickly. He leaned down a bit to help you kiss him easier, you played with his hair while your tongue found his. He pushed his lips into yours harder when your tongue swirled in his mouth. He moaned quietly while his fingertips dug into your skin. “Do you want to come up to my room?” you asked quietly. He nodded quickly, “Yes please” he whispered. You took his hand and he followed you up the stairs. His other hand pushing his boner down so it’s not that noticeable. His hands were clammy and shaky. Which made you smile to yourself.
You opened your door and shut it behind him. He stood there holding his erection down while looking at you with wide eyes. You smiled and pushed him toward the bed. He sat down and you crawled into his lap. Kissing him once your knees sat on either side of him. His hands left his pants and sat respectfully on your waist. He never wandered, you took his hands and pushed them down to your butt. Helping him grip your ass while you rocked your hips into his completely hard cock. A small wet circle forming on his pajama pants.
You took your top off, letting your breasts hit the cold air. His eyes widened as he whined from the view. His bottom lip quivering almost like he was about to cry. You kissed him and pushed him down on the bed. He layed down willingly, you kissed his neck and down his body. He cried out soft moans. “Please” he begged. His hands gripping the sheets as you pulled down his pants. The pajamas dropped to his feet, he looked down as you took his shaft into your hand. His cock was red and angry, white liquid spewing out of it. His whole body jolted by your touch. You licked his precum , tasting his sweetness. Swirling your tongue around his tip. He moaned loud, “Oh god~” he cried while his head hit the bed.
You bobbed your head up and down on him, his length making you almost gag a few times. Your hands pumping half of him while your other hand traced his abs. Spit running down your chin and covering his manhood. His hand found yours on his stomach and he intertwined his fingers with yours. Holding your hand tightly. You thought this was sweet, his eyes shut tightly. “P-please don’t stop” he moaned while sounding like he was crying. You looked up at him, a tear falling from his eye. “Does this feel good?” you asked him while pumping his cock. His voice catching on his own spit. “Y-yes it feels so good” he cried out while wiping his tears with his free hand. His fingers running through his hair as he threw his head back again once you sucked him off.
You kissed up his body while pushing off your soaked shorts. You crawled back on top of him, stopping when his cock pushed against your stomach. He couldn’t look at you, his eyes watery. You took his hands and placed them on your breasts. “I can’t take this” he whimpered. His cock spewing out more precum. Throbbing with desire. His own liquid dripping onto his stomach, your hips rocked forward, letting his cock slide between your soaking wet lips. Feeling his length rub against your clit. You moaned, “You’re so big” you said while rocking your hips back and forth slowly on his length. His own tip hitting his stomach. His eyes opened wide as he looked at you, his eyebrows furrowing. “R-really?” he said while looking down at the view.
“Yes baby” you said while sitting back. Holding his cock up against your stomach. His tip hit just above your belly button. “See how big you are” you said while he stared at his own length against your soft skin. He nodded while you sat up and positioned him with your entrance. Sitting back down, feeling a big stretch from his cock. You moaned softly as his whole body tensed. His hands squeezing the bed sheets. His mouth opened as a tear fell from his other eye now. He started to sob. “You feel- s-so good I can’t-“ he said while trying to catch his breath. You leaned down and kissed his cheek. Licking his tear away.
“Feel how deep you are” you said into his ear. He nodded quickly. You rocked your hips back and forth, moving him inside of you. His body twitched and he moaned. “Do you want to fuck me?” You asked making his eyes flutter open. “If-f you want me to.. whatever you want-t. I just want you to feel mm~, feel good” He struggled to get out. You smiled at his full surrender to you. “Fuck me, please Choso” you asked with a smile. You layed down on the bed, letting him come between your legs. His hands shook aggressively while he tried to line himself up with you. You helped him enter you. Both of you moaning.
He came down and kissed you passionately. His tears hitting your own cheeks making them cold from the liquid. He started to thrust into you, the bed swaying with him quietly once he picked up his pace. His lips never left yours. His hands on either side of your head. Your fingers dragged across his back as he fucked you. “Harder” you begged into his ear. He nodded and thrusted deeper into you now. The bed starting to make a creaking noise. “Harder~” you moaned out now, your head hitting the pillow instead of hiding in the crook of his neck. He sat up and grabbed your waist, thrusting into you with everything he had.
Your moaning growing louder, he started to speak but it was slurred words. Not making any sense. You could only make out certain things “I need you” “You’re so perfect” “I need you so bad” he cried out. You grabbed onto anything you could find as he hit your cervix with each thrust. The bed frame now hitting the wall hard. “Fa-aster fuck~” you cried out to him. “I c-can try” he said while his hand left your waist and hit the wall. His palm pressed firmly against the wall above you. Your eyes shut as his pace picked up even more. The bed now sounding like it might break. “I-is this good baby?” he asked while his hair started to stick to his forehead.
“It’s perfect” you said while you reached down and started to rub your own clit. He soon replaced your fingers with his thumb. Rubbing it for you, you whimpered while your climax started to form. “Fuck i’m going to cum” you moaned out. He whimpered back to that. “P-please do, all over me. Cum on my cock please” he cried out as his eyes shut. You watched his body push into yours with pure determination. Your walls pulsated around him and you moaned even louder than you already were. You came while he fucked you. The warm sensation causing him to orgasm as well. He quickly pulled out and cum started to rain on your stomach.
He yelled while his head flew back. His whole body twitching as his hand pumped his cock. His other hand finding your clit again and rubbing it gently to help you ride out your climax. You shut your eyes while cum hit your face now. Hot and white. You licked your lips while more fell down on your breasts. He whimpered and cried while you opened your eyes and made eye contact with him. Your tongue gliding across your top lip. Tasting him. “Oh fuck~” he said while falling beside you. His body twitching and his cries growing quieter. You sat up and kissed him. “What a good boy you are” you said with a smile. His face covered in sweat and tears.
He nodded slowly with full honesty. “I-I need to know you’re satisfied” he said while looking at you with watery eyes. “Of course I am, you did everything I asked for” you said while tracing your finger tips down his chest. He nodded in response. Shutting his eyes and catching his breath. “Do you want to do this again?” he asked with his eyes still shut, you froze a for a moment. “If you have the energy” you replied quietly. He smirked slightly, his cock twitching. “For you.. we can go till morning” he said making your heart flutter.
Thank you for reading this Choso oneshot :3 I hope you enjoyed it!! I reblog means more to me than a like cause it helps me reach more people since I am new to Tumblr <3333
Burnt to the Core ♨ Chapter 12 | reader(f) x Firelord Zuko
synopsis: you are firelord zuko's direct attendant. zuko has long reformed the fire nation after ozai's takedown and zuko's assuming of power. but now you had a challenge of your own: your feelings for the firelord. what was just a simple crush turned out to be more trouble than you would have imagined. but it may have been worth it.
word count: 5257
warnings: no spoilers of the movie (besides using this gif here + how gaang now looks as adults). WARNING: [M] [TW] SA, violence, sexual topics (i.e, intercourse), cursing, mental/physical disorders (depression/depressive acts) + MDNI
authors note: ahhh sorry for the delay!! girl got sick and had to rest a bit. ty for ur patience as always ahhh <3
TAGLIST CLOSED
***ONLY PUBLISHED ON TUMBLR***
“Absolutely not.”
You were taken aback by Katara’s ease to reject the Firelord. In the safety of your bed, blanket over your body with no real way to show anything of you, your anxiety still hiked. Here you were, just leaving your state of comatose, your body having not been off the bed in days. But, even you didn’t know how to feel with Zuko just a door away from you.
“Katara,” Zuko’s voice lowers, as it's been since before your temporary absence. You could still never get used to it. “I was not asking you; I’m telling you that I need to see her.”
“And you will,” Katara replies, her words shaky against the door. She was not scared of Zuko– he was practically made of sugar. But she knew her friend was not completely all there. He was trapped in this cage, unable to reconnect with his sanity. “Just… not right now.”
Zuko’s patience couldn’t wear thinner, “Katara, I do not want to yell. It is still early, and I do not want to wake her, but if I must–”
“She’s awake,” Katara interjects. She was quickly met with silence, her hands pressing softly into the door. She knew her friend was practically at wits end with the relentless desire to see you, but even she knew better. You needed time, and even the Firelord must respect that. “But, she is not ready.”
“Katara,” her name never sounded more sinister. He was not so much angry with her, but rather the fact that he knew he could not see you just yet. You have just woken, and you needed the space to continue your healing. But, his feelings also could not be waived away.
“At this rate, you will not get to see her,” Katara stood her ground, “and you’ll wear my name out.”
An unpleasant sigh sounded from behind the door, “y/n, I know you hear me.” That familiar, warm voice. The tone was distorted, given Zuko’s mood, but it was still him. He completely surpassed Katara’s words and any attempt to ease the tension. “Can I please come in?”
It was truly hard to deny this man. After you’ve been dormant for a week, you couldn’t deny that you wanted to see him as well. It was mostly a feeling of debt, as he willingly changed law to fight for you. You owed him, and you knew that good and well.
But even so, you were not prepared to actually meet eyes with the man. Your bed head was evidently felt, your body was still not completely in your control, and you were still extremely groggy. What right did you have to present yourself like this to the Firelord?
“Zuko, she’s not ready at all,” Katara spoke softly, her empathy extending to her friend through the holes of the door. “I urge you to just wait a little longer…”
He was stifling something, you could tell with the way his breath hitched. Even Katara was unsure what Zuko would do, considering how much she’s had him wait. And as forbearing as he could be, this was a unique case where his patience was not agreeable.
“y/n, I’m here,” he says quietly against the door, addressing you directly. You see the door lean in a bit, pressing against the end of the doorframe. “I know you’ve just woken up, but I just… it’d be enough to just look at you. Or hear your voice… anything, please.”
Katara looks back at you, reading your expression like it was a world wander. Just a door had been keeping you apart, and she was not sure if it would hold out for long. She had never quite seen her friend like this, and she lamented even delaying your meeting. But, she feared that you might get overwhelmed with feeling, and likely will go back to your comatose.
But, giving Zuko such a reason might just be the end of him.
“Zuko, I just think that–” Katara tries but you stop her. Your hand was raised, pausing her from letting out anything more. You clear your throat just a bit, hoping your voice will just let you have this moment.
You hesitate, your face of a cherry before you speak, “g-give me a little time,” you say softly. “I… am not clothed as I intended to bathe… but should my Lord need to see me now, I will reveal myself to you.” Not your proudest moment, but what else could you do?
Katara immediately placed her hand over her lips, suppressing all laughter boiling in her throat. With her other hand, she wiggled her thumbs up towards you. You had Zuko gagged, his only immediate response being an awkward cough.
You gesture at the door to Katara, and she quickly catches on. She pretends to start trying to open it, in which Zuko leaned all his weight to keep the door shut, “n-no, that is not necessary–!”
A mischievous smile was carved on your lips, albeit your flushed face, “but my Lord–”
“Take your time,” Zuko urges, suddenly having a ‘change of heart.’ He quickly leans off the door, clearing his throat once more. “It’s enough… I will wait.”
He was behaving like a pet, and you couldn’t help but pout for him. There was a sense of longing that you didn’t want to credit it as delusion. But with his words and behavior, you were certain there was something there. But for now, you could not give that thought any more power.
Katara gave you one last thumbs up before whispering, “you’ve tamed the beast.” You silently giggle, the both of you humored by your quick thinking. She then walked up to you, the air returning back to its serious nature. “But, I hope you know that if you are not ready, you do not have to go out there and see him. You are allowed to take your time.”
You nodded, “I know that.” You look into her eyes, and she could note the affection in her eyes. “But, I’d like to see him as well.”
She smiles widely, understanding that this is where your true desires lie. She offers you both hands, “then let’s make it worth the wait, hm?”
Aang and Sokka were confident that Zuko might just lose his mind after all.
He long dismissed the guards that were usually tasked outside your door. Aang knew he was extremely anxious, and did not want to further put his feelings on his men who did nothing wrong. And hilarious enough, this had been the best he saw him, considering he was able to hear your voice again.
Aang joins him on the ground, the two seated on the cold floor of the Palace. Sokka joins, tossing his weapon to the side, his legs spread out and away from one another. They both look at each other hesitantly, noticing their friend had his eyes fixed on your door, as if the fear is that it would disappear.
“Zuko, she’s awake,” Aang reminds him quietly, awkwardly scratching the back of his bare head. “You do not have to worry anymore. She is okay.”
Sokka nudges him gently, careful not to mess with his posture, “you know my sister would never fail you.”
Zuko lied. Your voice truly was not enough. His friend's words were not enough. He wanted to see you, to be in your presence, to share your air. It was an itch, something so foreign to his palette of feeling.
His anxiety did not leave. Rather, it shifted its priority. His long, relentless nerves on your comatose state have gone, and now been replaced with actually seeing you after so many days. A week felt like an eternity, and he feels uncertain of how he will react around you now.
What should he even say? One apology would be unacceptable to his standards, but he cannot spend days doing so either (despite his willingness to do so). How could he face you, knowing the trauma you have endured in his nation? Will he even be able to stand after getting one look at your face and those beautiful, deep eyes?
He was a weak man, that much he knew.
In the midst of their awkward silence, Toph had joined the space, strolling down the vacant corridor. Sokka was the first to fill it in, “you’re late to the party.”
Toph smirks before joining them all on the ground. It was a weird, silent agreement that Zuko appreciated, though it was not on his mind to let out those thoughts. He felt her take her seat beside Sokka, purposely bending one of his elbows to disrupt his leaning posture. “I figured you’d all get here before me. I wanted no part in whatever went on last night.”
Sokka remained on the floor, annoyed but not quite enough to say anything about it, “you sure have a lot of trust in the rest of us. What if something bad happened?”
“The Avatar and the Firelord are here,” Toph hums simply, “what is there to fear?”
“I was here too!” Sokka exclaims, sitting up again to contest his friend.
“Really?” She questions curiously, squinting her eyes towards his direction. “I didn’t see you.”
“You weren’t even there!” Sokka yells.
Aang chuckles, earning a toothy grin from Toph. But he quickly prioritized and gave his glance back to Zuko. “y/n is awake now,” Aang informs Toph, with her nodding intently. “We are waiting for her to come out.”
Toph stays silent before she looks towards Zuko’s direction, “you don’t seem excited.”
Zuko breaks his gaze at your door and looks down at his lap. He begins to fiddle with his hands, his fingers swirling around one another. He was antsy, “it’s not that I am not excited… I just want to ask you all a favor without it seeming rude.”
Sokka was the first to ease him, “we’re friends, Zuko. Remember that friends help other friends out– that’s kinda the whole point.”
Aang nods, “we can’t take offense, especially considering how kindly you always treat us when we come to visit.”
“And you have no idea how grateful I am for your arrival,” Zuko reiterates, his hands now holding each other. His grip tightens as his fingers weave together. “But, I fear that it might be overwhelming for her to meet you all right at this moment.”
The three of them stayed silent. As much as they were anticipating finally meeting the source of Zuko’s angst, they couldn’t argue with his point. Especially Aang, who was, quite literally, the Avatar. “...fine,” Sokka accepted stubbornly, his arms crossed above his chest. “But, you have to let us meet her before we leave.”
This alerted Zuko, turning over to Sokka with curious eyes, “when do you all plan to go?”
Aang let out a sigh, “it won’t be for long, but we have to head down to the Southern Water Tribe to pick up some things for the wedding. I don’t imagine we’ll be gone longer than 5 days, or less so if Appa is incentivized again.” His words followed a glare towards Sokka, who put his hands up.
“In my defense, we got here pretty quickly,” Sokka immediately inserted. “Plus, we need to pick up our father and Suki.”
“Suki is down there?” Zuko questions.
Sokka nods, “she’s been spending a lot of time with the tribe and learning the culture. I warned her about how chilly it was going to be, but my father prepared her with a parka.”
“She’s better than me,” Toph inputs quickly, “it’s too cold, there’s no rocks, and I hate fish.” She then leans over to reach Zuko’s knee and gives it a gentle pat. “Don’t be too excited, you might end up scaring her as well.”
Zuko was confused at her words, but Aang didn’t want to burst his bubble. “You guys go ahead. I’m going to hang back and hide.”
“And how come you get to stay?” Sokka’s words were dripping with envy, his pointed finger jabbing in the air.
“Because,” Aang began, leaning in a bit, “I want to get my soon-to-be wife back.” His lips had a warm smile, and Zuko could tell that he was very excited to spend time with Katara again. He did feel bad to ask such a heavy favor from her, but what else should he have done?
Sokka and Toph both roll their eyes before getting back on their feet. Sokka quickly swoops down to grab his sword as well. The two then yawn, reminding Zuko just how early it was. He was so, so lucky to have the friends he did, who also woke up at such an early time just to support him in whatever he needed.
“I’ll get ready for breakfast,” Toph hums, walking slump while leaning against Sokka’s side. “Start standing up,” she warns Zuko, who always trusts her word and begins to rise to his feet. “I feel something by the door.”
Sokka glances back curiously but Toph quickly holds his arm and begins to drag him away. “I just want a peek–!”
Toph holds his forearm tightly, to Sokka’s dismay. She glances back at Zuko and Aang’s direction and gives them a smile, “good luck, the both of you!”
With the two of them gone, a more serious air takes over.
Aang quickly takes his place beside Zuko as the two stand before the door. A shaky, streaky sigh emits from Zuko’s lips, and he was suddenly insecure about his stance. Aang watches him shift in his place, unable to keep himself still. He quickly latches his hand onto Zuko’s forearm and stills him.
“Hey,” Aang quietly coos, “you’ve been waiting for this. It’s going to be fine.”
Zuko was practically trembling, Aang felt his shakiness in his own hand. “I just… I want to see her, but…”
“But…?” Aang repeats, curious to his sudden opposition.
“I fear she will be disappointed,” Zuko hums quietly, his eyes now everywhere else but the door he had been fixed on just moments ago. “I fear that perhaps… I am forcing her because I want to see her.”
Aang brings his hand to his back and begins to pat it, “she wants to see you, too. She would not have responded to your request and spoken if she did not want to see you.”
This sense of unease that always knew how to crawl back in had made itself known to Zuko once more. It was like an unrelenting disease, its volcanic behavior erupting and dormanting as it pleases. He couldn’t help but latch onto the one possibility (of multiple) that you might not be eager to see him.
“...and if she does not?” Zuko asks, his voice so hush that it fears itself being too loud.
Aang looks back at the door, smiling curtly, “then we try again later.” He then moves away from viewpoint and quickly knocks on the door. Zuko’s eyes burn into the Avatar, with Aang just offering a sly smile.
“What are you doing?” Zuko whispers aggressively.
“I’m the Avatar,” Aang informs him quietly, earning a scoff immediately after, “she might go unconscious again if she sees me.” Although Zuko appreciated his consideration, it made his anxiety just a smidge worse.
Then, Katara sounded from behind the door, “coming!”
Finally, all of Zuko’s nerves finally tipped, and poured out the overflowing cup of his emotions. He couldn’t delay anything– not that he wanted to. But his nerves were so apparent that he might as well be dressed in them. Aang saw it and could only hope that his presence nearby could soothe some of the load on his shoulders.
But time was not on Zuko’s side. The door opens, and he almost instinctively shuts his eyes. But he kept them open, and met the warmth of his good friend. Katara’s expression was scheming, further confusing and worrying Zuko. “y/n told me to tell you that you can come in now,” Katara says softly.
Immediately, Zuko stepped forward and embraced her. She could feel his tremble, and suddenly her eyes went stoic. “Thank you, Katara,” he rasped, his voice as quiet as the space in the corridor. She nods, slowly returning the embrace.
“Anytime, Zuko,” she whispers back, giving him a tight squeeze before pulling away. She takes his hands into hers, and gives them a little squeeze as well. “Good luck,” she hums playfully, further amused by Zuko’s perplexed expression.
She walks past him, looking back as he hesitantly enters, before shutting the door behind him. As she stands there, Aang quickly sneaks up behind her and scoops her up into his arms. The familiar arms and scent of honey swallowed her whole. Her eyes gazed down at those teal arrows, ending at her favorite, strong hands.
“I missed you,” Aang whispers in her ear, his large frame eating hers in their shared shadow. “So, so much.”
She wraps her arms around his forearms, feeling his hold on her tighten in the process. Katara giggles, her blue eyes warmly fixed their shadows. “Now you know how I feel whenever the world needs you,” she says jovially. “I missed you too, sky boy.”
The door shuts behind Zuko, and suddenly you both are in another dimension.
Zuko waits at the door, his hands firmly pressed against it. Your eyes were locked to his long, unkempt hair. The charcoal dark strands poured down like a waterfall, with a few strays sticking out ornately. He was much taller than you remembered, though you could be making that up. But somehow… he just took up so much space in your room.
Neither of you said a word, and that awkwardness that you were dreading began to take over. It seemed that getting ready truly could not prepare you for this, regardless of how much time you could have spent.
But Zuko was the first to cut the tension with a dry cough. He clears his throat, his back still to you, “...hey.”
“Hi,” you respond back, practically scripted.
He sniffles, clearing his throat once more. He lets go of the door, allowing his hands to slide off slowly, removing his mental crutches in the process. “May I look at you?” He asks for permission, his voice so feeble and sweet.
You smile warmly, “you may.”
He finally turns to face you, and your smile quickly leaves. Not because you were not happy to see him, but you lamented to see his current face. Dark eyes, slightly sunken cheeks, and skin that you could only describe as moon-kissed. He was pale, and exhausted, almost as if it was him who was in comatose.
“y/n,” he says your name with the utmost warmth. You noticed his lips were slightly chapped, but your name left his mouth so easily.
He gets closer to you, where you lay on your bed. Though you had more control of your body, you could not quite stand on your own. So, Zuko takes it upon himself to be the one to close the distance between you two. But even so, he kept a considerable amount of space between you both, reluctant to go further.
Those honey eyes could eat you with the way he stared you down. It was joy mixed with something you could not make out. But suddenly, Zuko felt like a leaf in your presence, so light that he could be whisked away by the wind with no means of return. He keeps his distance, reaching his hand out to you slowly.
Without hesitation, you place your hand into his, taking lead in touching those familiar, rough callouses. But, they felt just a little rougher, your nails occasionally grazing it to feel the thin ridges of his skin. He couldn’t help but stay silent, not wanting to stop you from your venture on his hand.
You would steal glances up at him, noticing the way he was so mesmerized by your touch. Each time you dedicated the tip of your index to each one of his mountain-like callouses, circling around them gently. His bottom lip hung just a bit, as if he turned off his mind to enjoy this tranquil moment with you.
Unfortunately, you were the first to break it, “sorry… ‘m just very surprised…”
“Hm?” He hummed quietly, his eyes darting at your face. You could feel his stare, but you kept away from looking at his eyes. You feared becoming flustered and not being able to speak at all.
“That you’re real,” you say quietly, “and you’re here, in front of me.”
Zuko chuckles, his lips curving into a wide smile. With a toothy grin, he responds, “how do you think I feel?”
You look up at him, no longer fearing those dewy eyes. They looked so full, despite his exhaustion. He looked so much warmer, so relieved, and so much more at ease. Unbeknownst to you, all the uneasiness in his body completely left him. He noticed your hand flinch a bit, reading your eyes and your desire to do something else.
Without another thought, Zuko uses his other hand to take hold of your hand. You were stunned, but you allowed him to lift it up and bring it to his face. Your fingers felt so soft and warm, so fitting on his face as he pressed them against his cheek.
His face was flush, his pupils so dilated, and so fixed on you. His cheek was pushed up a bit in your hand, his scarred eye squinting a little more. You were hesitant, unsure if you should be touching your boss like this. But you had already been touching his hand with a sensuality that you should not have, considering your relationship.
Zuko was just too good at letting you break boundaries like this. Your thumb begins to move, gently rubbing the space underneath his eye. At a first glance, you would not notice anything else besides that scar of his. But as you were here, in this moment with him, you noticed the different severity spots of his wound, the pale red and deep red working in tandem to showcase his trauma.
But he was so sweet. You could not imagine anyone wanting to hurt such a kind, gentle man. In this moment, he was melting in your hold, his eyes fluttering close every few moments. Zuko was still tired, considering how early he came knocking at your door. But you could not find any note of regret on his face.
“Come,” you wake him out of his trance, gesturing to the space on the bed beside you, “sit down and rest.”
Zuko happily takes your offer, keeping your hand against his cheek with his own. He slowly takes a seat, careful not to sit on your or ruin your comfort. “Is this okay?” He asks quietly, his body tense once more.
“It’s perfect,” you coo, pulling at your sheets and quilts to flatten them. You did not want any blanket bumps to bother him as he sat in your bed.
He leaned towards you a bit more, craning his neck. He didn’t want to force you to lean in to keep your hand on his face, so he shuffled a bit closer to you as well. It was like having a pup, seeing Zuko so eagerly wanting to keep your touch on him.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he hums, opening his eyes to look into yours. His gaze practically burnt into you, straight through your sight and into your core. If he could, he’d have the right access to read you like a book. “I… I am so fucking sorry.”
Your eyes widened, surprised at his profanity, “wh-what? Why do you apologize?”
“I neglected your well-being when that should have been my only priority,” he spewed out so quickly. It was like these words had been long sitting on his tongue, eagerly waiting to be given to you. “I should have just sent Indra to rot in prison immediately, not challenge him to a duel that I banned for a reason.”
You couldn't believe your ears. The very man who saved your life, preserved your dignity, and fought in your honor was apologizing to you for doing the very things. You slide your thumb down, pressing down at his lips with your diagonal digit.
“Zuko, you saved me,” you insist quietly, softly denting his lips to keep him from potentially interrupting you. “My body was safe and taken care of. And I’ve caught up from all the years of lost slumber.”
Zuko smiled at your sudden joke, snorting quietly, “this is no time to be silly– I’m serious.” His hot breath tickles under your thumb when he speaks.
“I hear you,” you insisted, nodding at his words, “but there is nothing to forgive as there is nothing to apologize for. In fact,” you change the narrative, “I should be thanking you for being my hero.”
Zuko shook his head, “you’ve thanked me enough when really, I should be thanking you.”
“For what exactly?” You leer curiously at him.
The Firelord smirks before rubbing his face into your hand a little more. “I’ll tell ya one of these days.” You feel your cheeks grow hot, watching as he practically melts his face into your hand.
“H-hey, that tickles,” you hum, feeling the way his nose rubbed against your palm. “Zuko, you shouldn’t be– ah!” You gasped, realizing you had been just a bit too comfortable in your speech. “I mean, L-Lord Zuko…– ‘m so sorry for not addressing you properly…”
Zuko raises his eyebrow, pulling away your hand from his face. But he keeps it held, not allowing you to retract yourself in embarrassment or shame. “y/n, correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe our relationship has changed.”
You stiffen, unsure how to take his words. Sure, you two were close, and did things that a typical lord/attendant duo should not be doing. But, it was platonic and innocent. At least, you thought so. “...but you are still the Firelord. I cannot disrespect you like this.”
He quickly gives your hand a squeeze before lowering his head. He gestures to the top of it, noting the absence of his crown. “Can you truly address me like that without my crown?” He jokes.
You initially giggle before your body goes cold. You rip your hand out of his hold and immediately begin to look around your bed. Zuko watches as you frantically pat around your sheets, pushing your body more than you should in search of something. The crown, the one he had entrusted you with prior to his Agni Kai.
“y/n, what’s wrong?” He quickly asks, worried about your sudden movements and pale skin.
“Your crown,” you let out with a huff, “I-I had it in my arms, b-but I know I passed out. Gods, did I drop it somewhere…?” You trail off and whisper to yourself, your eyes beginning to well up in tears. “I’ve lost it, didn’t I…?”
Zuko watched as your tears did not give him the stage to waive your worry. They dragged down your red cheeks, your face suddenly hollow from your once fuller expression. It broke him to see you so broken, and how quick you were able to just break down.
“y/n,” Zuko rasped, doing his best not to feel emotional from your own emotions. To think a woman like you would cry for something so insignificant like his crown. “You brought it back. It is here, in the Palace.”
You stop your search, looking back at him. There was hopefulness developing in your tearful glance, and you desperately wiped your face with your forearms. “It-it’s here? It’s not l-lost?” You stammer.
Zuko nods, chuckling a bit, “you need to remember just how impressive you are. Katara found you tightly hugging it.” You look away from him, recollecting yourself after your curt emotional burst. He tries to make you feel less shy and embarrassed, regardless how little fruit it bore, “thank you very much for bringing it back to me safely.”
You roll your eyes, your hand subconsciously offering itself to Zuko once more. He takes it, turning it upside down so your palm is exposed to him. With his free hand, he takes hold of your hand, his thumb sliding onto your palm. “I wouldn't have brought it back safely without you, so the credit cannot be entirely mine…”
His thumb rubs your palm, denting into your soft, supple flesh. “Even so, I could not give less of a damn about that crown. You’re here, back to me.”
Your cheeks remained hot, unable to fathom Zuko’s sudden need to touch and his alluring words. “I had no plans to go elsewhere,” you whispered, watching wondrously at the way the Firelord touched your hand. He treated it as if it were gold, like he’s struck riches unseen by man. “This is my home… no matter what, all my roads lead back here.”
He glances up at you, his hair practically covering your forearm. “Promise?” He asks cutely, his pinkly curling around your own. You giggle, tightening your own pinky around him. “Even if…” he begins quietly, his lighthearted tone vanishing, “...even if a lord were to court you?”
You look into his honey eyes, and realize something. The very thing you could not pin point– you were almost a little too sure now of what it was. Because, the way he was staring at you, the way his voice was so pulling, and how desperate he was to know you were okay, was anything but platonic.
Sure, a lord values their attendant(s), and it is their responsibility to keep them safe. But now, in this moment with Zuko, you were sure that he held an affection for you that surpassed its original chaste nature. And you didn’t want to be wrong, but your feelings could also no longer be repressed.
“There is only one man who I’d let court me,” you say quietly, your words bold. You could feel your heart ready to rip out of your chest, your body going cold. Zuko noticed it, the way your hand was suddenly like ice. “And… he currently holds my hand.”
Zuko could only stare at you, hanging onto your words. You couldn’t be sincere, you mustn’t be. As Katara said, you were not ready, and likely not completely all there. Maybe it was hysteria, or heightened emotional drive from your recently dormant state. But, he couldn’t help but clutch tightly to your words.
But a response did not follow. You stood there, your confession in the air, dangling around his perfect head. Honey eyes were soft, but his touch on you halted. He did not let go either, sending you all sorts of mixed signals.
“This is your home,” Zuko then says, his hand still holding yours. It’s suddenly cold as well, both hands cool and clammy from shared nerves. You could feel a disconnect, but you could not allow your emotions to keep fronting you. “I will not permit you to be courted, if being courted is not what you seek. You are welcome to stay here forever.”
you'd been testing him the entire mission, teasing him with wandering hands—moaning in his ear just to get a reaction. now, it was his turn, but Kakshi wasn't a fan of just teasing.
༝༚༝༚
𝑒𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒
𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬
𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬
ㅤ♡ kakashi hatake x teammate!reader
ㅤ♡ not following the anime at all
ㅤ♡ nsfw romance-mdni, teasing, dom!possessive!kashi, cnc, unprotected sex,
breeding kink, choking, taken from behind
ㅤ♡ 1.6k words
ㅤ♡ a/n just a reminder, anon requests are now open
ㅤo n e s h o t
He was watching you with hungry eyes.
It sent a shiver throughout your body and you swallowed, sinking lower, attempting to use the water as a cover.
“Where are the others?” Your arms wrapped around your chest, treading further into the lake.
Why?
You cursed internally.
Of all people, did it have to be him?
And why the hell was he walking closer!?
“Jesus—Kakshi!” you shouted. “Stop—you’re getting too close.”
“Well,” he stated, “You don’t own the water.”
Your face burned and your jaw worked around words you knew you should refrain from saying. “No, but—
“But what?” His narrowed eyes slid over to yours in the darkness, almost like he wanted to see your reaction as he undid the clasps that held his vest together.
Your eyes travelled his upper body as he discarded the thing, admiring the way his muscles flexed and imagining he was doing it on purpose, just for you.
“—san?” He hooked a finger under his shirt and pulled it over his head. You choked on nothing and turned away, heart racing under your burning skin. Was he insane?
“You can’t be serious.” But the sound of splashing water told you he absolutely was.
“Kakasi—
You went rigid when you heard him forcing his legs through the water, you pulled your hands away and snuck a peek behind you, watching the water pool just above his waist. You worked your jaw and face forward again.
“Can’t believe you're still wearing that stupid mask.”
He was closer now, more than hear, you could feel the difference in the air pressure.
His body sloshed through the water in the night, each step taking him closer to you.
Your mouth watered at the thought of him seeing you in such a state. You had to get away—you had to do something—but what? If you moved, he would surely see you. Would he like what he saw?
No—that didn’t matter. Not at a time like this. You and Kakashi were mission partners—at least for now—and there was no way he’d let that all fall apart just because you’d relentlessly teased him. You were joking—always joking—he had to know that right?
You weren’t actually planning on following through with any of your insinuations—besides, Kakashi was well known around the village for being reserved. He spent more time on missions than he did in the village—that had to mean something.
Right.
You scoffed.
He was just teasing you.
Before your mind could rationalize any further solutions, Kakashi’s lower abdomen hit your shoulder and the space between your legs pulsed without warning.
He pressed against you. “Want me to take it off?”
You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t speak.
You.
You had caused this.
Had said one–too many flirty lines, had run your hands down his chest more times than could be considered appropriate.
No.
There was never an appropriate time to do that, was there?
So why were there so many memories of you crossing that line? Why were there so many fantasies you fell asleep to? Fantasies about him—about him doing exactly this to you.
Why hadn’t you listened to his warnings?
“Quiet now?” His hands reached under your arms, yanking you out of the water before you could stop him.
You squeaked, failing to cover your breasts as he fondled them. He was naked. Absolutely bare and he didn’t seem to care about anything but torturing you.
His hardening length pressed against your back and he breathed against your ear. “Do you feel that?” He pinched your nipples chuckling at the whines the act elicited.
Your breathing was audible now, every single dirty thought you’d ever had rushing to the forefront of your mind. Why—why was Kakashi in every single one? Why was he always there at the center of your desire? A shiver crawled up your spine when Kakashi removed a hand. He tangled it in your hair before you could move away while his other hand must have moved to pull his mask down because not even a second later, his hot mouth was on your neck.
His lips acted like a suction, his tongue swirling around your sensitivity, sucking at your skin like it had personally betrayed him.
Your moans filled the space around the lake and his body pressed closer. His length threatened to slip between your ass. You felt his smile as he pried your thighs open, allowing his cock to do just that.
Your legs grew weaker and your thighs began to shake with anticipation as the tip of his cock met the folds of your innocence.
His mouth worked around every inch of your upper body. You were helpless to stop him—only because you had absolutely no want to.
You had realized it the second his hands first touched your bare skin.
He was more than a fantasy.
More than a need.
To you, Kakashi was a craving.
An addiction you’d never even knew you had.
Not until tonight.
As the moon waned, your body became a memorial for bruises. His teeth drug across the tips of your ears, his laugh dark against your cries.
“I hope you remember this.” He said, playing with your entrance. Juices spilled out and around his fingers, prepping your cunt for himself.
It was only when he lined his tip up did you finally manage to say, “Wait—what if—
“So what?” He teased your lips, sliding his tip back and forth—a line of sin. “If you fall pregnant then so what?”
He allowed himself to slide a little further inside; your throat worked itself around your own spit, trying to keep yourself from falling apart at the mere possibility of Kakashi fucking you right now.
Being filled with his seed, bringing his child into this world, and everything after that simply from your own lust. It was so wrong the way thoughts like that lit a fire under you. Because in all the midst of your teasing him and ignoring the signs of his growing aggression––you had also failed to be honest with yourself.
If you’d ever brought a life into this world—the only man you could ever picture it being with was your mission partner. Maybe that was a little depressing because his reputation with romance wasn’t at all perfect—because he was a closeted pervert and you had no way of knowing what he did in his free time away from the village—and even now, nothing has changed.
“You’d have to take responsibility.” Your words were breathy, and your eyes squeezed shut right after because he’d pushed himself deeper, but you weren’t taking no for an answer. That was how things had to be, there was no way he didn’t know that; no way he hadn’t taken that into account before deciding to get undressed with you present.
He let your hair fall helplessly across your shoulder and reached for your hips, leaning just above your head. He was a wolf holding a lamb hostage, a predator when he said, “Then I’ll be fucking you until we get results.”
Your next thought died instantly as he buried his cock as far as it would go. His deep moans mixed with your own and he repeated the process at a very slow and very brutal pace.
Your hands braced against the little rock wall in front of you, taking every thrust with new whimpers.
As his hip met your ass, Kakashi’s movements grew erratic.
He thought of every time she’d teased him.
Every random time she’d moaned in his ear.
Every time she smirked when she got away with getting him hard.
She was a fucking tease. She needed to be put in her place—he’d thought about that a long time. He considered the ways in which he’d bend her over, maybe he’d make it hurt at first—maybe he’d spank until she begged him to stop, tears in her little slutty eyes.
She’d just been asking for him to give in—to throw all his self-control out the window. Part of him thought maybe this is what your end goal had been all along. Perhaps, she was just as sick as he was—Kakashi smiled—no, there was no one more disgusting than him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a bad influence.
He shoved her down, forcing her over the slab of stone. His fingers dug into the soles of her hips—he hoped he bruised her—wanted her to look in the mirror and remember what he had done tonight—and what he had planned for the future.
He was cursing under his breath, bottoming up with every single thrust. He wanted her to know—to understand that she was his to claim—her tiny little pussy his to use.
God she felt euphoric, he knew he was rough, maybe more so than most, but she took him at face value—she always had… And Kakashi thought maybe she’d known exactly what she was getting into when she started toying with his head.
His jaw locked and his muscles tensed when he quickened his movements, wanting to destroy her before she ever had a chance to question his authority. His throat tightened and he wondered what she’d look like on all fours, choking on him. He bet she’d be so pretty—so fucking pretty.
And when she refused?
Kakashi scoffed.
She would be forced down and she would obey him.
She would spread her legs whenever he told her to. She would take his cock every. Fucking. Time.
He was already anticipating the next time she spoke out of turn—the next time she tried to play coy with him, the next time she had the urge to tease or taunt him.
Even when she wasn't a brat—when she was on her best behavior, if he felt like it, she would most deifntley listen, or she’d face the consequences.
Burnt to the Core ♨ Chapter 11 | reader(f) x Firelord Zuko
synopsis: you are firelord zuko's direct attendant. zuko has long reformed the fire nation after ozai's takedown and zuko's assuming of power. but now you had a challenge of your own: your feelings for the firelord. what was just a simple crush turned out to be more trouble than you would have imagined. but it may have been worth it.
word count: 4652
warnings: no spoilers of the movie (besides using this gif here + how gaang now looks as adults). WARNING: [M] [TW] SA, violence, sexual topics (i.e, intercourse), cursing, mental/physical disorders (depression/depressive acts) + MDNI
authors note: its here!!! its finally here!!! this isnt my favorite chapter but trust when i say that chapter 12 is in the works as we speak. and as always (literally always at this point), thank u for enjoying my silly lil story :)
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“Don’t,” you warned Zuko gently, your scowl earning an amused chuckle from the Firelord himself. You had just handed him a cup of freshly brewed tea, the steam making it clear just how hot it was. And there was Zuko, bringing the very cup to his lips moments after handing it to him.
Zuko glanced up at you, the ends of his lips curling into a roguish smirk, “think I’m scared of a little heat?” He puts the cup down on his work desk, suddenly feeling playful, “should the Firelord fear hot tea?”
You looked down at him, knowing he had been trying to annoy you. You accepted the challenge and gestured to the tea, “enjoy, Firelord Zuko.”
He quickly takes hold of the cup again, per your annoyed motion. And as he takes a reticent sip, you see him quickly pull back and grimace. “Sai– what did you make this tea from? Magma?” He gently puts the cup down again before bringing his sleeve to his mouth.
“What?” You feigned innocence, making your eyes orby while looking down at his despair. “Was your hot leaf juice too hot?”
He rolled his eyes, patting his lips with the tips of his fingers, “you like messing with me?” Those browned honey eyes, encapsulated completely with warmth and allure. You were like a bee, unable to keep from such a saccharine sweet look. “You’re very brave, considering who you’re messin’ with,” his tone shifted, a sort of rasp that threatened to swallow you whole.
You met his eyes, and suddenly felt stuck in his gaze. Warm skin brightened at your sight, his eyebrows lowered, his lips now flush from the heat of the tea. His hair, even after you doing it, had a few strands sticking out, sticking onto his forehead and cheekbones. There was something in his stare– a sort of longing that’s foreign to his usual gaze.
“I miss you,” he says quietly, refusing to break contact. Taken aback by his words, you take a step behind, cheeks going completely hot. Your breathing stuttered even, earning another heart wrenching chuckle from him.
“I– Lord Zuko, what are you talking about?” You fume, struggling to get your thoughts out. “You… we’ve been together all morning. I did your hair, remember? H-how would you even miss me?”
Zuko only stares at you, melting you further. He stood up, and slowly walked up to you. The shadow made by his tall being swallowed you entirely, your nerves ascending like lava from a dormant volcano. His hands made their way to your shoulders, keeping you from being able to escape.
He was so close. His body emanated that smell of mint that was impossible to dislike. Callouses rubbed against your supple skin, sending shivers all about your arms. The way his fingertips dented into you gently, not so much worried that you would pull away but rather repressing his own desire to do more.
Then, he begins to pull you into him. It was slow yet sudden, your eyes wider, and brighter than the moon. Your cheek clashed against the softness of his linens, cushioning the broadness of his chest. You didn’t pull away, but you were as stiff as stone against his body. “H-hey– m-my Lord–!”
Those calloused hands snaked to the back of your shoulders, fingertips easing their way towards the scapula of your back. Your heart rate hiked, but no longer just of anticipation. There was a sudden anxiety, as if he was inching closer to a secret you did not realize you were hiding. “Zuko, don’t–!”
Fingertips reach your spine. It didn’t feel hot– it was hot. Your back burned with a familiar sear that only made you want to push him to the ground. But you do not move– because this is not Zuko. It can’t be.
They dent into your dip, a blistering feeling unlike anything you’ve felt. All fibers of your being felt like they were set ablaze, the root being Zuko’s foreign touch. But it was not exciting– it was terrifying. Not so much the feeling, but the inability to pull away from him.
The Palace, the very place you’ve come to memorize like it was your home, had vanished. Everything had gone dark, and Zuko’s absence was felt, considering how cold you suddenly were. It was terrifying to be in pitch black darkness. There was nothing to hold onto, or to run back to.
There is no sense of security or safety in isolation. It’s especially worse when you’ve become so used to others that being on your own was a different kind of fear. It felt as if, at any point, something could happen and completely petrify you, despite it being well intended.
But what could you do? Your body felt non-existent. No voice to scream, no hands to reach out. Not that you could reach out to anything, considering the nothing you’ve been subjected to. Not even your mind could bring about an ember, considering your lack of limbs on top of your lack of ability.
All you could think about was him.
The way he was always so gentle with you. How he would wait for you oh so patiently during the final hours of night every day, just to welcome the first minutes of daylight with you. The way he sat so still when you did his hair, as if one move would completely leave him with a horrid do. And despite his bad acting, he could never truly conceal his anticipation when you prepared his cups of tea.
Zuko was a gem, a man beyond worthy of his title.
And now he was elsewhere, and you were nowhere. What were you to make of your situation? Perhaps you deserved it, considering your treacherous thoughts and feelings for the Firelord. And how could you want those things, when you have forced his hand on matters that did not need to be escalated.
Perhaps Lady Minji had the right idea.
To be rid of you, and allow Zuko to continue on as the mighty Firelord, the man who reformed the Fire Nation and helped bring about peace to the world. He should not be weighed down by a commoner, a woman whose hands were only good to brew tea and brush hair.
Your head began to throb, with your heart beat making your head burst at every beat. You didn’t think much of it, if the feeling didn’t start spreading all over. Despite your nothing state, you felt hot– a sort of scalding hot, like the world was stripped of wind. It was making you feel choked– like air was seized from you.
Why?
What is this?
Then, you finally felt it. Your eyelids twitched, wiggling desperately to be opened. Your head was still aching, more so with sound now entering your ears. You could… hear. These whispers, sounds of a creaking mattress entering your space. Despite these usually quiet things, they felt so loud for you.
You didn’t know what to expect when your eyes forced itself into view.
You were met with a blurred scene, unable to make out any of the smushed colors in front of you. But, you were certain you had been looking up at the ceiling, considering you felt your back firmly against something (assuming it was your own bed). Blinking felt like a task, as you did it continuously until your sight had cleared and defined your vision.
But your head was too heavy to even move. You could only rely on your eyes, which burned when they flickered every which way. You searched around, trying to grasp a better understanding of your surroundings. The inability to move began to stress you out, but you accepted that you could only do so much.
Then, the familiar clatter of porcelain. They shook stiffly on a metal tray, you knew the sounds too well. They only connected to your most precious memories, earning smiles through cups of carefully crafted tisane. But, it was strange.
With the assumption that you were in your quarters, you should not be served tea. In fact, you are the server of tea usually. That only worsened your suspicions.
You were not alone.
You close your eyes once more, attempting to ignore the scorching pain of your head to focus on moving your body. At least muster any power and effort into sitting your head up was considered a win for you. Allowing yourself a few minutes of concentration, you once again open your eyes.
It was a struggle, yes, but you managed to lift your aggravated head, barely a tilt but just enough. That’s when your sight met with a man. Your conscious, rational mind was still booting up, and you could only think about Lord Indra. You disregarded any details, and abandoned all explanations that could be.
Against your head's health, a scream forced its way out of your mouth. Moments ago, you lacked existence. And now here you were, using the voice you thought you had lost in the mind you were trapped in, unbeknownst to you.
Hands quickly touched your body, and you did not have a lick of energy to keep them off. You could only scream louder, your voice quickly going out in the process. Losing your own voice, you could only pause, and shut your eyes once again. Tears were quick to well up in your eyes, and drag down your temples, and crawl into the beginnings of your hair.
Your sobbing was quiet, but you did not lose the space of sound. The mystery hands continue to try and soothe you, with a voice you could not pin point.
“D-don’t… touchshh–!” You whimper out, frustrated in your own lack of power. Your face became completely flushed, your head feeling closer and closer to cracking. A dizziness seeped in, and you suddenly felt overwhelmed with exhaustion once more. “...me…” your word trailed off, disappearing as fast as your last breath before returning to your unconscious state.
Before Zuko could even get his hands on the guard, Katara unveiled her water and used it to latch onto his forearm. But, she forgot how strong Zuko was, as his force practically forced her forward. “Zuko, hold on!” She yelled, exuding all her strength to keep Zuko from pouncing on his own guard. “Just wait a damn minute!”
Something got into him, and it completely shut down his rationality. All he could see was red, and the beginning of regaining inner serenity was staring right at him, expression intoxicated in trepidation.
“What happened to Sai?” Zuko hissed, his aggression-filled words pouring out his gritted teeth. His unkempt hair had suddenly reflected the very sight of his sister in her final acts of insanity. He slowly inched closer and closer, with Katara desperately trying to delay him. “What the fuck did you do to her?”
“F-F-Firelord Z-Zu…ko…!” The guard stammered, his entire body trembling while remaining where he stood. He couldn’t dare run away from the Firelord, as he would likely worsen his predicament.
Katara continued to struggle, holding her water like two ropes while trying her damndest to keep Zuko wrangled. Blue eyes burn into Lady Kira, who fearfully stood in the doorway of your quarters. Without hesitation, Katara yells at her, “what happened here?”
Topaz eyes lock onto Lady Kira, and she freezes. She knew better than to not answer the question, considering her fellow courtier's life was at risk. Mustering her courage, she meets Zuko’s eyes and responds faintly, “he… was assisting me in bringing in tea… in case Lady Sai were to wake.”
Zuko narrowed his eyes on her, still dissatisfied, “guards are not to enter the quarters of any Lady or women in the Palace.”
Lady Kira quickly responded, “I-I was overzealous and thought I could carry both the tea set and a meal… I asked him to hold the door for me while I entered her quarters… a-and I didn’t know she woke up, s-so…”
“The first person she saw was him,” Katara finished for her. She realized that Zuko had stilled, and brought her water back to her waterskin. “Lady Sai reacted from trauma… hence her screams.”
Zuko felt the water from Katara’s bending touch his skin as it spread around the linens of his sleeves. His heaving chest was still frantic, his heart ready to unleash the inner monster he did not realize he had. All he could think about was keeping you safe, starting with the guard and whatever could come after. Even after getting caught up, Zuko did not want to see the guard in his presence. At least, at that moment.
Guards ran down the corridor in response to the commotion. Zuko’s hand found its way to his forehead, his annoyance and agitation increasing. Emitting a deep sigh, Zuko looks through the space between his digits and eyes the frightened guard once more. Gesturing to him, he begins quietly, “you; leave.”
The guard immediately accepts his dismissal. He bows so low that his head almost touches the ground, “Y-yes, my Lord!” He squeaks out, taking this out contently as a few of the other guards escort him away from your quarters. As he was being escorted, the rest of Zuko’s friends had finally caught up to the scene.
Toph was first to get close, her body long feeling the tea tray falling. Her face pointed her towards your quarters, remembering the vibrating feeling of the metal clashing with the ground. “Is everyone okay?” She asks quietly, unable to catch the tension.
Aang and Sokka were right behind her, taking in the scene as well. The men were able to put two and two together, quickly turning around to face away from your quarters. They, too, respected Zuko’s request for men not to enter women’s quarters.
The only current exception was the room Aang and Katara shared, albeit she had not stepped a foot inside yet.
Aang looks over at Katara and gestures to your quarters, “is she…?” He asks quietly, hoping not to disturb you.
Before Katara could answer, Lady Kira quickly shook her head, “she… has gone once again.”
Zuko’s excitement was buried back to the ground. He could feel a headache from hell setting in, unsure how much more he could take without seeing you, the you before all of this. But, he accepts this defeat, his eyes meeting with the floor. “Katara, if you can,” he asks her quietly, his hands balling into fists. Even Toph could hear how strong his grip was, as his clenching was so tight, his fingernails were digging into his palms. “Please.”
Without another word, Katara quickly rushes into your quarters, carefully avoiding the broken porcelain that was now ornate in your room. Lady Kira quickly bowed at the gentlemen outside your quarters before rushing back in. She quickly became a utility, and began cleaning the mess from the fallen tray.
With the door shut in his face, Zuko could only let out another deep sigh.
That being the case, she could not find herself wanting to sleep. She sat at your bedside, long hair completely loose while rubbing your forehead with a drenched cloth. The water had been imbued with a healing water bending technique, its glow subtle in the darkness of the room.
She felt awful for everything that had been happening. Zuko and you were suffering, and she could only truly prioritize one of you. Even if she could give Zuko priority, his head has been tormenting him without permitting anything beyond a scratch of ease.
But, she was not a God. She could not heal you to full health on her own, despite her bending. She could not take you out of your conscious state, despite wanting to see you healthy and well. She could not take away the trauma of what happened, and what started her on this journey to assist you in your healing.
She could only do her best in what she could do.
But, as she gently dabbed your forehead, she noticed the small, subtle twitches from your eyes. The sides of your lips winced every few seconds, having her pull her touch away from you. She silently waited, watching you with the assistance of the nights shine. It seemed that even the moon was itching for your return to the conscious world.
Katara snaked her hand into your own, mouthing silent prayers for you to react to her touch. And then it happened: you took hold of her fingers. A weak squeeze, a small sliver of hope. She waited patiently, giving you the space you needed to regain your consciousness.
And just like that; you woke.
It took you a few minutes, and you accepted that the stranger in your bedroom was a friend, not a foe. Katara carefully moved a few cushions and pillows behind your back, giving you the right support to sit up. You were reticent but accepted her help, as her strong forearm gave you the right grip to adjust your body.
You mutter a quiet thank you as you get used to sitting up. Your head still felt heavy, but the headache that once threatened to split your skull was long gone. There was a chilling feeling on your forehead, but it was quickly replaced with a warm wetness. You look over to notice that it was this stranger, who was water bending a sort of special water on your head.
Before you attempted to speak, Katara quickly answered your initial, mental questions, “I’m Katara.” She did not need to say anything more, for you also quickly learned that she was a water bender. A good one too, based on how calm your head felt.
You could only look at her, as if she was a Goddess, “you are so kind…” you barely let out, your voice still not quite there. “Thank you… so much…” You tried to offer your hand, but your body was uncooperative. “y/n,” you weakly let out, introducing yourself. She smiles warmly and nods.
Even in the night so dim, you could appreciate the very lady before you. Mocha skin, smooth and supple from even just the look. Long, voluptuous hair that poured down her shoulders and contested the length of her torso. Blue eyes that held the many bodies of water that this planet could barely explain. She was the sort of enigma that, for the moment, you welcomed.
“I know you have been sleeping, but try not to do too much,” Katara instructed, removing the water she had been using to ease your head. You lamented its absence, but you couldn’t deny how much better you felt. “I have some tea for you, if you’d lik–”
“Yes,” you quickly whisper, your voice weak but your want high. “Spirits, yes.” You patiently waited, weakly reaching out to the teacup with trembling hands.
She brings the cup close to your face, “you’re still too weak. I don’t want you to accidentally drop it on yourself, so let me help you…”
It was embarrassing really. A stranger who seemed to have nursed you to health was now assisting you in drinking a cup of tea. Something you have been doing practically since the womb. And yet here you were, your body a tool while this kind woman, Katara, was assisting you in enjoying something as simple as drinking tea. The soothing warmth of the scalding water relieved some tension in your throat.
She puts the cup down upon your satisfaction, and offers her forearms so you could sit up. You could tell she was strong, not just from her bending abilities but from how tough her forearms felt. After your adjustments, you were able to finally crane your neck, stretching out as much stiffness as possible.
You began working on moving your arms, too. It wasn’t great seeing them, the way your skin had thinned and exposed the bones you’ve never seen so defined before. Even your fingers highlighted your knuckles and the very structure that helped your body move. It was disturbing, but what could be done?
“I know it's quite late,” Katara began, before stifling a chuckle, “well, I guess early now. But, I brought you a meal if you are willing to try and eat some of it.” Your eyes flicker to the window, watching as the moon begins its slow descent to the other half of the world. “I do warn you; it’s cold.”
You hesitated for a moment before curiosity took over, “what do you have?” You barely let out.
And there you were, with Katara’s patience appearing boundless as she slowly fed you. It was a humble meal; rice with a slab of meat and peas. But, it did the job, and your stomach immediately growled with glee from the first bite. She did stop you from eating too much, considering you hadn’t eaten for a while. That’s when you realized something grave.
“How long?” You asked Katara, curious as to the amount of time you were gone. Katara looked at you woefully, her eyes grimacing at the thought.
“It’s been 7 days,” Katara responded quietly, her head nodding along her words. She gives you a small smile, “but, having your body rest so much made your wound heal very quickly.”
That was when you realized the absence of pain that once resided behind you. It was like a sudden transformation. You forced your effort, your arms exerting themselves to reach your back and rub where your pain would be. And, there was nothing. At least, in terms of feeling.
“I…” you began, your lip already ahead of your emotions as it quivered. The geyser of your feelings erupted, and you felt tears slide down your cheeks. You were brought back to that day, and then pulled right back to here, in this moment, in the safety of your room, being nursed by a kind bender. “I… I don’t… I didn’t mean for all this to…”
“One thing at a time,” Katara interrupted you, handing you a dry cloth to wipe your face. You were grateful for her generosity, attempting to calm down so the tears could be obsolete. “Everything that happened to you was not your fault. That man is not a man; he’s a coward.”
Your eyes dimmed, looking down at your hands. Before you had gone unconscious, you remember most of the Agni Kai that Zuko had long abolished. You recall Lord Indra attempting to be sly with the Firelord, being cheeky with movement to try and one-up him. It made your blood boil, despite its current feeble state.
“Is he… um,” you ask timidly, unsure if you truly want to know the well being of Lord Indra.
Katara nodded, “Indra has been imprisoned under the charges of treachery and assault of a Fire Nation Palace personnel.” You blinked a few times, looking up at her in surprise. Of course, you were happy to hear that he was not doing well, and in fact being punished for his crime. But, his list of crimes sounded like he won’t be seeing anything outside of his cell ever again. “His clan has been informed, and they are in deliberation to promote someone else to take his place.”
You nodded, “I see.”
Then, Katara placed her hand on yours, cupping them just a bit to attempt to ease your tremors. “As for Zuko…” she begins, earning a jump from you. She smiled amusingly, anticipating that you’d react in such a way from hearing his name. And you wanted to ask about him, but it seemed inappropriate, considering the nature of your relationship with him and the feelings you harbor for the very man. “He’s subjecting himself to his own sort of prison.”
You tilted your head to the side, confused at her words, “...what do you mean?”
“It’s a long story,” Katara hums quietly. She begins to adjust in her seat, making herself a bit more comfortable. She takes one of your hands and gives it a light squeeze, “luckily we have the time, and I’ve been dying to tell you about the kind of man you’ve made him become.”
The story made you feel just about everything.
Sadness and anger mostly, but mainly frustrated at your body for giving out when Zuko needed the exact opposite. It broke your heart to hear how he’s been punishing himself, unable to control his feelings and lashing out unnecessarily.
But these feelings also confused you. Why would he feel such things over you? It was understandable that Lord Indra had been a bad man, and did not deserve to represent the Fire Nation as a leader anymore. But, you were nothing above a commoner. Your life was not taken, either. You were just you.
So why would he go so much out of his way…?
“To go such lengths,” Katara approaches the end of her update for you. She straightens her back, a yawn escaping her lips. After all, the woman had barely slept and spent the rest of her night catching you up with the ‘gossip.’ She looked up at you with a sweet smile, “it means that you’re someone very important, whether you like it or not.”
“To him?” You squeak out before erupting in a coughing fit. Your voice was still struggling, but it was doing its best.
“Who else?” Katara giggles, poking fun at your confusion. “Anyhow, that’s been the last few days. I’m sorry for such a lengthy story.”
You shook your head, “no no, thank you for updating me on everything. It feels like I’ve been gone an eternity…”
“Zuko feels the same way,” Katara hummed. It was weird. Well, rather it felt weird. It was like, through Katara, Zuko had been confessing to you. But, he wasn’t here, and all you were being told was how his heart had been crumbling from your lack of presence. Delusional, you quickly discredited yourself. “But, he’s been fine for the most part. We’ve been trying to keep him grounded, though I’m not sure if our efforts have been completely fruitful.”
We? You were curious, but not curious enough to question it. Right now, at the moment, you want to get yourself back on your feet. You needed to. To get back to him, to what was normal. You tried to get off the bed on your own, the sudden exertion making your body quickly halt itself. Even Katara held your shoulders, stopping you from your actions.
“What are you doing?” She immediately questioned, worry drenched her words. “You’ve just woken up.”
“I need to help him get ready,” you say quietly, your mind already set on a mission. You needed to come back to him, to bring his mind back to sanity. You needed to fulfill your purpose there, and serve the Firelord like you had done before.
Before she could continue to stop you, a soft knock hit the door. It was a hesitant knock, as if the door was delicate. Almost as if the knock itself did not want to be heard.
“Katara,” a voice so familiar, you’ve heard it in your dreams. But it was manipulated in this reality, weaved in woe and something you could not pin point. “I can’t live like this anymore,” Zuko’s voice poured out desperately against the door, “I need to see her.”
Burnt to the Core ♨ Chapter 10 | reader(f) x Firelord Zuko
synopsis: you are firelord zuko's direct attendant. zuko has long reformed the fire nation after ozai's takedown and zuko's assuming of power. but now you had a challenge of your own: your feelings for the firelord. what was just a simple crush turned out to be more trouble than you would have imagined. but it may have been worth it.
word count: 2789 (now i apologize for this chapter being so short)
warnings: no spoilers of the movie (besides using this gif here + how gaang now looks as adults). WARNING: [M] [TW] SA, violence, sexual topics (i.e, intercourse), cursing, mental/physical disorders (depression/depressive acts) + MDNI
authors note: hi all. i finally got the chapter out, despite my immense writers block, which was part of the cause for the delay. but perhaps a cliff hanger chapter is worse lol. thank you all (as always) for your patience and enjoying my story. sorry for being a bad writer
TAGLIST CLOSED
***ONLY PUBLISHED ON TUMBLR***
A week had passed by, and you were still insentient.
An anxiety crawled around Zuko’s body for every day since you first went into comatose. And it only got worse when a few of the lords present that day came and confessed their chest off. With every gruesome detail of how you were laughed at during your torture boiled something else inside of Zuko.
It took everything in him not to imprison them indefinitely.
And that was not all. Iroh recruited Toph to assist in repairing the Palace’s garden. The storm from the week prior had done a great deal to the garden, ruining many herbs and misplacing a few stones and boulders. It was very helpful to utilize Toph while also benefiting Toph, who always wanted a reason to earth bend.
But when Zuko checked in to oversee the process, his heart broke when he saw what happened to your personal small plot. The space allotted to grow your herbs and botanicals had been completely ruined by the landslide. Weeds were pulled and misplaced all around the area. Toph could only pick out a few surviving plants, allowing a few Ladies in Waiting to try and keep them alive in attempts to cheer up their Firelord.
It did not work all that well, but he appreciated their efforts.
He also was able to appreciate Sokka’s use of his time, as he had been spending the week in the training yard. He managed to round up a few guards and offered his ‘training services.’ Sokka, as the only non-bender there, insisted that to be ‘truly strong,’ one must tap into their natural strength. Zuko wasn’t sure if they’d benefit too much as a military that must train daily, but he wasn’t going to knock out his enthusiasm.
And with the wedding preparations coming to a head, Zuko insisted that Aang and Katara take all the time they need to find the perfect spot. Katara entrusted Aang to do the searching, seeing as she couldn’t find herself leaving your side. So, Zuko assigned a land surveyor to join Aang in the tour around the islands. Though, the surveyor was not quite eager to trust his life on the back of an ancient flying bison.
With that, it would find that Zuko and Katara would spend the most time together, despite their own personal obligations. They’d be the first two to every meal, and typically found time to talk between the corridors. It was not enough to quite bring Zuko back to himself, but it helped to be with Katara and have her ease his worries.
Today, however, was a bit more interesting.
It seemed everyone got caught up in their schedule. Zuko was the first to the dinner table, which was not surprising. But, minutes passed and Katara was still absent. It made him wonder if anything happened with you that was causing her delay.
He stared off distantly, swimming in the nothingness of his fruitless thoughts. He could only wonder every day if he had made the right choice. If challenging Lord Indra was the best thing he could have done for you. He couldn’t get over it, and he wasn’t sure why. Zuko was investing in the hope that you could just wake up and validate his (what he believes was) poor actions.
As honey eyes sauntered the realm of nothingness, Katara popped into view and pulled him out. He clears his throat and sits up straight, smiling warmly at the sight of his dear friend. Katara had her hair completely loose, its strand darkened by the fresh wash she had just done. Besides her drenched hair, her rosy cheeks played proof to her recent bath.
“You know, you’ve started looking a lot like your younger self lately,” Katara began, her lips forming a mischievous smirk.
“Oh?” Zuko hummed curiously.
Katara points to his eyebrows, “you’ve got this angry look to you all the time, except without all that teenage rage.”
Zuko rolls his eyes, his cheeks tinting a light pink at her recounting, “feel free to forget those times. Your mind, and my sanity, would greatly appreciate it.”
“‘m not trying to make fun of you, promise,” Katara coos earnestly. She takes a seat beside him, allowing her burgundy and tawny gold robes to spill over the dining table. She was careful not to allow her wet hair to touch any of the plates or utensils, respecting the hard work of the Ladies in Waiting for setting up their meal. “It’s just crazy how, just a few years ago, you were planning to end all of us.”
Zuko felt a small pang of guilt, “... you have no idea how grateful I am that those plans did not happen.”
“How do you think we feel?” Katara jokes, earning a chuckle from the anxious Firelord. She could tell he still wasn’t completely there. Unbeknownst to him, she had long noticed how he had been feigning normalcy for the sake of wanting normalcy. “Thank you again, by the way. We appreciate you allowing us to have our first wedding here.”
Zuko looked at her and shook his head, “I should be the one thanking you both. I do not deserve to play a factor in your wedding plans.”
Katara shook her head, his words getting flicked off of her, “we’re getting married here, whether you like it or not.” He was overjoyed beyond words, not that he’d admit it to either of them. Zuko just never thought he would be such an important person to anyone, especially considering what he had done to them when he was younger.
“Well, there’s still time, should you ever change your mind,” Zuko said simply.
“You could literally banish us from the Fire Nation, and we still would not budge,” Katara challenged jokingly.
Zuko suddenly became stern, and shook his head, “that will never happen. I will give my life before that ever happens.”
Katara quickly put her hand in his forearm and patted him, “it’s only a joke, Zuko. I know you would never…” He allowed her touch only seconds longer before pulling away. She looks up at him, worry welling up in her eyes. “...Zuko?”
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his raspy voice just a twinge more abrasive from his ascending feelings. “‘m still not… all there.”
She understood quickly what he was referring to, and allowed his detest of touch. She knew she was not to blame, nor the cause of his feelings. Even so, it did break her heart to still see him this way. “I understand. Everything good in this world takes time.”
“I agree,” Zuko says unconvincingly. His fingers begin to lightly tap against the dining table, with an intense (but suppressed) urge to begin digging at the refined wood with his fingernail. “Time just… seems to be testing me lately.”
Katara knew this feeling good and well, considering everything they had all gone through for the sake of restoring peace. She could see it in everything Zuko has become; the way he has sacrificed so much in order to fight for the shared goal. Even now as she looks at him, she could see how much he has pushed himself aside, and far as a priority.
Unkempt hair, with its length threatening to get past the dip of his back. This entire week he had gone without having it done, only allowing Lady Kira to temporarily be his direct attendant and brushing it out so it didn’t knot. He did not care to change out of his comfortable robes, despite new official attire being made after Katara had cut his. He even refused to go outside, denying his parched skin the thirst-reliving properties of the sun.
“Time might be testing you, but you must be better than your impatience,” Katara advises. She gestures to his hair, earning a huff from Zuko.
“I understand that it’s long,” Zuko begins, “but what benefit is there to cutting it besides appearances?”
Katara rolls her eyes, “it is too long, but that’s not what I mean. You have refused to wear your crown.”
Zuko could only stare at her in shame, unable to conjure a good answer. He felt too embarrassed, too undeserving to wear that crown. He may be the Firelord, but he could not find his pride to wear it. He did not deserve to seat it on his head, and face his nation after making such a selfish decision.
“I cannot,” Zuko says simply, with an empty explanation. She knew why, but she would not press on. It seems those waters were far too disturbed to traverse at this time. “I will not. Not until I’ve earned the right back.”
Katara looks at him, studying his facial expression. “Not even after she had protected it so lovingly?” Her tone was hush, her words softer than clouds.
“...especially not after that,” Zuko lets out lamentably. “...after this…”
There was a newfound association to you and his crown. It was not just the guilt that was strewn around the fibers of its pure metal, but rather the care you had imbued in it after it was entrusted to you. To Zuko, placing his crown on his head felt like your hand, a comforting head pat that he knew he did not deserve. He could not accept his crown until you had opened your eyes and graced him again with your presence.
The crown remained on the same spot in the balcony while Zuko continued to pray to the spirits. Not for forgiveness, but for your consciousness. Should you ever allow him the opportunity to be before you, with listening ears, he has vowed to apologize until his tongue falls off. If it is necessary for a lifetime, then it will be. Should the spirits hear his plea and grant him his only wish, then his trade will be more than worth it.
“Before you ask,” Katara beat him to the punch, “she is doing well.” In the midst of their conversation, a few Ladies in Waiting come into the dining room, with covered platters of food sitting carefully in their hold. Zuko offers his hands where he could, assisting in putting down any platters just a bit too heavy or hot for the ladies to handle. “She is quite well, in fact.”
This pulled Zuko in, “will she…?”
Katara shrugs, “there are still no real indicators for when she will wake up. But, her wound has healed incredibly well. Her body has responded to all my treatment very well.”
It was always reassuring to hear you progressing well. It reminded Zuko that he wasn’t too late, and momentarily eased his guilt. And, hearing Katara’s enthusiasm only meant that they could only go up from here. At least, that’s what he hopes.
“That’s good, I’m glad,” he says quietly, looking down at his legs. “I know I’ve been a downer these last few days, but you don’t know how grateful I am to you guys.” He snakes his hands down, resting them on his lap. “I don’t think I’d be well myself if you guys weren’t here.”
Katara sneaks her hand in his view, shaking it to grab his gaze once more. He looks back up at her, earning a small smile. “We are here, so let's share the weight together, yeah?” Honey eyes shine, his heart relaxing from Katara’s reassurance. “Even your Waiting Ladies are a huge help.”
“So I’ve seen,” Zuko comments, recalling how many times he sees them go in and out of your quarters. From providing Katara herbs to changing your sheets, they were eagerly ready and available to help.
“I’ve tried to tell them that I do not need any breaks, but they’re just as stubborn as their leader,” Katara playfully jabs at her dear friend. “But, they’re too sweet to deny, and it’s nice to be able to eat with you all.”
It was then that Zuko realized just how much Katara had been sacrificing. Most of the hours in her day were spent with you, and you were not even conscious. This meant that Katara was not only constantly monitoring you, but exerting her water bending abilities beyond what she uses it for. She healed your agonizing wound, refreshed your body, and ensured you were not left alone.
Katara ate snacks in your quarters, enjoyed tea while keeping a watchful eye on you. If it were her way, this would be a 24/7 shift. And Zuko knew it was not completely for him, either. Katara would be damned if she could not help save a life. If it is within her power, then she will do it. That is just who she is.
She had been sacrificing her time with Aang, and the search for their perfect wedding. A wedding that had Zuko completely in mind. A wedding that she should have so much say in, and yet entrusted it totally to her counterpart.
He was lucky to be able to consider Katara one of his lifelong friends.
“They have been too good to me,” Zuko admits, smiling up at the Waiting Ladies that were preparing their dinner. “I’m glad that that has extended to you all as well.”
Katara nodded, “I left y/n in the care of Lady Kira. She has been the one to constantly offer her watch whenever she is done attending to your needs.”
“Is that right?” Zuko hums quietly. He recalls how her informative tip and bravery led him to you. It was her straying away from her fear in hopes that he would find you and bring you back safely. He had given Lady Kira a lot of free time between her duties to him, but he did not realize she gave it all up whenever she could to take care of you.
It was these realizations that only worsened his feelings about what he let happen to you.
“You have the best women taking care of this Palace,” Katara hums, giving them all winks. They smile back at her, with faces flushed as they hurried along to get more food from the kitchen. “Surely they will all marry well, if that is in their interest.”
Before Zuko could even respond, a loud, visceral scream was heard in the distance.
Outside the dining room, Katara and Zuko could hear metal platters fall to the floor, with shatters from what sounded like plates or cups to join the mess on the ground. They immediately abandoned their seats, rushing out to see what the scene could be.
Chants of Katara’s name bounced around the corridors, adding to the anxiety-inducing screams, which only led Katara to one conclusion. They both run, following the sounds of her beckoning as they run past a few Waiting Ladies, who pointed them to the direction of the scream.
“What was that?” Zuko finally asked, his speed not dwindling for a moment. Katara did not have to say a word, as Zuko realized where their path had been leading them. Their hurried figures cut through the dimly lit halls, the torches flickering from the wind of their velocity.
The screams gradually quieted, and transitioned into a broken cry. The voice was weak, and practically lifeless. But, it was just enough to realize who the voice belonged to. And suddenly, Zuko had become much faster than Katara and sped right past her.
Those cries were familiar, despite the voice being stripped. It brought him back to the tavern, to the woman balled up on a bar stool. Don’t, he thought to himself. It wasn’t an ask; it was a warning. Whatever caused these cries was in for something dark, and even Zuko feared what that could be.
All his staff watched as he ran so desperately, as if it had been his very own mother whimpering in his Palace. And he didn’t know what he felt; immense fear over whatever new danger came your way, or the excitement to finally see your eyes again.
When he turned the corner, he met eyes with a guard, whose expression was nothing short of frightened. His skin paled, his bottom lip trembled, and he was still in his stand. He could not even offer a small bow, despite being in the presence of his Firelord. Zuko walked up to him, his hand buzzing with flickering lightning.
But, before he could act on assumptions, a smaller body quickly made itself in view. It was Lady Kira, her eyes coated in so many feelings that she herself could not explain. She was right outside of your quarters, the source of the cries, her hands shaking in worried exhilaration.
Without hesitation, she answered his silent ask, her voice breathless, “she’s awake.”
The Things We Keep ⁺◦ Book 2: Water, Part 2 ⁺◦ Zuko x fem!reader
a/n: hi guys! thanks for waiting patiently while i wrote this part. ok so... i know i said this would be the final part but um. it's not. hope that's ok w you guys LOL i just can't get enough of this story i've created here. there is sooo much angst here and soo much in the overall story i hope you guys don't mind bc i'm eating this shit up LOL. the characters in here got a lot of trauma ok!! lol anyways enjoy this is my best one yet xx
warnings: NSFW (minors do not interact!!), swearing, rough sex, lots of sexual themes, slight degradation etc etc u get the jist
word count: 11.3k... my longest one yet
You didn't want to do it.
You didn't want to use this trip as an excuse to wander back into the past trauma surrounding your parents' death.
Yet every day you searched for something that could prove who gave the order that led to your parents' demise.
Three days after that explosive night with Zuko, you tried to focus on the reason you were in the Fire Nation: the Cultural Restoration Initiative. And the secondary, but growing, reason: to find out anything more you could about your parents. But both were proving difficult after that mess with Zuko.
It was like your entire past was suddenly thrown back in your face, your desire for Zuko resurfacing and your itch to research into your parents growing after fading gradually in your time in the Northern Water Tribe.
It wasn't exactly like your desire for Zuko ever disappeared. It just hurt less after you left him years ago. But that night with Zuko was disastrous.
You went through the most turbulent whirlwind of emotions, changing faces one after the next as your hurt and happiness circled each other. The pain was hard and real. It had reopened a wound that you never thought you'd see bleed again. But aside from the pain, was the yearning that you felt for Zuko after kissing him. The feeling of his lips years later plagued you.
His more mature lips, soft and cautious, kissing you while your hand danced, gripping his hair. Your heart grew after he kissed you.
And shrank into nothing after he said he felt nothing.
You hadn't cried that hard that night since you were on Zuko's ship and the memories of your parents constantly occupied your mind. You cried the entire night.
Distraction was definitely the course of action afterwards. It had only been three days since then and despite seeing Zuko a few times, each time was from afar and no eye contact was made. You were both definitely avoiding each other, but at least you didn't have to face that night.
"This thing between us is strictly professional now." "I won't be afraid to expel you from the Fire Nation". His words played in your mind whenever you thought you missed his lips. In a split second that yearning would be over. Or at least buried for the moment.
In the aftermath, you tried to speak to Iroh, knowing he would give the best advice possible in the disaster that was three days ago. Unfortunately for you, he was out on a political trip to the Northern Water Tribe. How convenient.
The time spent after that night was lonely and full of work. Long nights with little sleep and early mornings with headaches of the day to come. It was almost a bit boring.
It wasn't until the first meeting that you'd have with a group of scholars did you realize the 'excitement' would pick up.
You strolled into the archives ready to present your findings, but your core still felt empty. You missed Zuko and he was all you could think about but today, the main task to get through was this meeting. You were to present your preliminary findings for the Cultural Restoration Initiative to a small group of scholars in order to continue further with your tasks. You had a week and a half left but so much to do still if you were to continue searching for anything relating to your parents.
As your hand pushed the door open inside the archives, revealing a small conference room, your eyes flashed up to see the last thing you expected: Zuko.
There he was sat in between the 8 scholars that worked at the Fire Nation archives, in full Fire Lord regalia, which he was usually dressed in during the day. The problem was, he wasn't even looking at you. You froze, panic rising in your chest before soothing itself. He probably had to be here. It was most likely part of his duties, housing an emissary and all.
As you allowed yourself to move, all eyes on you now, still excluding Zuko's, you walked towards the empty seat which directly faced Zuko across the circular table. You watched as he wrote in some documents. You needed him to look up. You needed to read his face.
His eyes finally rose as he stopped writing and the two of you made eye contact. His face was composed and bored. The same as when you first saw him in his throne room. Well, after the initial shock. This time however, there was no shock. Did he not care at all anymore or did he simply know in advance that you were coming so he could prepare?
Upon making eye contact you knew that despite all of the mess three days ago, he was still the Fire Lord. And you were still an emissary.
You bowed, showing your necessary respect as you spoke,
"Fire Lord Zuko."
You rose after finishing and embarrassment filled your core. You wished you didn't have to do that. You wished you could just hate him for what he was. For Zuko. But he was the Fire Lord, and if you didn't bow in front of him, you knew it would be taken as disrespect.
"Ambassador y/n, thank you for joining us," one of the scholars who you had come to know as Raza spoke, ushering you to be seated.
When you were finally at eye level with Zuko, you watched him while Raza spoke, explaining to the other scholars what the purpose of the meeting was. Zuko's eyes remained focused on Raza for what felt like ages before slowly wandering around the room. Before finding themselves on you.
You now watched each other, his face remaining calm. You couldn't imagine how he managed to keep that facial expression. The Zuko you knew had trouble hiding his emotions in the moment. Then again, you went years on his ship without knowing he was attracted to you, so maybe he was harder to read than you thought.
You stared back at him, struggling to hide what you were feeling. The subtle expression plastered on your face was a mix of sadness, embarrassment and disgust. But still, it was subtle. Your eyes faintly squinted at him as you both continued to watch each other, a plethora of swear words going off in your mind as you stared at him, when suddenly, he broke the eye contact.
His eyes dropped down to your lips and stayed there for about one whole second before flicking back up to meet your eyes. That second however, felt like hours and it was obvious to you that he looked down. That he looked at your lips.
Your brows began to furrow in confusion, trying to display a 'What was that for?' look on your face before Raza suddenly stopped speaking and called your name.
You snapped out of it rapidly, turning to Raza before realizing she called you to begin your presentation on your findings as she sat down.
You then sat up and for the next hour spoke about your findings from the past four days. You avoided eye contact with Zuko the entire time despite knowing his eyes were burning into you as you spoke. When your presentation was done, there was a vote from everyone in the room about whether they were happy with those artifacts being returned, and with a unanimous 'yes', you were able to continue with the Cultural Restoration Initiative in the Fire Nation.
As the meeting concluded, your back was faced to the table as you sorted through documents given to you during your presentation, filing them into different folders on a desk to put them into your bag. You hadn't made proper eye contact with Zuko since he used it as an opportunity to look down at your lips (whatever the hell that was???) and you couldn't bear to be in the same room any longer. It was getting to you.
Thankfully, you could hear everyone pack up, shuffling out of the conference room into the grand centre of the archives. You knew Zuko was probably the first to leave given the duties he had to attend to and you didn't give yourself the chance to look back and see if he was still there.
As you continued sorting through documents, you were convinced the room was empty before a voice broke through the silence. Zuko's voice.
"Insightful presentation today, Emissary."
You turned, startled by his voice. He was leaning against the table, arms folded, looking way too composed. Was he trying to get under your skin? Despite this, seeing him dressed in his full Fire Lord regalia intimidated you. And he knew it.
He spoke again. "I trust you've been sleeping well in the palace?"
You gripped the folders in your hands tightly. He was mockingly being professional. Or was he actually checking up on you? You couldn't decide so instead you stared at him, anger growing on your face before dragging out your answer,
"Yep. Sooo great." That was all you could say. Sarcastically. Otherwise you'd explode. You'd been carrying the weight of that night on your shoulders the past three days and now wasn't the time to let it out. Zuko, however, clearly hated your response, and it seemed like it angered him, so he spoke again.
"Just checking. I didn’t realize diplomacy involved storming out of rooms and crying in studies."
Asshole. Professional my ass. Was he really back to mocking you again? About that night specifically too? He couldn't go one encounter with you without acting like a child.
Your eyes darted up to his, anger creeping up on your face. He was testing you. You could see it in his smug face. You knew you couldn't reply rudely. There were so many things you could've said in response but you just couldn't. So instead, you mocked him with a fake apology.
"Sorry Zuko, it won't happen again." You bowed sarcastically.
“Fire Lord Zuko,” he corrected, his jaw tightening.
You scoffed quietly, setting your folders down. Unbelievable. You were near your breaking point. “Right. Forgot you have to hide behind titles now,” you muttered under your breath.
His eyes snapped up at that, the calm melting away in an instant. He stared at you, slight hurt on his face as he thought of his next response. Finally, he spoke.
"Have you forgotten what my last words were to you before today?" He sounded like he was in disbelief.
"How could I forget." You replied. It was more of a statement than a question.
"Great. So maybe you should watch how you speak to me."
You scoffed. "You approached me. I was happy not speaking to you at all for my remaining time here."
He sighed. "I approached you because I was checking up on you."
You grabbed the folders on the desk and turned back to face him. Tears were filling your eyes at this point and you did not want him to see any of them fall.
"Well your version of kindness is pretty fucking warped, Fire Lord Zuko."
With that, you strode past him right as a tear fell down, unsure of whether he saw or not. You walked straight ahead and out of the conference room, speed walking to your assigned bedroom so that you could finally let the rest of the tears fall.
And they fell.
The rest of that day was spent in your room in the palace. You were wallowing in the sadness, and the overwhelming feeling of not belonging in your own home country was too much to bear. You had suffered so much in your youth and when it finally started to get better in the Norther Water Tribe, you were sent here to practically face everything negative that happened to you all over again. Plus the addition of the asshole that Zuko became.
Waking the next day wasn't easy and you tried so hard to push through with your work so that you could just complete your task and get out of the Fire Nation. But it was too difficult. Halfway through the day you couldn't handle it anymore and you locked yourself in the same bedroom for the evening. You were barely eating and any servants that came in to check up on you were immediately sent out. You needed to be alone.
There was one servant in particular who you took a liking to and so once you made your decision you had decided to speak to them while standing in the hallway of your room.
The decision being that you were going to leave the next day.
You couldn't handle it anymore and running away wouldn't be the best thing for the Cultural Restoration Initiative, but at this moment that was the last thing on your mind.
Upon chatting to the servant, requesting manners of travel and any last minute work related matters to be resolved in the morning, you knew it was the right thing for you. It was suffocating in the Fire Nation. And Zuko was a dick.
He had mocked you for how you cried in his study after he hurt you. After he said he felt nothing for you after kissing you. You didn't even bother to contemplate whether he was lying about that or not. He was the Fire Lord now and clearly a different man. You didn't even want to know what he would think about you leaving. He probably wouldn't even care.
Evening came with you eating alone in your room and packing to leave the next day. Time passed into the later hours of the night, and the hours leading up to midnight consisted of you pacing, sobbing and wanting to rip your hair out for ever agreeing to come on this work trip. It should've been someone else.
Right before midnight hit, a knock came from your door, interrupting you as you lay in bed reading. To you, it seemed like only a servant would be knocking this late.
You sighed and spoke, hoping the servant on the other side could hear you as you projected your voice. "Shei, I told you that I am fine!" But right as you finished your sentence, the door creaked open and the person that stood in the doorway was the last person you were expecting. Zuko.
"Zuko?! What are you doing here? It's nearly midnight!" You sat up and whispered gently upon seeing him in the door frame, hoping that no one would hear you. That no one would know that the Fire Lord was paying you a visit at this time of the night.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him. Standing a distance away from you still, he sighed and looked up to you.
"I've been told that you're leaving tomorrow?" His voice was composed and quiet. Your brows furrowed.
"Yeah? So?" You paused. "What about that means a late night visit from the Fire Lord?" He looked to the ground.
"I would've come earlier but I had a long day and just found out and-" He paused and ran his hand over the top of his head, his hair in his regal top knot. His eyes shot up to meet yours now and his tone of voice and speed changed. He was no longer composed.
"Y/n you can't leave. Don't do it. If you finish the trip early the Northern Water Tribe will know something is up. The entire alliance I have with them could falter and-"
You interrupted him. "Are you serious?" You scoffed. "That's what you're fucking worried about?" He began walking towards you now and stood at the end of your bed while you remained sat up underneath the covers. You had forgotten that you were in your pyjamas which consisted of a totally see through satin and lace top with matching shorts to compliment, and upon remembering as he stepped closer, you grabbed the covers trying to cover your chest. Zuko didn't even seem to notice as he continued speaking.
"Of course that's what I'm worried about! I'm the Fire Lord y/n, this is the most important thing right now!"
You stared at him, dim candle light flickering in the room as you both were frozen, tension taking over the atmosphere. You were pondering your next reply when you let the boldness take over.
"More important than me?"
You held eye contact, not letting it break at all as you waited for his reply. His brows dipped and you saw his mouth slightly frown. He looked sad. But it was his next reply that took you aback.
"Please don't leave. Not again." Not again. His voice was more gentle now and you could see that he was being vulnerable. There was subtle pleading in that 'please' and you could see it in his face. He was upset.
"Not again?" you repeated sharply. "Zuko, you are the one who is pushing me away right now."
His jaw tightened. "I know."
"No, you don’t." You shoved the blankets aside and got out of bed, shaking with anger. "You made me feel like I meant nothing. And now suddenly I matter because the Northern Water Tribe might get upset?" You paced around the room as Zuko watched you, his face white. You continued, "I don't get it, you're such an asshole to me now." You turned to face him now, feet away from where he was standing. "I fucking miss you, you prick. And look at the treatment I get. I swear to god if I have to say one more Fire Lord Zuko, I-" You stopped talking as soon as you noticed his face. It was white. But that wasn't the problem. It was where his eyes were pointed down to. Your chest.
You followed his line of sight as your head tipped down to your breasts remembering the see through top that you had on. Instantly your hands shot up to cover your partially visible nipples as Zuko's head snapped up, like he was caught in the act as his face instantly flushed.
"I’m not- I didn’t mean to-" he stammered, looking away so hard it was almost painful. "I shouldn’t have come in here like this."
"Yeah," you snapped, arms still crossed over your chest. "No shit."
He swallowed so hard you saw the muscles in his throat work.
"I was only looking because-" He shut his eyes. "Spirits, I just- You just said you missed me."
You froze and your breath hitched in your throat. "I… what?"
Zuko’s shoulders tensed. He kept his eyes on the floor, jaw tight, voice lower now. Almost quiet in a way you hadn’t heard since you were teenagers.
"You said you missed me," he repeated, almost whispering. Finally he looked back up to you, keeping his eye level above your chest.
Anxiety. You were filled with anxiety and you didn't want to be vulnerable. Not right now. Not when you were so hurt. So you spoke boldly, "And that made you look at my tits?" You toyed with him.
He spoke sarcastically. "Jesus Christ, y/n, don't be inappropriate." You both looked at each other. And instantly started laughing at the same time. A warm gentle laugh from each of you. The kind of laugh you hadn't shared in years. It warmed you up and suddenly you felt more relaxed.
You walked over to the bed, climbing back in and covering yourself with the blanket while you sat up when Zuko broke the silence.
"We really need to talk." You pulled the blankets a little higher, not because you were shy, but because the way Zuko was purposefully not staring at your chest was starting to feel… intimate. Like he was trying too hard to be respectful. Like he cared too much.
"Okay fine. Asshole. Come sit." You were being playful. He wasn't scolding you for your behavior. What did you have to lose at this point?
He strolled over to the bed and before sitting down you interrupted him. "Wait." He froze at your word. "I can't talk to you when you're dressed like that. Like the Fire Lord." For a moment, you thought he would argue. That he’d insist it didn’t matter. That he was still the same person underneath. Instead, he narrowed his eyes down at you and scoffed.
"So you want me to strip." He looked straight at you when he spoke.
You laughed, pretending to be annoyed. "I want you to take off the Fire Lord stuff. Not your clothes. Calm down."
Zuko tilted his head, pretending to consider your words. "Well, unfortunately for you… most of the Fire Lord stuff is my clothes."
"Yeah well, Zuko I'm literally in my pyjamas right now."
"I noticed." Heat rose to your cheeks as he spoke and your heart fluttered. Seconds passed by and while he may have been waiting for a response, you shrugged and looked at his Fire Lord regalia.
Finally, he sighed dramatically and began taking it off. First was the outer mantle, heavy red fabric lined with gold. He unfastened it at his shoulder, letting it slide off with a quiet thud onto a nearby chair. His pauldrons followed, loosened and set aside. Then the structured outer robe, the one that made him look twice as imposing as he really was. Finally it was the crown, as he lifted the piece of gold out of his hair and onto your bedside table. You watched as he carefully took things off, confused at the intimate atmosphere in the room.
You weren't angry at him at all right now. You shared one laugh and suddenly it was like back to normal. If anything, the teasing was turning you on and knowing that you were leaving tomorrow made you even bolder by the minute.
Piece by piece, Zuko dismantled the image of the Fire Lord. Until it was just him. Just Zuko.
He stood at the side of the bed, barefoot with just red pants and a thin black top on, looking painfully more like himself. The way you remembered him. Almost.
"Better?" he asked quietly. Your throat tightened and you nodded.
Zuko exhaled a shaky breath and moved toward the foot of your bed, still cautious, still waiting for your reaction. "Can I sit?" he asked.
"Only if you promise not to pull the 'Fire Lord' card for the rest of this conversation."
"I’m not wearing the outfit," he said with a small, almost embarrassed smile. "I don’t think I can."
You scoffed, but it wasn’t unkind. It was playful. "You’d still find a way."
He sat down slowly at the edge of the bed. As the mattress dipped, so did your heart. He was close enough to your crossed legs, that your knee now pressed against the side of his hip through the blanket, and the feeling of that was enough to send sparks to the spot where you both touched. Even if it was just through the covers.
You looked up at him as his head turned to face you, but your brows furrowed as your eyes drifted up to his hair.
"What?" He noticed you staring.
Without answering, you let your hand rise up to grab hold of the ribbon tying his hair in the topknot and you pulled at it, releasing it. His hair now fell down, framing his face in that beautiful way only Zuko could look like. You smiled as he was now the Zuko you remembered, except more mature and even more handsome.
"There. Now you look better."
Zuko huffed a half laugh, half sigh. "You say that like it’s a compliment."
"It is," you said softly.
His eyes held yours for a moment too long. You could feel the heat crawling up your neck, but you refused to look away first. It was electric in this moment. This weird borderline moment of your relationship with Zuko. Eventually, he broke the stare, only to glance down at the ribbon in your hand.
"That’s my only good one," he murmured.
"Don’t worry," you teased. "You’re not getting it back."
"Is that so?" he said. "Pretty sure stealing from the Fire Lord carries a punishment."
You smirked. "You said no Fire Lord card."
"Right," he conceded, his lips twitching. "My mistake."
You could feel the tension in the spot where your knee still pressed against his hip and you didn't move. You couldn't. But the atmosphere was strange and so you questioned it.
"Why are.. why are you being... I don't know. Kinda nice to me right now?"
Zuko smirked, a small lopsided smirk that was incredibly attractive.
"Kinda?" he repeated. "That’s all I get?"
"Don’t push it," you muttered.
He shifted on the bed, turning his body toward you with his left knee propped up on the bed. Now both your knees were touching through the blanket. All you attention centered onto that point. That was until he sighed and answered truthfully.
"You want an actual answer.... I miss you too."
Your heart stopped. The words were soft. Barely above a whisper. But they hit you harder than anything he’d said in years. Your mind ran, wondering if he meant he missed you as a friend or as a lover. Either way the words were confusing. You blinked at him, shaking your head. "You… you don’t get to say that so casually."
"It wasn’t casual," he murmured.
His knee pressed a little more firmly against yours. Accidental, probably, but it sent heat shooting up your leg.
You swallowed hard. "You said you felt nothing."
"That night," he said quietly, "I panicked. You showed up after years and... what was I supposed to do?"
"You're an asshole."
"Yeah, you say that a lot." He huffed playfully. You squinted your eyes at him, displaying your dissatisfaction.
Moments passed and you asked a real question, shifting the atmosphere slightly, actually talking about what needed to be discussed.
"Why did you kiss me that night?"
He froze, debating on how to answer this. "Come on y/n, we kissed each other," he responded lightly.
You rolled your eyes. "Whatever. You called me a 'filthy water bender' if I remember correctly."
Zuko groaned into his hands. "Are you seriously bringing that up?"
"Of course I fucking am," you said. "You called me a filthy water bender and then you kissed me. Which, by the way, is a very confusing order of events."
He shot you a flat look. "I was just trying to hurt you... the same way you hurt me three years ago." He exhaled. "There! Fuck! I said it." He acted like he was breathless as he threw his hands into the air. Like that whole confession was difficult to say. He continued, "And then.. I don't know. At the party everything got weird and then I remembered what it felt like to kiss you and... I don't know."
You were confused as you processed his words, wondering if he was telling the truth. That he really didn't mean anything negative that he said? That he really missed your lips?
Your mind snapped to one thing he had mentioned that night. "You said you hadn't kissed someone since me. Was that true?"
He looked up at you, his face red. "Uhhh. Yeah. It's true." You let out a sigh of relief in your mind. "I.. weirdly enough haven't kissed anyone. That was.. reserved for you."
You laughed. "Softie."
"You knew that already." He inhaled before speaking, his voice quivering a bit. "What about you? I assume all those idiots in the Northern Water Tribe are obsessed with you."
You thought about your answer. "Umm. Maybe." You shrugged. "But uh- no. I haven't kissed anyone since you either."
You could sense from the tension in the room that you were both relieved. But before you could properly wrap your head around it all, he shifted, causing the blanket covering your chest to drop down leaving you once again exposed in your near see through top again.
Zuko looked down at your chest on reflex, and then looked away, huffing a laugh out in the process. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-" He spoke.
You cut him off. "Spirits, again Zuko!?" You teased.
"Oh shut up." He teased back.
As he continued looking away, he realized that you weren't covering up again, leaving the blanket down. "Aren't you gonna, ya know?" His voice was rough and hesitant.
You paused. You wanted to be bold. You were still leaving tomorrow. So what better time to be audacious?
You shrugged in response, "No."
His head snapped back, making eye contact with you, confused. And then with your chest, where he lingered for a few seconds, seemingly in awe. His head lifted, as you spoke.
"Just refreshing your memory. Through the fabric."
He huffed a laugh. A playful one. "You think I've forgotten what they look like?"
Oh. The entire atmosphere once again shifted in the room, a sensual tone covering the area between your bodies.
The candle light flickered as a gust of wind entered from the open window in the bedroom and you felt it getting more chilly as the night went on. Zuko looked back down to your chest and without breaking eye contact with your tits, he spoke.
"You look cold." Your face grew red. He could see how hard your nipples were through the lace in the top.
"Maybe a little."
He looked up and rolled his eyes, standing up instantly to walk over to the window that was open and shut it so there would be no more cold air coming through. Despite being slightly used to the weather in the Northern Water Tribe now, you still felt that the breezes in the Fire Nation at night were different and you somehow always shivered at them. Terribly.
As Zuko walked back to the bed and towards you, you watched, wondering where he would decide to sit next. That was until he looked at you and spoke,
"Move. Let me sit behind you."
Your confusion was on display as you shifted forwards watching him crawl into bed with his legs straddling each side of you. You were in between his legs.
Initially there was some distance between your back and his front torso but right as Zuko finished fixing the pillows behind him, you felt his arms both reach your waist on either side, yanking you gently flush up against his skin. The motion took you by surprise as you let out a small yelp upon being pulled towards him.
Now your back was pressed up against the warmth of his chest and you hadn't felt this close to him physically in years. It was one thing for him to see your nipples through your shirt but this felt even more intimate. More personal.
Before you could even bring your awareness to every part of your body that was flush against his torso, Zuko laughed at the noise you made when he pulled you. He kept his left hand on your waist, gently resting it there while his right hand lifted to slowly tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and to one side of your neck. Every movement made your skin itch with desire.
Slowly he leaned in from behind, still laughing in your ear,
"Why the shock? Hm?"
You swallowed hard, unsure how to reply, so instead he spoke for you.
"Not so bold with me this close anymore?"
You tried to force out a sentence. "I'm just cold. That's all."
"That's why I'm here." And with that, he leaned into you neck. With his nose hovering only inches from your skin, he took a deep breath in and exhaled. From his exhale came steam. Warm, comforting steam that he spread across your neck by moving his nose around as he exhaled. He was fire bending to keep you warm.
After his first long exhale he raised his mouth to your ear, "Does that feel good y/n?" His voice was sultry and coarse. He knew what he was doing.
With the only answer you could give, you replied, "Mhmm." You bit your lip.
He huffed a laugh at your response. He could tell you were struggling to get the words out. With that, he continued doing the same thing. Staying on the same side of your neck, he took a long inhale, and then slowly let his exhale cover your neck in steam again.
It was electric. It was like magic. It was like sex without the actual sex. It was so incredibly intimate, and it felt so good. So warm and cozy, but his breath also tickled your neck, and with each exhale he gave, you found yourself breathing heavier and heavier.
The fourth time he did it, you had to speak. "God, Zuko... That feels so- so good." You were breathy when you spoke and you tried to hold it all together but you just couldn't. The next time he exhaled, you leaned your head back into him, opening up your neck to him even more as both of his hands gripped your waist.
Slowly, he lifted his mouth to your ear again, preparing to speak except this time his lips were gently grazing your ear as they moved. "Do you feel how hard you're breathing right now?" Every time his lips brushed your ear, you had to restrain yourself not to jump from the sensual touch.
"Say it," he murmured. "Say what you want from me." Suddenly his index finger brushed slow, deliberate circles on your waist. He knew what he was doing. It was intoxicating.
"Zuko I- We shouldn't be doing this." Your voice was shaking by this point. He hummed against your throat like he didn’t believe a single syllable.
"Then close your legs, since they're open so wide," he said softly.
You instantly went red. You lifted your head from being leaned back onto him and looked down.
Your legs were just spread wide open. Like you were begging for him.
He laughed at your realization and leaned into your ear again. "If you need any help deciding-" His hands once again gripped your waist tugging you even closer into him. Into his bulge. Suddenly the entirety of your lower back was pressed up against Zuko's hard length behind you and the feeling of it made you gasp.
He continued, "You feel that? That's what you do to me. Three fucking years later."
He was killing you at this point. You needed him so bad. It wasn't even a question.
"Zuk-o" You called for him.
Your throat felt tight. Everything in you was buzzing. His voice was low, steady and intoxicating wrapping around you like heat.
"Y/n," he whispered again, the edge in his tone slipping. "Say it, little water bender." You swallowed but your mind was fog. Before you could say more, he added, "You don’t even realize,” his lips brushed your neck again, "how much I’ve imagined this. How many times I told myself it wouldn’t happen again. How many nights I touched myself to-"
"Touch me," you cried out.
And with that you both came undone.
His fingers found your waist band almost immediately and slowly trekked under. Lower.
Right as his fingers met your clit, you moaned loudly, arching your back at the touch. Nobody had touched you in years. You were aching for this.
Zuko's free hand held your waist, gripping it tightly from his reaction of you moaning and arching, holding you in place. Slowly his fingers started drawing delicate circles around your sensitive bud, causing you to be even louder. Your moans came out in long, heavy breaths as Zuko rested his chin on your left shoulder.
"Still very vocal, are we?"
His fingers sped up, causing you to halt your answer as your moans increased from the pleasure.
"Zuko- I," you couldn't even form proper sentences. Everything was intoxicating. Suddenly, you felt his lips on your ear again, whispering roughly to you.
"Say it." He inhaled. "Say you missed me again."
"Fuck- I", you had to compose yourself so you could speak. Even if it was through each of your breathy moans.
"I missed you."
"Say my name."
"I missed you- Zuko."
His free hand instantly reached up, grabbing hold of your hair while his other hand continued rubbing your clit. Suddenly, the hand in your hair gripped tightly, yanking your head back forcefully. His voice was low and sultry as he spoke coarsely in your ear.
"No. Say the name you know I want to hear."
You knew what he meant as his hand loosened his grip on your hair, and he waited, through your moans, to hear you speak.
"Please, Fire Lord Zuko."
He breathed out heavily at the sound of those words leaving your lips. His bulge was still behind you, pressing into your back and upon speaking, you felt it twitch in pleasure. The speed of his fingers now picked up, and as you neared your orgasm, he spoke, being with you all the way.
"Fuck, thats a good girl. You need to know who's making you feel so good."
You couldn't hold it any longer, and your voice was louder than ever as you felt your release. It all happened so quickly.
"Oh my god, oh my god I'm gonna cum- Fuck!"
Your climax reached as your moans grew heavier and louder. The beautiful sensation that came from just Zuko's fingers filled your entire being. As your orgasm died down and you rode the rest of it out, his fingers slowed down, helping you to calm down. Slowly, they finally came to a stop as you struggled to speak. Your head was rested back on him, your legs wide open and your breaths were heavy, your entire chest lifting and rising quickly.
You had totally come undone right in front of him.
You both sat there for a few seconds but it felt like hours, the feeling of both your warm bodies touching made heavily aware in your mind. He had just made you cum. And you two hadn't even kissed yet.
You could feel his breath on his neck as you breathed together. It was so intimate and beautiful. It was everything you missed. Finally, you spoke, breaking the moment.
"So... Fire Lord Zuko huh? That gets you going?"
He huffed a laugh and you felt his breath on your neck. "Only when you say it."
You laughed back, "So that's why you kept insisting I called you it in meetings and your throne room?"
"No, you had to. I'm the Fire Lord..." he paused, "but the more you said it the more it made my dick hard." His voice was a low growl on your neck.
A few breaths passed before you answered. "I want more."
"I know."
Suddenly, his lips met your shoulder, kissing a soft trail up to your neck. The feeling of his lips made you twitch under his touch. When he got back to your ear, you felt his hand slide back down to your crotch, except this time he went even lower, letting his fingers feel your opening.
"God, you're so wet." He paused. Even though he was behind you, you could almost feel his face frowning. "You were never this wet on my ship. Did I not fuck you well enough back then?"
"Of course you did, I just-"
He cut you off. "A lot has changed, little water bender. I'm not as merciful as I was back then."
You laughed. "I know. I could tell with the whole 'call me Fire Lord Zuko' thing just now." You were mocking and pushing it.
"When did you get so bratty?" His fingers felt around your wet opening some more and your back slowly arched, anticipating them entering you.
Suddenly, he pulled back and began getting off the bed. Once he was stood next to you, confusion plastered on your face as you sat up, he began taking his shirt off. He spoke as he was doing so,
"Bratty," he repeated, like he was testing the word on his tongue. "That’s what you’re going with now?"
"Oh shut up, Zuko." You rolled your eyes playfully. As he dropped his shirt to the floor his hands reached for you, flipping you onto your stomach. Before you knew what was happening, you could hear him unbuttoning his pants and dropping them to the floor. As you tried to look up as get a glimpse of his dick in the dim candle light, you felt his hand reach your head and push it down onto the bed. With his hand still pinning your head down, he climbed on top of you.
Suddenly, his free hand grabbed the waist band of your shorts and forcefully yanked them down, leaving your bare ass on display now. His hand slowly traced the feeling of your ass before stopping at a certain part.
Before you knew it, as quickly as his hand was lifted, it came back down to meet your ass, sharp and controlled.
"Brat." His voice was low, almost amused.
You gasped at the contact, your body jolting forward, shock and desire mixing inside you. Zuko had never touched you like that before. Never let this side of himself surface. But now? Now it was pouring out of him like fire. Something about this sexual encounter with him felt different than the last. It felt more erotic. More mature.
“Zuko- I-”
Your words cut off in a breathy choke when his hand slid back up, fingers threading firmly into your hair as he pushed your head down toward the mattress again, not hurting you, but making it very clear who had control right now.
"Shut up. All I want to hear out of your mouth now is your pleasure or my name."
Before you could reply, you felt the tip of his cock graze your entrance before pushing into you from behind. As he slowly entered, your eyes almost bulged out of your head. Why did it feel bigger than you remembered?
He groaned as he entered you and at this point he was now fully inside you, without warning and you couldn't help think about the fact that you hadn't seen what it looked like again. Not that you had forgotten, but you missed the sight of it.
Slowly, he started moving, letting his cock go in and out of you before picking up his pace. Your moans increased and as you tried to speak, the only thing that could leave your mouth was,
"Fire Lord Zuko.. I- Fuck."
He groaned from hearing that and began pounding into you from behind as his hand lifted to once again smack your ass. The feeling jolted you as he continued to use you to pleasure himself. He smacked your ass once more and this time you gasped a bit too loudly, your body seizing from the touch. It was all very intense.
Suddenly, he slowed his pace down, not thrusting as hard anymore as he leaned down to let his lips graze your ear.
"Are you okay?"
He was now motionless inside of you, his chest pressed up against your back as he waited for your reply through your heavy breaths. Your breath shuddered as you tried to force out actual words.
"I- yeah," you whispered, voice thin and shaky. "Just… didn’t expect you to be like this."
You felt him smile against your shoulder, felt the soft huff of his breath.
"Like what?" he murmured, his voice far too smug, far too steady for someone who had been losing control seconds ago.
You swallowed. "Rough."
Seconds passed before his hand on your hip softened, thumb brushing slow circles instead of digging in.
"Too rough?" he asked quietly, not teasing this time, not challenging. Just attentive.
"It's not that. I love this." You were hyper aware of his dick inside of you right now as you spoke. "But I miss you. You haven't even kissed me yet." Your head turned more to meet his face as he watched you from the side of your shoulder. His body weight was dropped slightly onto you.
He stared at you as seconds passed by, silence engulfing the room. Your eyes squinted slightly at him as he remained silent. Was he thinking? You were confused. As time passed, his eyes still gazing into yours, he finally spoke, except this time softer, just above a whisper.
"I can't."
Now you were really confused.
"You can't kiss me?" You asked, almost offended. You brows furrowed with every second that passed.
"It's not that. It's just..." He was struggling to say what he wanted. Before he could finish his sentence, he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, facing up at the ceiling. Your head lifted up to face him, propping yourself up on your elbows while still on your stomach, and although his dick was now out on full display, you tried your hardest with everything in you to not look down. He looked sad and worried. You couldn't make this sexual now.
You kept your gaze on him as he spoke, cutting the silence with a confession. "I'm scared."
"Scared?" you repeated softly. "Of what?"
His jaw flexed and his eyes didn’t move from the ceiling, like looking at you would make everything worse.
"You know what," he muttered.
You didn’t. Not really. Not until you saw the way his fingers curled slowly into the blanket, like he needed something to hold onto.
"I just-" he continued as he propped himself up on his elbows to face you, "I can't be intimate and romantic with you right now. You want it rough? I can do that. You want sex? I can do that. Just sex. But I can't be passionate."
Your face warped into confusion. "A kiss doesn't always have to be romantic. We literally kissed the other day."
He huffed and looked away, dropping back onto his back. "And that was stupid because I felt everything all over again."
Everything all over again? Did he mean lo-
Before you could let your mind wander, you sat up as he continued to avoid looking at you. You got a glimpse of his dick, still hard, as he remained on his back, but you didn't let your gaze linger as you snapped your eyes away almost immediately. You wanted to give him what he was so afraid of first.
Your hands reached down to the hem of your top as you slowly dragged it up and over your head. He could see what you were doing out of the corner of his eye but it seemed that he refused to look. Next, you took off your pants dragging everything down your legs and dropping them onto the ground.
You now sat next to him, fully naked just as he was as his head turned away from you still.
"Zuko." He wasn't looking. "Zuko, look at me."
It took him a second or two before his head snapped towards you and he sat up, letting himself take your body in. His face screamed with yearning, but it wasn't entirely sexual.
You inched closer towards him as you were both now propped up by a hand, staring at each other as the candles flickered in the room. Like they could feel your heartbeat.
His eyes flickered over your face, down your throat, to your bare chest for half a second before snapping back up to your eyes like it physically hurt him to look anywhere else.
"I tell you I don't want intimate and romantic and now you're sitting here," he rasped, "completely naked, looking at me like you know every part of me-"
"I do," you cut in gently.
His eyes squeezed shut as if the words burned. Your free hand lifted up, cautiously, as it met Zuko's scar on his face, your fingers feeling the scarred skin while he kept his eyes closed. He didn't pull away.
"Zuko," you whispered, "I’m not asking you to love me."
His eyes opened at that and his head snapped towards you, sharp, wounded, startled. Like the word 'love' itself had cut him.
"If I kiss you," he whispered, so quietly it was almost nothing, "it won’t stop there for me." His confession hit the air like lightning. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. He just stared at you, wide eyed and vulnerable and so goddamn scared.
"Then don’t stop," you whispered. His breath caught and his eyes flicked down to your lips.
"Y/n…" He said your name again, softer this time, almost pleading. Your thumbs brushed the corners of his mouth. He didn’t stand a chance.
He moved first. Just a tilt of his head, just a shift of his weight, but it was enough. His forehead rested against yours, breaths mingling, his hands hovering at your waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you while wanting you this much.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
You didn’t. Instead, you closed the last inch between you.
You kissed him.
Soft. Slow. Heart stopping. He inhaled sharply against your lips, like he’d been punched. Like he’d been waiting three years for this exact moment and didn’t know how to survive it.
Then he kissed you back.
The kiss was different to the one you shared in his study. That one was hungry, animalistic. This one was slow. Intimate. Sensual.
Zuko’s mouth moved against yours like he was memorizing the shape of you. Every slow brush of his lips felt deliberate. His hand finally settled on your waist, fingers trembling. You felt the cautious drag of his thumb against your skin, and it made your breath hitch into his mouth. When he pulled back just slightly, his lips hovered over yours, barely apart.
"Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, and the words ghosted over your lips. They weren’t angry. They were desperate.
Your hand slid from his scar to cradle his jaw. "I'm not trying to do anything. I just want you."
He let out a shaky breath. One that sounded like it had been buried in him for years. His forehead pressed to yours again, softer this time, like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
"I don’t know how to want you a little," he admitted. "I don’t know how to be careful."
You swallowed, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone.
"I don’t want careful."
His breath stuttered, and he finally opened his eyes.
"You’re going to ruin me," he spoke softly.
You gave him the smallest, saddest smile. "You say that like you aren’t already ruined."
A short, broken sound escaped him. Something between a laugh and a gasp. His hand slid from your waist to your back, guiding you closer until your bare chest pressed against his. He sucked in a breath at the contact.
The kiss that followed was deeper. Still slow, still careful, but thicker with emotion that neither of you dared to name. His lips parted against yours, inviting you in, and you answered with a soft tug on his lower lip that made his grip on your hip tighten. He exhaled your name into your mouth like a confession. Your fingers threaded into his hair, and the moment you tugged just slightly, he let out a low, barely there sound that vibrated through you.
You pulled away again one more time to say the thing you've been waiting to say.
"Zuko?" You asked as you panted gently. His eyes looked up to yours as your chests remained pressed together.
"Yes, y/n?" The way he said your name sent shivers down your spine.
You paused before continuing. "Make love to me."
He froze. Not out of fear, but more so shock at your request. He would never return from this, and he knew that. But he did it anyways.
He kissed you again. Slow, deep and aching as he slid his tongue into your mouth. His lips then moved to your jaw, then to your neck, each kiss slower than the last. When he finally pulled back to look at you, his chest rose and fell against yours, breaths brushing your lips.
Suddenly, his hand guided you down to lie on your back as he crawled on top of you, hovering and careful to not let his dick touch you yet. His lips worked at your neck again, trailing lower and lower as his mouth found your hard nipples. Gently he sucked and pulled at them, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time while his hand fondled your other breast.
The sensation made you moan, except these moans were different to the moans you gave when he was fucking you roughly. Those were harsh and demanding. These, however, were breathy and silky and he could tell the difference in the way his mouth played with your nipples.
His lips found his way back up to yours, kissing you gently as you felt him guide his dick to your clit, the feeling making you moan again. You finally looked down to see his dick and it was even better than you remembered. Three years since you saw it and it was beautiful. He still kept it neatly trimmed and everything else fairly looked the same, aside from the new veins popping out as he waited to enter you. He was so hard.
He grabbed his dick and guided it down to your opening, his tip pressing against your entrance. As he was about to enter, his eyes flicked up to yours, causing you to look up at him too. He needed eye contact as he pushed inside.
You felt it fill your inside, your mouth opening into gasps as he continued watching your facial expressions. Now, he was fully inside and something about this felt different. He had just been inside you not too long ago where he was pounding into you roughly, yet something about this made it feel like this was the first time his dick entered you in the three years since.
His pace picked up as he started moving, your breathy moans mixing into each other's space while you continued watching each other. The eye contact was intense and you felt like he was making love to your soul.
As his pace continued, your moans halted for a second as you spoke.
"Zuko?"
"Yes, my y/n?" His y/n? Your heart skipped a beat.
"Why aren't you speaking as much?" Your voice was timid and cautious. You wanted to hear him praise you. Say how much he missed you. Say how much he lo-
"Because..." He struggled to finish his sentence. "I only have three words for you." He continued thrusting with a slow pace as you both spoke.
"What three words?" You replied.
"You know what they are."
"Say them." You moaned as you spoke. It sounded like you were pleading.
His head shook slowly as he watched your face intently. "Not until you say them."
Oh. He wanted you to say them. Rightfully so, after everything you put him through last time he spoke those words to you.
You swallowed so hard it made a noise. He continued slowly thrusting into you as he stared at you, waiting for an answer. This was your chance. Your moment to make up for everything you put him through three years ago.
And so you spoke from the bottom of your heart.
"I love you Zuko. I've always loved you."
Now it was out. Your confession that you had never spoken to him. It felt surreal, those words that you always felt for him but never said, leaving your lips at last. He exhaled, like he was holding his breath while he waited, and his face lit up.
He instantly kissed you, deeply and sweetly, as his pace picked up and he began fucking you harder. His lips paused from the kiss as he lifted up, speaking the words against your mouth. Like he hoped by doing so it would reach your soul.
"I love you y/n. Always have, always will."
You had never felt this happy in your life. He continued thrusting into you and as you could feel him nearing his orgasm, he spoke again.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Again." He was greedy for it.
"I love you so much." You gave him what he wanted.
"Fuck, y/n, I'm gonna cum." He stared at your face and didn't move as he tipped over the edge.
"I love you, Zuko." You voice was breathy and full of moans as you felt him reach his peak. His thrusts became irregular as his face seized up from pleasure. He groaned loudly as his mouth opened and not once did he break eye contact. When he was done riding out his orgasm, his body relaxed for a split second and he looked away before lifting up almost immediately, as if he was searching for your face again. Like he couldn't go a second without it.
His hands grabbed your cheeks and he pulled you into a deep kiss, exhaling like he was finally relaxed. His thumbs brushed your cheekbones as he kissed you again, softer this time, almost reverent. When he finally parted from your lips, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he had been deprived of you for years.
"Don’t say that unless you mean it," he whispered.
You watched his face as he spoke, full of fear. Your fingers slid up his back, grounding him. "I meant every word."
His eyes fluttered shut briefly, his chest rising and falling against yours. He looked like he was trying to hold himself together and failing in the most beautiful way.
"Spirits," he breathed, his voice cracking slightly, "you’re going to ruin me." He looked at you for a few more seconds, eyes solemn and half closed, before pulling out of you and lying on his back.
Now here you both were, on your backs staring up at the ceiling after the most unpredictable night ever had just happened. You felt like you had just lived a whole life time with him in the hour he was in your room.
The air was quiet and all that was heard now were your breaths. Zuko cut the silence, speaking while holding his gaze up to the ceiling.
"So.. now what?" He spoke anxiously.
"What do you mean?" You were cautious.
He took a deep breath before saying his next few words. "Are you still leaving tomorrow?"
You turned your head toward him, still breathing unevenly from everything that had just happened. His question landed heavily between you, heavier than you were prepared for.
"…I don’t know," you admitted quietly.
Zuko swallowed, the motion visible in his throat as he stared at the ceiling again. "You decided to leave before this. Before we… before anything changed."
You nodded. "You were pushing me away. Being… cold. I didn’t want to stay where I wasn’t wanted."
He flinched at that. A small, sharp reaction he didn’t bother to hide. "You were wanted," he murmured. "That was the problem." You shifted onto your side to look at him. His face was tense, eyes flickering, jaw tight. Like admitting that alone cost him something.
"But you’re still leaving," he added, voice smaller.
"I was," you corrected softly. "I’m just… confused now."
That got him to finally look at you. Really look at you. The vulnerability there was almost disarming. "So what would make you stay?"
You hesitated. "Honesty. For once, Zuko. Just… honesty." His expression strained, like he had been preparing for this moment and dreading it in equal measure.
"Then… there’s something I need to give you."
Your brows drew together. "Right now?"
"Yes." He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes like whatever he was about to do terrified him more than the actual war he grew up in. "I should’ve given it to you months ago. Years, even. But I didn’t know how."
Your stomach tightened. "Zuko… what are you talking about?"
He stood, naked and vulnerable, and crossed your room in a few quick, restless steps, grabbing something from a small satchel he’d brought but never opened. His hands trembled slightly as he returned.
When he sat back on the bed, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t look at you. Just held the object in his palms like it was something fragile and dangerous all at once.
"I found this deep in the palace archives," he said quietly. "I kept it safe. I meant to return it to you. I just… didn’t."
Slowly, he offered it to you. Your breath stopped.
It was a worn leather bound diary. A water tribe binding. One you recognized instantly, down to the pattern on the edges. Your mother’s mark.
"Zuko," you whispered, voice already trembling, "that’s my mother’s."
He nodded once, shame flashing across his face. You grabbed the diary out of his hands forcefully. Your chest tightened painfully. "Zuko," you repeated his name. "Why… why do you have this? Why didn’t you-"
"Y/n, I promise I was going to give it to you before your two weeks here were up. I just-"
You were angry now. You cut him off, voice raised. "How long have you had this?"
He looked at you like he was scared to speak the answer. "Over two years now." His reply was monotoned and scared. And it cut your chest like a knife.
You looked away, eyes squeezing tightly as the pain entered you. You spoke, the words slow and painful. "Over. Two. Years." You were repeating them so they could sink in. But it all just seemed like a bad dream.
"I’m sorry," he whispered. "I should have given it to you sooner. I should have told you. I just- when you first arrived, you were so… distant. And I was-" he let out a broken laugh "-awful to you. I know that. I know."
You sat as you shook your head in disbelief.
You looked down at the diary, fingers brushing the worn cover. The thing you had spent half your life wishing you could find. The thing that could hold answers to your parents death. The thing he had held for years. The thing he had chosen not to give you. A bitter laugh escaped your throat before you could stop it.
"Spirits," you murmured, "I came here as an emissary to help heal the Fire Nation. Meanwhile the Fire Lord was sitting on the one thing that could have helped heal me."
Zuko inhaled sharply and you didn't give him a chance to speak.
"I know I left and broke your heart or whatever, but if you had any fucking love for me you would've sent this to me in the Northern Water Tribe. Years ago." You were near screaming.
He shook his head and scoffed. "Look I'm sorry, but are you really going to play that card? If you had any fucking love for me you wouldn't have left." His voice raised to match yours and it was all too much.
"Why the fuck do you keep saying that? Do you not understand I had to leave? What part of it don't you understand?" Here you both were. Naked and arguing on the bed. It was intimate and full of rage.
"I was about to become the fucking Fire Lord, y/n. You just had to stay for a few more months and I could've protected you. You knew that!" If you thought it all came out before, it was all coming out now.
"Oh great!" You spoke sarcastically. "So then what? You would be dating a water bender as the Fire Lord? You know that's not possible. Not allowed." You were breathing heavily as you continued. "And so what? You kept the diary so that you could spite me? I hurt you so much that I deserved this?" You were shaking your head, pushing him to answer.
"Fuck! No! I kept it because it was the one last thing I had of you." His confession sliced the air sharply. You stared in disbelief as seconds passed by.
"The one last thing you had of me?" you repeated, voice cracking on the last word. "Zuko, that was my mother." He flinched. You pushed forward, anger swelling like a wave. "Not a hair ribbon. Not a letter. Not some trinket I left on your ship. My mother’s diary. The last piece of her that exists in this world. And you kept it because… what? It made you feel closer to me?"
"It wasn’t like that," he said quickly, voice strained.
You clutched the diary to your chest, nails digging into the leather. "Do you have any idea how many nights I cried myself to sleep in the Northern Tribe? How many elders I begged to help me find something, anything, of hers?"
He stared at you blankly. He had nothing more to say.
"Get out." Your words were sharp and harsh.
"What?" He looked hurt.
"Get dressed," you said quietly. "And get out."
He scoffed and got out of bed, reaching for his clothes and instantly throwing them on as quickly as he could.
"Right, and I suppose you're leaving tomorrow and this is the last time I see you again?" He continued dressing as his face grew angrier. His voice was full of venom now. "Well what else could I expect? We both know you're fucking good at leaving."
His words bubbled inside you as you reached a level of rage you had never felt before. Without even thinking, your hand raised, instantly draining the air of its water and freezing it all, sending them in sharp spikes towards Zuko.
"GET OUT." You screamed loud enough to wake the entire palace.
It all happened in a split second, and suddenly Zuko stood there with ice spikes as long as six feet punctured into the floor, surrounding his entire body as his face dropped in fear and shock. He didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. The ice spikes glinted in the candlelight, razor sharp, some only inches from his ribs, his throat, his cheek. One wrong step and he would’ve been bleeding.
Your chest rose and fell violently. You had never lost control like that. Not in the North. Not during the war. Not ever. Everything in your life led up to this outburst. It was charged and heavy.
You both looked at each other. He had never even seen you water bend, let alone use it to attack him, and the look on his face made you instantly regret it.
"Zuko... I'm-" Before you could apologize, you lifted both your hands, water bending the ice into liquid so that it could all fall, drenching Zuko in the process.
"I'm so sorry... I don't know what... I would never do that." You spoke in shock at your actions.
Zuko stood there dripping, water trailing down his hair, his jaw, soaking through his clothes as the melted ice pooled at his feet. For a moment, neither of you moved.
Your hands were still half raised, trembling. His eyes were wide. Hurt, startled, and something deeper. You opened your mouth again, but nothing came out. Your throat closed on the apology you were trying to form.
Zuko finally blinked. Slowly. Deliberately. As if grounding himself. He didn’t yell. Didn’t accuse. Didn’t say a single word.
He just lowered his gaze to the floor, at the puddle, at the shards melting into nothing, and inhaled shakily through his nose. His fists unclenched. Then he turned away.
His steps were careful, quiet, almost too measured, like he was afraid the room might erupt again if he moved too quickly. Water dripped from his sleeves as he bent to pick up his boots. He didn’t bother putting them on, just held them in one hand, clothes clinging to him, hair plastered flat.
You watched him walk toward the door, your pulse so loud it drowned out everything. He paused at the threshold. And he didn’t look back. His shoulders rose with one long, trembling breath. Then fell.
And then he stepped out into the hallway.
The door shut behind him with a soft, final click. You sat frozen, naked, shaking, the diary clutched to your chest as if it were the only thing keeping you upright.
The room was quiet again. But nothing felt quiet inside you. Not anymore. Not after tonight.
a/n: gah damn that was a lot i just wrote. i hope you guys enjoyed sorry for the wait for this one. you know the drill, part 3 (I THINK THE FINAL PART) will be out soon. and i think it might be a bit shorter than what i've been writing but i hope you guys don't mind that this story is so long. hehe stay tuned to find out what happens next. will you leave the fire nation will you stay?! who knows but i am having so much fun writing this.
─ house of the evening bloom
avatar: the last airbender au
monster hunter!zuko x vampire!courtesan!reader
you've spent decades trapped inside the house of the evening bloom, a vampire pleasure house ruled by the cruel lord kage. escape is impossible, but when a warden arrives in ba sing se hunting monsters, instead of running in fear, you see an opportunity. all you have to do is get him into your bed first.
⤷ word count: 22.8k
─ tags
18+ content minors dni: adult zuko, smut, p in v sex, spit kink, spit swallowing, fingers in mouth, finger sucking, mouth covering, faking orgasm, exhibitionism (lowk dubcon?), dirty talk, rough sex, hair pulling, blood drinking, blood drinking as an aphrodisiac, kissing, mention of death, mention of parricide, violence, suicidal!reader, torture, psychological torture, starvation, noncon sex work, noncon vampirism, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of hazing, swearing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, violence, age gap ig, reader is sometimes referred to as 'spider lily', ancient japan inspired setting with some chinese and european influence but set in the atlab world, lmk if i missed anything.
─ authors note
this fic is if blue eyed samurai and the witcher had a baby. please let me know if you enjoyed, this took me over two months to write im not even joking. big thank you to @firingstars for helping me workshop the dirty talk and to @pinksplace for reading the first half to reassure me <3
⤷ main masterlist | follow @artficlly-archive for post notifications
It was said that deep within the Pleasure District lay a garden unlike any other in the Earth Kingdom.
The garden in question was maintained by Lord Kage, the Red Prince of the Pleasure District, and like all great collectors, he was known for his discerning eye. Rumours claimed he spent vast sums in search of the perfect additions to his collection—beautiful blooms, delicate blooms, rare blooms—flowers worthy of being cultivated beneath his care. City-goers whispered that he had agents in every corner of the world, that they tirelessly wandered the streets and marketplaces, the festivals and temple grounds, all in search of the next perfect flower to capture their master’s attention.
Most laughed the stories off as little more than idle gossip or folklore spun to frighten badly behaved children, while others were perceptive enough to change the subject. Lord Kage was wealthy and well-connected enough that no officials ever questioned his unchanging appearance over the decades. He was powerful enough that no magistrate or imperial official dared investigate his affairs. Lord Kage paid his taxes, entertained the right nobles, and kept Ba Sing Se’s elite well supplied with pleasures they could never publicly admit to enjoying.
Despite Lord Kage’s vast wealth, everyone understood that neither riches nor influence could silence the whispers of high society or the common folk. Those whispers spoke of the grand crimson manor tucked between neighbouring pleasure houses at the far end of the Pleasure Mile, with its lantern-lit balconies and silk-draped rooms. They spoke of the flowers that inhabited its halls, none of which ever appeared to wilt. Much like a peach pear, one could savour its sweet flesh and get lost in the ghost stories murmured in the dark over campfires. However, if one wasn’t cautious enough and bit too deeply, they risked chipping a tooth on the pit at its centre, because in Ba Sing Se, everyone knew that wherever there were whispers, there was always a rotten truth at its core.
As a girl, like many others, you had been fascinated by those stories. After lessons, you and your friends would linger at the edge of the Pleasure District, peering down the streets you had been expressly forbidden from entering. You would stand on your tiptoes between the crowds, trying to catch a glimpse of the House of the Evening Bloom. From a distance, it had hardly looked sinister. Just another elegant manor of dark-polished wood and red-painted pillars, with curved, barrel-tiled roofs that glowed red beneath rows of lanterns when dusk settled over the city. You used to dare each other to sneak as closely as possible, to witness those fabled unwilting flowers. Were they truly as beautiful as society claimed, and did they only bloom at night? You had imagined rare orchids hidden behind the shoji, night-blooming jasmine unfurling beneath moonlight, exotic peonies brought from distant corners of the world.
But you’d never once imagined the flowers were girls.
Girls who had once been just as young and foolish as you, girls with painted lips and empty smiles, girls given the names of flowers in place of their own.
Girls who never grew old.
Girls who thirsted for blood.
And above all, you had never imagined that one day Lord Kage’s attention would settle upon you. Or, that over a century later, you would no longer remember the sound of your true name, only the one he had given you. Because what were you, if not just another unwilting flower in the garden of the House of the Evening Bloom?
There was a rumour, floating like a petal in the wind—a whisper passed from flower to flower, that the Blue Spirit had been sighted in Ba Sing Se.
Although none of you were permitted to step outside the confines of the House of the Evening Bloom, lest you be dragged back screaming, you were all keenly aware of the happenings beyond its walls. Men liked to talk in pleasure houses; they would boast over cups of sake or baijiu, eager to impress whichever flower they had chosen to entertain them for the evening. Merchants bragged of their adventures and riches, generals recounted tales of military victories, and government officials often spoke too candidly of politics after enough wine. It made the flowers, and likely every other courtesan lining the Pleasure Mile, remarkably well-informed despite never truly participating in the world they heard so much about.
You and the others received little compensation for your work—silks and jewels, a place to hide from the sun, a steady supply of blood to stave off the gnawing hunger. Gold was meaningless when every coin you earned ultimately found its way back into Lord Kage’s coffers. No, information held far greater value within the House. Over the decades, the flowers had begun trading whispers amongst themselves. A noble's scandal for details of a political appointment, rumours of war bartered for stories of a distant province she would never see again. It was a pathetic sort of currency when viewed from the outside, but one many of you clung to all the same. The gossip symbolised the world beyond the lacquered gates that still existed, a reminder to stay grounded as the time ticked by and the House remained unchanged year after year.
So, when one patron mentioned the Blue Spirit, the flowers listened. When another repeated a similar tale several nights later, you all remembered. When a third swore he had seen the masked hunter himself stalking the lower ring of the ring, the rumour spread through the House like wildfire.
Tales of the Blue Spirit varied depending on who recounted them. Some claimed the Blue Spirit was merely a man. Others insisted he was something far older, a spirit sent to punish creatures that had overstayed their welcome in the mortal realm—and that was why he wore the blue oni mask, to conceal a face beyond comprehension. Entire covens were reportedly wiped out beneath his blades—century-old demons and beasts, powerful enough to command cities and armies, reduced to little more than cautionary tales and ash. One merchant—though thoroughly drunk and petrified—swore that he had witnessed the fabled man emerge from the Foggy Swamp one evening, with the severed head of a Jorōgumo attached at his hip. Because when it came to the Blue Spirit, details changed, but the outcome never did. He brought death to those deemed monstrosities by the mortal world.
He was a Warden—a monster hunter.
Unsurprisingly, the House of the Evening Bloom had grown restless in response to the talk of his presence in Ba Sing Se. What had once been mere whispers suddenly felt tangible enough to taste. The thought of the masked Warden climbing the manor steps, twin blades in hand, should have frightened you.
It certainly frightened Madame Yoru.
The Mother of Blossoms maintained the same cold composure she always had, but you had noticed there was a strain beneath it these days. Courtesans were snapped at for the slightest mistake, servants hurried from room to room with their heads bowed in the hope of not incurring her wrath, and even the most favoured flowers appeared careful not to linger too long in her presence. If Madame Yoru was worried, then perhaps there was some truth to the rumours after all…thatthought had settled over you with a sick sort of clarity, and you had allowed yourself one dangerous thing: hope.
Though, unfortunately, it was difficult to entertain such thoughts with Madame Yoru’s nails currently digging into your jaw. The Mother of Blossoms stood before you in a haze of crimson silk and gold jewellery, her sharply painted lips stretched into a smile that had never quite reached her eyes. She was beautiful and elegant, yet monstrous. Just after you had readied yourself to enter the parlour to begin a night’s work, she had cornered you in the hallway with a particularly murderous look and forced your face up to meet her gaze. Her dark eyes swept over your face with open disapproval.
“You’re becoming a poor investment,” she tutted.
You remained silent—you had learnt there was little point in arguing.
“You were once one of Lord Kage’s favourites,” she continued. “Men crossed the Earth Kingdom itself to spend an evening in your company. Lately, however… you appear determined to waste his generosity.”
The word generosity almost made you laugh the moment it slipped from her tongue. As if sensing your wayward thoughts, Madame Yoru’s grip tightened.
“You mope, you sulk, you spend every free moment hiding away in your rooms as though sorrow were a particularly attractive accessory.” She paused with a sneer, assessing your reaction for any sign of defiance. “Men do not pay for melancholy, Spider Lily. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Madame,” you uttered in response.
“Good.” Her thumb brushed across your cheek with mock affection.
“You are wilting, my dear girl.” She murmured, and that callous, predatory smile of hers had returned. “And all of Ba Sing Se knows that the flowers here do not wilt.”
Your gaze lowered as Madame Yoru leaned in closer, breath cold against your ear. “If you fail to earn your keep tonight, then perhaps another few months in the box will remind you to be grateful.”
For a long moment, everything fell silent. The noise that had wafted down from the parlour—chatter, laughter, the shuffle of footsteps and the clink of cups—faded away, replaced by a sudden, piercing ringing that filled your ears as a sob clawed its way up your throat. Absolute, indescribable terror seized you so suddenly, so violently, that a wave of vertigo washed over you. It wasn’t a gentle lapping at your ankles, but a tidal wave—powerful and large enough that the impact knocked the breath from your lungs and caused you to lose your footing, your body being thrown and spun wildly in the imaginary current. If you were still human, you would’ve emptied the contents of your stomach onto the floor. But in that moment, you couldn’t even find the words. Could get a breath past the lump in your throat, not blink away the tears stringing at the corners of your eyes—
No.
No, no, no, no.
You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t go back there. You couldn’t do it, no, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it again. They wouldn’t send you back, right? You wouldn’t go back there. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it—
Madame Yoru had always been frighteningly perceptive when it came to her flowers, and she caught your reaction at once. The widening of your glassy eyes, the visible tremor that rattled through your body as you gaped at her, still speechless, rooted in place and defenceless—
You couldn’t do it. They couldn’t send you back. You couldn’t do it again—
Madame Yoru hummed, satisfied, wearing the look of someone who had found the knife and knew exactly how to twist it. Only when she had satiated herself on watching you come apart into a thousand tiny pieces, did she finally release your jaw.
“Run along, Spider Lily.” She gave your cheek a little pat, though with the ferocity with which she executed it, it felt closer to a slap. “Best find a client before it’s too late.”
It was the sting across your cheek that finally pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. Your feet carried you down the corridor before your mind could catch up, silk whispering around your ankles as much as your own consciousness as you walked.
You couldn’t go back.
The thought repeated itself over and over, drowning out everything else, that tidal wave of panic returning every time you thought you’d wrenched yourself from the waters.
You couldn’t do it again. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t go back again—
You would smile, let them touch you, and take whatever they desired. You would perform. You would endure every humiliating moment of it if it meant avoiding the alternative. Because all the flowers knew that the House would never dare beat them. A misplaced blow could split skin and damage a face, leaving a mark no amount of powder could fully conceal, and the Red Prince did not tolerate damage to his property. He had perfected other methods of breaking in his flowers and keeping them broken.
You couldn’t go back there, not again—
You forced the thought away before it could fully form and willed your hands to stop shaking. The world around you blurred into crimson silk, polished wood and the warm glow of lantern light as you stumbled forward. You only became fully aware of your surroundings again when the grand doors of the parlour stood open before you. With Madame Yoru’s threat still echoing through your skull, you stepped inside.
The House of the Evening Bloom was designed to impress. The parlour occupied the very heart of the manor, rising through two lavish storeys, with the high ceiling above hidden behind silk banners and hanging lanterns. Black-and-red-painted pillars rose to support balconies that encircled the upper levels, allowing wealthy patrons to observe the entertainment below from private vantage points. Performers played soft melodies from raised platforms while servants drifted through the crowds carrying trays. The air smelt of oudh incense—potent enough to disguise the scent of predators.
At the centre of the room, sat the flowers. The display platform rose in broad tiers, forming a pyramid of embroidered cushions and low-backed seats. From a distance, it resembled a carefully arranged bouquet, every flower positioned to best display her beauty for prospective buyers. To outsiders, the hierarchy likely appeared backwards. The women seated closest to the floor on the lowest tiers of the display belonged to the most sought-after courtesans. They were the favourites; they occupied the lowest rows because they were the easiest to reach. Patrons entering the parlour naturally gravitated towards them first, and those women had spent decades ensuring it remained that way. They laughed loudly, flirted shamelessly, and guarded their positions by tearing one another apart whenever an opportunity presented itself. Many had been in the House long enough that they scarcely remembered life beyond its walls. The higher tiers belonged to everyone else—the timid and overlooked, the freshly broken, the ones men admired from afar but rarely approached. In recent years, you had found yourself preferring the solitude of the top; it was far more peaceful than the dogfight down below, even if the Mother of Blossom’s threat hung around your throat like a noose.
You climbed the platform in silence.
You couldn’t go back.
Layers of crimson silk flowed around your legs, embroidered with golden spider lilies that shimmered in the lantern light. Golden and tortoiseshell ornaments adorned your carefully arranged hair, delicate chains and ivory-carved blossoms brushing your shoulders with every step. Settling onto your cushion, you scanned the room.
You wouldn’t go back.
Below, the evening had already begun. The men laughed over their cups of sake, baijiu and wine. Flowers smiled and entertained, weaving between servants and guards as they pulled clients into private rooms.
The performance was underway.
And as you folded your hands neatly in your lap, and fixed a pleasant smile upon your face, you allowed only one thought to echo through your mind.
You had to be chosen tonight.
After an hour of observing from atop the display, a disturbance near the entrance diverted your attention from the creeping dread that still lingered despite your best efforts. Ordinarily, you would not have cared. The House of the Evening Bloom was never truly quiet. Patrons drifted in and out throughout the evening, servants hurried along, and every so often, a drunken noble would become convinced that his wealth entitled him to more attention than he had paid for. Such disruptions were common enough that they rarely merited more than a fleeting glance from the flowers.
This disturbance, however, carried an alarming scent.
Your attention shifted immediately. The man standing near the entrance looked entirely unlike the usual clientele who frequented the House. There was no silk draped across his shoulders, no expensive rings embellishing his hands, nor the carefully cultivated confidence of a noble accustomed to buying whatever caught his eye. In fact, he looked as though he had spent the past month on the road. Dust stubbornly clung to his boots and the hem of his clothing. A worn pair of dao swords were strapped across his back, with a small saddlebag thrown over his shoulder. His dark hair had fallen loose from whatever effort was made to tie it back, framing a face marked by an old, marbled burn scar that extended across one eye and down his cheek.
Despite his scar, or perhaps because of it, he was handsome. Beautiful, even.
Not in the polished way of wealthy men, but in the manner of a blade that had seen years of use. There was something undeniably striking about him, from the broad set of his shoulders to the strong, calloused hands hanging at his sides. He possessed the lean, powerful build of someone accustomed to surviving by skill rather than privilege, a man who carried every possession he owned upon his back and trusted only his swords.
Most importantly, he smelt… dangerous.
It was faint beneath the oudh incense and lotus perfume that saturated the parlour, hidden beneath road dust, sweat, and woodsmoke, yet your senses recognised it immediately. Judging by the way heads began to turn throughout the room, you were not the only one. One by one, the flowers detected it, then the guards, then the servants. The mortal patrons remained blissfully unaware, continuing their conversations and laughter without interruption, oblivious to the silent ripple that had spread through the House of the Evening Bloom. Yet beneath the music and chortling, an unspoken understanding had settled over every undead creature present.
A Warden had entered the room.
Beneath the aroma of travel and humanity, something far more familiar lingered—the scent of death. Not the rich scent of fresh bloodshed, nor the stale odour of a battlefield long abandoned. It was something deeper than that. Something that seemed to soak itself into a person over the years, settling deep beneath the skin until it became impossible to wash away. You had encountered Wardens before; every flower in the House had. No matter how often they bathed, no matter how expensive the oils and balms they wore or how carefully they disguised themselves amongst ordinary travellers, they all carried that same scent eventually. It clung to them like a second shadow, marking them as surely as any uniform ever could. And this Waren was especially ripe with it.
“You’re not welcome here, friend.” Your gaze shifted towards the entrance, where two guards had stepped into his path before he could properly pass through the threshold into the parlour. “And Lord Kage isn’t receiving visitors tonight.”
A subtle tension settled across the room. The servants continued their work, carrying trays between tables. The musicians played on without interruption. Flowers laughed at jokes they had likely heard a hundred times before and poured sake for patrons eager to believe themselves charming. The performance continued, yet beneath it all, every eye remained fixed upon the stranger standing in the doorway.
It was never a good omen when a Warden appeared at the House of the Evening Bloom. Over the decades, dozens had attempted to destroy it—Lord Kage, being an impossibly old vampire, had naturally amassed some enemies along the way. Some foes came seeking glory; others sought coin. A handful simply believed themselves righteous and powerful enough to purge the Red Prince and his coven from the mortal realm. Most had perished before reaching the upper floors. But what unsettled you was not that this Warden had come—it was how causally he had done so. There was no attempt at stealth, no disguise beyond ordinary clothing, no effort to conceal the weapons strapped to his back or the purpose that seemed to radiate from him. He stood before the guards with calm patience, despite being a man willingly walking into a den of creatures powerful enough to reduce entire districts of the city to bloodless husks. His stoic expression never wavered. If he felt fear, he hid it remarkably well.
“I have business with him,” the stranger’s voice carried easily through the room, rough from disuse. His tone suggested he was accustomed to being obeyed, or perhaps even feared. Not because he demanded it, but because few people were foolish enough to argue with him once he had spoken.
“Business,” one of the guards scoffed. “What business?”
“Personal.”
The guards exchanged a look. “You’re not with the Crimson Ward.”
At that, the stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly, “No.”
Several flowers perked up immediately—you weren’t the only one listening. The Crimson Ward were the only Wardens authorised to enter the House and sample its goods without scrutiny. Lord Kage employed and paid them generously to deal with troublesome do-gooders and fellow, overzealous Wardens alike. Most of the Crimson Ward had long since discovered that guarding a wealthy vampire lord was significantly easier and more profitable than hunting one. You knew for certain that the scarred man was not among their number; you would have remembered him otherwise.
“Then Lord Kage won’t see you.”
“He will.” The certainty in his voice made the guards hesitate. There was no arrogance in his tone, no bluster. He sounded as if he were merely stating a fact—whatever this man had come here for, he was completely convinced he would get it.
You found yourself leaning forward slightly.
Eventually, one of the guards sighed. That alone released some of the pressure rising in the room. “Your name?”
The Warden hesitated for half a breath. “Lee.”
A lie. You had spent a century listening to people deceive one another. The falsehood was obvious. Apparently, the guards recognised it as well. Their expressions soured, but after a moment of consideration, they stepped aside.
“We’ll send word.” There was no kindness in their tone, rather something closer to a snarl. “Indulge a little in the goods, won’t you? It’ll be some hours before Lord Kage can see you.”
Unbothered, the stranger inclined his head and entered, posting himself near one of the pillars at the entrance, appearing entirely unmoved and uninterested by the dazzling display of women before him. The reaction from the lower tiers was immediate—Peony was first from her seat, moving with the effortless confidence that had made her one of the House’s most sought-after flowers. Her crimson robes swept across the floor as she approached him with a smile that had ruined countless men.
“You’re certainly causing a stir,” she purred, a hand stroking down his dusty outershirt. You could only find yourself surprised that she had lowered her dignity enough even to consider looking at dirt, let alone touching it. The Warden looked at her politely enough, clearing his throat as he stepped away from her touch.
Undeterred, Peony continued. “If Lord Kage is occupied, perhaps I could help pass the time?”
“I’ll wait.” The answer arrived so quickly and with such finality that a small crease appeared between Peony’s brows.
Nearby, Orchid stifled a laugh, and moments later, she tried her own approach, only to receive a similarly disinterested response. Camellia followed shortly after. Then Jasmine. You watched the rotating exchange unfold with growing fascination. None of them managed to hold his attention for long, and the rejection irritated the lower tiers considerably. The stranger answered their questions cordially, offered little in return, and continued to scan the room. That, more than anything else, confirmed your suspicions.
While the flowers vied for his attention—the looks they exchanged were nothing less than feral, like a street dog guarding its next meal—his gaze continued to drift across the room. He studied the exits, the balconies, the guards stationed throughout the parlour, and the patrons occupying the surrounding tables, cataloguing each detail unabashedly. A Warden without question, a dangerous one at that. Perhaps—if you dared to consider it—an opportunity. The thought arrived unexpectedly, carrying all the recklessness that hope often brought. You should have dismissed it; any rational person would have. Yet before you could reconsider, before you could remind yourself of all the reasons why such an idea was foolish, you found yourself rising from your seat.
The movement immediately drew attention. Conversations faltered, and several nearby flowers turned to stare. Regular visitors to the House of the Evening Bloom had long since learned that Spider Lily rarely descended from the upper tiers to hunt. In recent years, you had become something of a fixture there, content to remain beyond reach. Most men admired you from afar, too intimidated by your melancholy to ever approach. The fact that you were moving now was shocking enough to silence an entire section of the parlour. You ignored them—ignoring people had become a particular skill you’d developed, along with making a man finish before he even had a chance to stick his cock inside of you. Gathering your skirts, you descended the platform. Whispers rippled down the display in your wake, but none were bold enough to stop you.
The soft rustling of silk followed every step. Gold and tortoiseshell ornaments chimed softly amidst your hair. Around you, conversations resumed in hesitant murmurs, though more than a few eyes continued to track your progress down the tiers. Your gaze never left the stranger, and as he noticed the whispers, he looked upwards—towards the display, towards you.
The change was immediate.
You’d spent decades studying people, studying men, learning the subtle shifts in expression and posture that revealed what words often concealed. You recognised it the moment it happened, the instant his attention focused on you and the room simply… disappeared from his awareness. The guards, the flowers, the patrons, the exits he had been so carefully cataloguing—all of it vanished, and all his eyes could do was remain fixed upon you.
Even from across the parlour, you watched as he inhaled sharply, a breath that seemed to shudder in his chest as he took you in entirely. His shoulders stiffened imperceptibly before relaxing again, and for the first time since entering the House, he looked almost uncertain about what to do with himself. It was almost amusing. Peony had practically draped herself across him and earned little more than polite indifference, yet now he stared as though he had forgotten what he was saying… or thinking, or perhaps where he even was.
You continued your descent, neither of you looking away. By the time your feet touched the parlour floor, the whole room felt strangely distant. Peony gave you a miffed expression that implied she had every intention of exchanging words with you once dawn broke. But none of it mattered—by the time you reached the Warden, your course had already been set.
Lord Kage rarely granted audiences to unknown visitors, particularly Wardens. Any meeting required trust, and trust within the House was established through a simple test. A Warden intending to kill the Red Prince rarely spent an evening in the company of one of his flowers. Those willing to drink sake, share a bed and permit themselves to be fed upon were generally considered safe enough to entertain—at least long enough to determine whether they posed a genuine threat.
You circled the stranger in a slow, lazy loop, close enough to smell the road dust and steel, close enough to confirm that beneath the scent of death lingered something warmer.
Human. He was entirely human.
Your gaze flicked briefly to the burn scar before returning to his eyes, observing how, for the first time since he entered the House, a sliver of emotion leaked through his stoic expression, his brows twitching ever-so-slightly.
“You smell of death, Warden.” You hummed, not even offering him a smile. “You need a bath.”
It wasn’t a request; the words left your mouth before you could reconsider them. Turning, you began walking towards your private room without waiting to see if he followed.
You already knew he would.
And sure enough, moments later, the sound of footsteps echoed behind you as the House of the Evening Bloom watched in stunned silence.
You closed the shoji behind you, shutting out the noise of the parlour echoing down the corridor. Your private entertaining room was mostly quiet, with only faint sounds from neighbouring rooms and the servants' corridor seeping through the walls. Like everything in the House of the Evening Bloom, the space was crafted for beauty. Tatami covered the floor, and silk wall hangings featuring cranes and plum blossoms decorated the walls. Embroidered cushions surrounded a low, polished table near the entrance, while a raised sleeping platform at the back was draped with sheer red silk curtains. Twisted wood carved into flowering branches outlined the edges. It was less of a bed and more of a stage upon which Lord Kage’s prized flowers were expected to bloom.
It was a quiet, feminine gasp that drew your attention, your head twisting fast enough that the dangling accessories in your hair clinked together. Beside the Warden stood a servant girl, a tray clasped to her chest. She was cowering in place, clearly startled as she had just bolted upright from her previous position seated at the low table. The Warden did not appear particularly surprised or bothered by her presence. He dumped the worn saddlebag that had been slung over his shoulder haphazardly at her feet, along with his dao swords. They landed heavily enough that the girl jolted—the poor thing looked as though she had seen a ghost. You suppressed a smile.
She was probably no older than seventeen when she was turned, maybe nineteen at most. Like most servants working for the House, her role didn't tell the whole story. Any patron who took a moment to look at the servants would see that everyone in the manor was unusually beautiful. In truth, she was a fledgling, a flower in training. Just another one of the many unfortunate souls still undergoing the long and often brutal process required before Lord Kage deemed them suitable for receiving clients—there was more to being a flower than simply perfecting the arts of pleasure. Newly turned vampires were dangerous creatures. Their hunger ruled them completely, and few possessed the restraint necessary to feed without killing. Before they could be trusted with patrons, they were subjected to years of training, punishment and correction until they learned precisely how much blood to take and when to stop. Lord Kage liked to call the experience of laying with a vampire a little death—ecstasy from the orgasm, but also the adrenaline of sacrificing the body to be fed on, with the trust that the taker would stop before the afterlife came knocking.
When Lord Kage or Madame Yoru weren’t tormenting the fledglings, it was the other flower’s turn to sink their fangs in. Perhaps that was why you’d become soft over the years, offering the fledglings some reprieve by letting them hide in your rooms. You’d once been the golden girl of the House of the Evening Bloom, the type to lash out, the one who ruled the bottom of the display like Peony or Orchid. You’d allowed them to turn you into the monster they wanted you to be. You weren’t sure what had been the turning point in your attitude—maybe the day you realised none of it had ever mattered, that you’d lived a fuller and freer life in the few decades you’d spent as a mortal than in any of the centuries you’d spent as an immortal. As a result, you had rarely entertained guests in recent years. Most evenings, the fledglings could slip into your room under the pretence of cleaning or preparing you for the night, stealing a few precious moments of peace away from the endless demands of the House.
Judging by this one’s expression, however, she had not expected her moment of peace to end so abruptly—particularly not with a Warden. You simply inclined your head at the girl, and she was quick to rush to your side, practically quivering behind you. You squared your shoulders, and with a practised smile, you turned to face your guest.
“Are you a sake or a baijiu man?” You inquired.
The question caught him slightly off guard. You got the impression that, despite his self-assurance, he wasn’t the type to frequent brothels. Now, out of the parlour and fully under the weight of your attention, you wondered if he expected you to pounce on him then and there? Or maybe he simply didn’t appreciate the art of building tension.
“Tea is fine.”
You arched a brow. Most men requested alcohol before anything else; it gave them the sense that they were more witty and important than they actually were. It gave them the confidence to perform under the scrutiny of an experienced, beautiful woman—or maybe simply the guts to let you plunge your fangs deep into their neck.
“What type?”
“Jasmine.”
That surprised you more than it should have; the answer felt strangely domestic coming from a man who smelled so strongly of bloodshed. Nonetheless, you masked your disbelief with a perfectly composed smile, inclining your head. You waited for the servant girl to move, but quickly realised she was still cowering behind you. Your gaze slowly shifted towards her as you glanced over your shoulder expectantly.
“You heard him, Petal. Have the kitchens prepare tea, and ask the boys to bring up water for a bath and a change of clothing—these are filthy.” You gave the Warden a pointed look, and he huffed in response.
The girl blinked.
“Oh. Yes, Miss,” she replied, bowing so swiftly that she almost lost her balance.
The Warden chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he rubbed a hand along his sharp jaw, watching as she vanished through the shoji. “I thought the point of these places was to get your patrons undressed, not dress them up?”
You clasped your hands together, slinking forward with slow, graceful steps.
“It is,” you hummed, coming to a stop before him. “Doesn’t mean I can’t treat you a little, hm? Can’t have you wandering back onto the street in those, the Pleasure Mile will think we serve any ruffian who comes knocking at the door.”
“So, it’s all about appearances and money then?” He asked, his voice lowered now that you had drawn closer. His amber eyes surveyed your every move. “Eliteism… it runs rich with you vampires, doesn’t it?”
You grinned wide enough to show your fangs, testing him with your next words. “It isn’t always about money. You’re not only here because of the mercy of my master, but also on the account of your trade. You can pay in other ways if you have skills deemed useful enough—that is what the Crimson Ward does.”
He scoffed at that. It didn’t take a genius to understand he didn’t think favourably of his kin, likely taking issue with the fact that the Wardens had taken the easy route out by serving the Red Prince rather than killing him. His tongue darted out as he wet his bottom lip, his eyes trailing down the expanse of your silk robes, catching on each embroidered detail.
“I take it they call you Spider Lily?” He asked, the subtle irritation in his expression neutralising. “They’re embroidered on your robes.”
“Yes, very perceptive of you,” you dipped your head. “And what do they call you?”
“Lee.”
The lie arrived quickly this time, and you gave him a sly look. “Your real name, I mean.”
The Warden looked mildly inconvenienced—as if debating feeding you another lie was worth the gamble. A reluctant sort of resignation settled across his features as he must have decided you were far too perceptive to fool.
“It’s Zuko.”
“Zuko,” you drawled, testing the sound and taste of it on your tongue. “It suits you, it is handsome sounding.”
Stoic as ever, he didn’t so much as blink at your praise.
“What is yours?”
A laugh escaped you before you could control yourself, a palm flying to cover your mouth.
“My name?” You giggled. “Spirits—if you had asked me several decades ago, I might have had an answer.”
You twisted your wrist, your hand gesturing as if flicking the thought away. “In truth, I don’t even remember anymore.”
The lie slipped easily from your tongue, and if he didn’t believe you, he didn’t let it show. With a sigh, you felt the fleeting amusement drain from your body; instead, a quiet intensity settled as you met Zuko’s eyes.
“When they turned me into one of them, they remade me,” you uttered. “The girl I was before is dead. She has to be dead, because she never could have survived this place or these people. So I killed her, I tore her apart until she no longer existed. So understand when I say that even though I may smile like her, and speak in her voice, and wear her skin, inside I am something monstrous—”
You cut yourself off as the shoji slid open, servants flooding into the room. The serious look that had taken command of your features dissolved as you smiled in that artful way you had mastered, ushering in the two young men carrying a large, wooden bathing tub. More followed, emptying steaming buckets of water into the tub before retreating. When you glanced back at Zuko, he remained rooted to the spot. You could have sworn there was a crack in his stoic composure. Perhaps your eyes were simply fooled by the lantern light, but for a fleeting moment, as he watched your performance, a look of pity crossed his features.
By the time the servant girl re-entered, carrying a tray with jasmine tea carefully balanced in her hands, the bath was filled, and the other servants had excused themselves with quick bows. You watched as she placed the teapot and cups on the low table before stepping back with a bow of her own. However, unlike the others, she didn’t leave. She lingered, if only for a moment—just long enough to fully draw your attention. When you looked at her, meeting her gaze with the full weight of your eyes, she immediately lowered her eyes. Still, she remained in place, as though she had something she desperately wished to say.
“Run along now, Petal. You wouldn’t want the Madame to catch you gawking.”
The girl’s spine straightened, startled as though she had been caught stealing. Colour rushed to her cheeks, and she immediately dipped into a hurried bow. “Y-yes, Miss Spider Lily.”
She turned towards the door and made it all of about two steps before stopping in her tracks.
Your brow furrowed, “Petal?”
The servant girl hesitated, fingers twisting in the fabric of her sleeves. The inner struggle she faced was evident on her face—initially, fear reigned. She took a few more steps until concern clouded her features, and the guilt weighing on her conscience eventually triumphed. Spinning around, she blurted out the words, probably before she had a chance to think better of them.
“Miss Spider Lily, be warned! I overheard the guards and Madame Yoru, they’ll be watching through the hole in the wall—!”
The words died abruptly on her tongue, and her eyes darted towards Zuko. Only then did she seem to remember that the Warden was still present, and mortification flooded her expression.
Between the private rooms, there was a narrow, dark corridor. It was intended solely for servants to move discreetly through the House. It saved the fledglings from weaving around temperamental flowers and clientele who often reached a point of blind lust that they would fuck anything that breathed. But it was not only a safety measure to protect patrons from the fledglings and their uncontrollable thirst, as it also served as an observation point. Each private room was not as private as one might think, as each one had a concealed hole somewhere within. It wasn’t a large hole, just large enough for one to hold a single eye up to the gap and spy without being noticed. One of Madame Yoru’s favourite activities was slipping into the hidden corridor, sliding open the shutter and checking that the flower within was blossoming to expectations.
“Oh,” you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Oh, dear.”
The poor girl looked ready to throw herself from the balcony. Crossing the room towards her, you reached out and gently cupped her cheek. “Thank you, sweet girl.”
You knew, deep down, she was only trying to do you a favour, out of whatever kindness was still left within her undead heart, even if she were simply stating the obvious. The tension left her shoulders immediately at your reassurance. Her gaze lifted to yours, and the look she gave you landed twisted and uncomfortable in your chest. You had seen it before, in Petal, in countless servants before her. An unspoken attachment formed between frightened young women trapped beneath the same roof. Perhaps it was because you listened when others didn’t. Perhaps it was because you remembered what it felt like to be new here and how easy it was to become cruel. Whatever the reason, Petal had attached herself to you years ago. You felt sorry for her, sorry for all of them—the girls who came before, the girls who would come after—each one believing themselves special enough to escape the fate waiting for them.
Your thumb brushed her cheek once. “Hush now, and go before you are missed.”
The girl nodded, and this time she obeyed. The shoji slid shut behind her, leaving you alone with the Warden. His interest seemed piqued by the unfolding events, and he watched expectantly as you let out a shuddering breath, silence settling over the room. For a breath, your thoughts drifted. You hoped, no, maybe you even prayed to the Spirits that no meddling ears had heard the girls' outburst. The House of the Evening Bloom was a dangerous place for those at the bottom of the pecking order. The slightest indication of betrayal or spilling House secrets in front of a client, a mysterious Warden no less… she would be doomed to the box.
A creeping sensation snaked over your skin—cold. So very cold, and dark… and quiet. It had been so quiet, so quiet that your own thoughts had sounded like the tolling of a bell against your skull. And your legs, oh your legs and your back, how they had ached and ached. The gnawing hunger had ached too, until the scent of iron and fear all blended into one, and you would press your lips against the tiny holes and scream and scream and beg—
The Warden cleared his throat.
“From what I have gathered, I won’t be able to meet your master until I lie with you and allow you to feed from me?”
His voice startled you enough that you realised that for a fleeting moment, you had allowed your mask to slip. Nevertheless, he was straight to the point, and you found yourself liking that. He certainly didn’t seem eager to dig into whatever haunted you. You shook off whatever strange, maternal feeling that had overtook you and spiralled into despair. You turned away, crossing the tatami towards the bathing tub, leaving those terrible thoughts far behind. Steam curled lazily from the water’s surface, filling the room with its warmth. You perched yourself lightly upon the wooden edge. While trailing your fingers through the water, you considered the question.
“You are correct,” the corners of your mouth faintly lifted. “All Wardens who pass through our doors must face this test.”
An empty reflection stared back at you as you disturbed the surface, ripples breaking up the shimmering surface.
“If it reassures you, being fed upon is not painful—most patrons become rather fond of it. It heightens the feelings of pleasure during sex; some say it’s the best way to experience orgasm.” You glanced up at him, catching the tail end of his eyes narrowing, as though he were attempting to determine whether you were mocking him. You held his gaze, expectant. He crept closer as he replied.
“What I have heard is that it is addictive. That all those merchants and noblemen out there are no better than those who frequent opium dens.”
His hand vaguely motioned back in the direction of the parlour, and your head tilted in thought.
“Well, yes. That has been said too. It’s a biological thing, I imagine, to make our prey relax. Some find themselves feeling a little lethargic afterwards, depending upon how much blood is taken. Is it not said that the calmer the animal at slaughter, the better the meat?”
The Warden didn’t appear to like that answer, a scowl hanging from his lips as you laughed airily. You pulled your fingers out of the water, then gave them a quick shake to get rid of the droplets.
“Part of our hunt is to become… irresistible,” you reminded him.
Then, apparent that he had nothing more to say, and having allowed the silence to linger just long enough, enough that it rattled you a little—silence bothered you now, much like the dark, it came with the taste of iron—you spoke a single word, regaining control of your own simmering sanity.
“Strip.”
Going off your prior assumptions that the Warden wasn’t one to frequent such places, you had anticipated resistance from him. A snarky remark, perhaps? He seemed fond of those. A challenge, even? At the very least, a flicker of hesitation? Rather, Zuko merely held your gaze before reaching for the ties of his outer shirt. There was a practical, matter-of-fact element to his movements, as though removing one’s clothes—in front of a probable enemy at that—was no different than sharpening a blade or cleaning mud from a pair of boots. Most men who entered your chambers either treated the act as a performance or approached it with nervous anticipation. Instead, he shrugged off the first layer, dumping it atop his saddle bag. Beneath it was a lighter layer, old, stubborn stains soaked into the fabric. Old blood, a mixture of his and others, dirt, sweat, rain… you caught it all in a single whiff. It certainly painted the picture of a man who lived one contract to the next. You watched silently as he grasped the collar, tugging it over his head in one fluid motion. And as you had expected, bare skin revealed all. There was obvious strength in his build, powerful arms and broad shoulders shaped by years of repetition—training, battle, survival. Your eyes drifted down his sculpted chest, lingering on the scars that marked portions of his skin. A rather large impact branded his midriff, similar in severity to the mark on his face, and joining it was a collection of scratches and gashes. Some were faded, nearly white with age, while others remained fresh. You wondered briefly how many creatures had left their mark upon him before he had buried a blade in their hearts.
You were so intrigued by the thought, in fact, that it took you a delayed second to realise that during your pondering, he had already loosened the tie of his pants. Before you had the mind to relish in the reveal, to coax or tease, to enjoy the drawn-out tension of it all, he was already standing completely naked before you. Your eyes drifted down, following the trail of coarse hair to where his cock hung between his muscular thighs. Larger than most, you would give him that—but—did he know how to use it? That was the real question. You found yourself studying him longer than necessary, long enough that he noticed. One dark eyebrow lifted as he watched you expectantly in return. The silent question amused you enough that your lips tugged into a smirk, and from your position perched on the edge of the tub, you motioned towards the steaming water.
“You’ll do.” You teased, which earned the smallest twitch of irritation from him—you considered that a victory. “Get in.”
Without protest, he stepped towards the bath. Steam curled around him as he lowered himself into the wooden tub, water sloshing softly against the sides. You grasped a washcloth, soaking it in the rising water as he settled himself. As he leaned back, sighing through his nose and resting his arms on either side of the tub, some of the tension left his posture. Though not all of it—even at rest, he carried the impression of a drawn bowstring. His amber eyes lifted through the steam to watch as you wrung out the rag. The scent of cypress soap mingled with his musk of death as you placed the cloth against his shoulder and began working away the grime accumulated from weeks on the road. Zuko seemed content to sit in the silence that had fallen between you, leaving only the occasional splash of water as you worked from one shoulder to the other, alternating between soaking and wringing out the cloth.
With a splayed hand, you leaned closer, the washcloth sweeping across his chest, past the line of the water to his sculpted abdomen. You were close now, close enough that your breath fanned across his cheek, close enough that the sleeves of your robes were soaked as your fingers paused just above his groin—
Zuko’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and your eyes snapped to his neck.
His blood smelled delicious.
You could sense it now that you were inches away, the subtle thrum of his heartbeat, the blood pumping through his veins… how many days had it been since you had a full meal? You hadn’t thought you were that hungry, but now, faced with his neck right there, you were ravenous—
“You don’t seem to be afraid of me.”
His observation startled you out of whatever bloodlust-induced trance you had found yourself in, your hands immediately finding his thigh as you swept the washcloth down his leg. You glanced up at him, only to find he had been watching your every movement intently.
“Should I be?” You asked, innocently.
His expression remained unreadable.
“No, I’m here to kill the Red Prince, and anyone who stands in my way.” His husky voice made you go unnaturally still for a beat. “If you stand aside, I will show you mercy.”
If he had expected your reaction to be more instinctual or guttural to his reveal of intentions, something more reasonable to such a threat, he didn’t show it. His heart remained beating steadily, his breath even. You slowly straightened your spine and looked down at him. A smile pulled faintly at the corner of your mouth, which then surfaced into a giggle.
Mercy.
If only he understood what mercy looked like to someone in your position.
“You’re rather blunt, aren’t you?” You murmured, the giggle still on your breath. As if anyone within the House of the Evening Bloom was not aware of his intentions. A Warden simply didn’t just show up to enjoy the goods—no, there was one of two reasons: one, to join the Crimson Ward, or two, to kill you all. “I can’t tell if you’re brave, or simply a fool.”
“Hmf,” the sound he made might have been a sign of amusement or annoyance. With him, it was difficult to tell.
The conversation lapsed again as you worked the washcloth down his arm. Water glistened against his skin, tracing the old scars and faded marks. There were more of them than you had initially realised, smaller nicks that hadn’t been immediately obvious in the low light. Your eyes eventually drifted upward, towards the awful scar encircling his left eye. Without really thinking, you reached forward. A single, damp finger trailed a wet line down the warped flesh.
“How did you get this—”
His reaction was immediate, his whole body flinching as his hand shot up, water splashing as he closed his grip around your wrist. You grasped the edge of the tub harder with your other hand, steadying yourself as you teetered from the sudden motion.
“My father had…” His head turned to face you, his mouth opening as he ran his tongue over his teeth, and then slowly released his hold. “...interesting ideas around how to best punish his children.”
The answer caught you off guard—you had expected something far more heroic, some grand tale of his journeys as a Warden. But as you had come to understand, it appeared Zuko was not one for boasts. You twisted your hand where it was still loosely encircled in his grip, pulling his arm towards you as you placed his palm face up in your lap.
“He did that to you while you were a child in his care?” You asked, head dipping as you focused on his hand. You swept the soapy washcloth down his forearm to his wrist, then across his palm, lacing your fingers with his as you worked the suds between each digit.
The thought of a parent doing such a thing to their child felt deeply wrong. The memory of your own father had faded over time, but what remained was gentle. A hand resting atop your head, ruffling your hair. Laughter around the dinner table. The sensation of being carried to bed, the feeling of safety as you were tucked under the blanket. Those were from earlier on, but the older you had grown, the murkier those happy memories became. You supposed your father had hurt you once, too. Not in a physical manner but rather… expectations that had crushed parts of your soul. Expectations that had strained and bittered your relationship. As you massaged the mound of his thumb, pushing your soft digits against the calluses of his palm, he spoke up once more.
“Does that surprise you?” He asked quietly, though there was thickness to his voice, like he was on the edge of letting a groan slip out. “That some of the worst monsters out there are human?”
Your eyes flickered upward, your fingers continuing to massage down his forearm to the crease of his elbow. You realised how beautiful his eyes were in the low light, like molten honey. His pupils dilated as he awaited your reply, the weight of his full attention solely resting on you. You had been human once. So had Peony, Orchid and the other flowers, Madame Yoru, too, and even Lord Kage himself. You didn’t know at which point you had slipped between human and monster, or if the monster had been within you all along. Maybe that was why all those who remained in the House of the Evening Bloom became the way they did in the end—hungry, spiteful, depraved—because you had all always been that way.
“No,” you uttered. You dropped his arm back into the water to wash the soap off. Slowly, you stood, circling the tub. A trail of water dripped from your sleeves onto the tatami as you perched on the opposite side. Your attention turned to his other arm, and you repeated the same process of carefully working soap between each finger. The task gave you something to focus on besides his distant expression.
“My father was a cruel man. He tried to make me cruel, too, but I was always… resistant to his teachings. He said, I was disrespectful and weak for always questioning him, so he challenged me to an Agni Kai.” Zuko continued, and your brows rose. A firebender—you supposed you should not have been surprised. Many Wardens were benders of some kind; the elements often came in handy when hunting particular beasts. Firebending, especially, since so few creatures possessed an immunity to flame itself. You dimly recalled ancient stories of some of the first Warden clans originating in the Fire Nation, before their trade and message spread beyond borders. “After I was defeated, he banished me. Said I couldn’t return home until I became a real man, brought pride to my ancestors and regained my honour.”
His gaze drifted somewhere beyond the room, beyond the House of the Evening Bloom, likely beyond Ba Sing Se itself. “I became a Warden shortly after, like my Uncle, and have walked that path ever since.”
You considered his words, eyes cast down, as you pressed your thumb down his forearm, massaging the hard muscle just beneath the skin. “Well, most would say the path of a Warden is an honourable one.”
A scoff escaped him, though the sound held little amusement. His arm slipped away from your grip as he dipped it back under the water, washing the soap and grime away. “I wouldn’t say that for that Crimson Ward of yours.”
There was genuine disdain in his voice now, enough to make you glance up from the soapy water, a teasing lilt to your voice. “You really don’t like them, do you?”
“They’re an insult to our trade,” his jaw tightened. “Cowards are what they are.”
You found yourself curious despite everything; Wardens rarely spoke about one another—at least not in your experience. Yet something told you that if Lord Kage’s hired hunters and Zuko ever crossed paths, his blood would not be the one to follow shortly afterwards.
Your hand slid under the water once more, scrubbing the washcloth along his submerged thigh, and for a moment neither of you spoke. The lantern light danced across the water’s surface, casting shifting reflections over damp skin and wood alike. You found yourself studying him again as you swept your palm down past his knee, your chest dipping lower towards the water’s edge.
“Does your father know you are a Warden?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Zuko’s gaze lowered to the water, watching as you slowly rose, levelling your spine.
“Oh yes,” there was something dark settled behind his stoic, amber eyes. “Some years ago, I returned home. He was happy to receive me, saying I had become a true man during my banishment. That his judgement had been correct all those years ago.”
The bitterness in his voice was hard to miss. The water shifted quietly as he leaned back against the tub, elbows resting on the edge on either side of him. His broad chest expanded as he sighed. You placed the washcloth over the side of the tub with a quiet slap, water trickling down the wood into a puddle below. You found yourself reluctant to break the silence, yet curiosity won in the end.
“What did you do?” You asked softly, though the words were not accusatory.
The bathwater was beginning to grow lukewarm, the tendrils of steam that had drifted lazily between you now gone. It was the warmth of his body that made up the space between you, that and the weight of his gaze that had somehow grown more scathing than it had been previously.
“I did what any honourable Warden would do if they came across a monster,” he answered with absolute certainty and complete absence of regret or guilt. “I killed him.”
Absolute silence followed, and Zuko watched you from across the narrow gap separating you, waiting. Almost as if he was expecting something, though what exactly, you couldn’t say. Your expression remained carefully neutral, save for the slight crease between your brows as you studied him in return. His pupils were fully dilated now, swallowing almost all the amber in his eyes. Beneath the water, his heartbeat remained strong and steady, each pulse loud enough for your sharpened senses to detect. You could almost imagine seeing the faintest ripple spread across the surface with every thump of his heart against his ribs.
You were hungry, so very hungry, it had been days since your last feeding—
The distance between you suddenly felt even smaller, especially as Zuko leaned forward. Water sloshed against the sides of the tub as he shifted, one arm leaving the edge so his palm could brace against the rim. His gaze dipped briefly towards your mouth, lingering there for a moment that felt a little too long to be accidental before returning to your eyes. His hand snaked around your waist, damp fingers settling against the silk gathered at your side, and before you could fully process the gesture, he was drawing you closer.
One moment, you were watching him and the next, his mouth found yours.
Instinct took over, decades of training clicking into place as you half gasped, half moaned into his mouth, automatic and reactive. He swallowed your breath whole, groaning as your hands skimmed up his shoulders to the hair at the nape of his neck, threading through the damp strands with a tug. His head lulled back, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as your lips parted, then met again properly. His head slanted as he adjusted his grip on your waist, tugging you even closer. His tongue teased along your bottom lip before sweeping into your mouth, and for a fleeting moment, you met him halfway, allowing him to pull you under—
A thought struck you suddenly. You hadn’t heard the telltale sounds of Madame Yoru stalking down the hidden corridor, nor the quiet scrape of the shutter being slid open—
You pulled away abruptly, chest heaving from the effort. Your hand slipped from his hair, down his shoulders to his chest as you pushed back, putting a small but deliberate distance between the two of you as he tried to chase your lips.
“Patience, Warden,” You huffed, watching as he tried to calm his own breathing, one hand still gripping your waist. His expression was guarded, save for the faint narrowing of his eyes as he tried to determine why you had stopped. “You haven’t even had your tea yet.”
Gently, you removed his hand from your side, then rose from where you sat. He didn’t look the most pleased about it, but nevertheless, he relented to your authority. You motioned to the pile of clothes and towels the servants had left nearby before turning back to where the teapot sat on the low table. As you knelt upon one of the cushions, you heard the slosh of water behind you as he rose from the tub. The patter of water over the tatami followed as he stepped out, unhurriedly crossing the short distance to the pile. You kept your gaze averted, not out of bashfulness but rather not wanting to encourage any lingering lust that coursed through his veins before the right eyes were watching.
Your attention drifted to the clay teapot that had been quietly brewing all the while. Your fingers brushed against the warm surface, along the delicately painted cherry blossom petals that embellished its curve. As you gripped the handle and carefully poured the steaming liquid into the cup furthest from you, you could hear the rustle of fabric. By the time you lifted your gaze, placing the teapot back down, Zuko had half-heartedly dried himself off. The small towel hung low across his hips as he settled down onto one of the cushions across from you. He accepted his cup without thanks, eying you as he took an audible sip, the scent of jasmine merging with the cypress soap and the underlying aroma of death.
“How did you end up here?” he asked. For a brief moment, you couldn’t tell if he was asking because he was genuinely interested in an answer, or if he simply wished to distract himself from the fact that his cock was half-hard. A weighted silence settled over you both again.
You smiled at him over the rim of your cup, although it was empty. That was a trick the Madame had taught you years ago, to at least pretend to be mortal. The best way to please a client was to make them feel at ease, and the best way to do that was to make them forget entirely that they were face-to-face with an undead monster. You had learnt to pretend to drink alongside them, to hold your wrist and hand in the perfect position that implied weight, to act as though your cup was always overflowing even when it was bone dry.
“Lord Kage took a liking to me.” The answer came easily. Only because it was an answer that had been practised countless times over the decades, one that had been drilled into you since your arrival. But even if your answer was flawlessly spoken, with the perfect inflexion and sweet, empty smile to match, displeasure flickered across Zuko’s expression.
“When were you turned?” He asked.
You leaned back slightly. Normally, you wouldn’t have entertained such questions, rather you would have artfully steered the conversation away, but you already knew there was nothing normal about anything that had unfolded so far. The memories were distant, a faded quality to them, the edges fraying the more you tried to hold onto them. The harder you reached, the more they seemed to slip, until you began to wonder if you weren’t remembering the moments themselves at all, but rather the memory of memories. Details blurred and condensed until your mind filled in the gaps incorrectly, like they were events that happened to someone else entirely. Sometimes you felt like two beings were warring within you—Spider Lily and the girl you once were. Those fragments felt like they belonged to her, the girl, your true self. But you weren’t her anymore, you were Spider Lily. And no matter how much that girl tried to claw her way out, she was trapped, deep underground in that box. And you had learnt that the only way you could survive was to become the monster, to become Spider Lily, to become just as terrible as the rest of them.
“I couldn’t tell you,” you finally replied after a pregnant pause.
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember pieces.” Your fingers tightened around the cup. “After a while, the years all blur together. Seasons become decades, decades become centuries.”
A faint smile graced your lips. “Though, I remember it was spring.”
The Warden’s brow quirked.
“I was supposed to debut after the summer solstice—my mother had spent all winter preparing the last of my yomeiri-dogu, my father a dowry to ensure I would be secure.” As your eyes lifted to meet his, you could see the pieces clicking together as he realised exactly the type of wealth and status you had once been born into. “I was supposed to be the catch of the season… but I couldn’t help but feel terrified.”
At the time, you believed you had been afraid of marriage, of leaving your home, family, and friends, of marrying a man who would have been a stranger to you. But in recent decades, you began to wonder if, deep down, you had known all along. Perhaps you had a premonition of what was to come.
“Terrified of what?” Zuko’s rumbling voice asked.
“Of making a mistake—” you laughed softly. Your reply had layers to it. It hadn’t just been the idea of making a mistake during your debut, of tripping over your own feet or making a fool of yourself. It had been the fear of making a mistake by marrying, of committing yourself to a life of lies. “—Of marrying a stranger, only to become some trophy wife within a gilded cage.”
The answer seemed to surprise him, and you knew you could both see the irony within your words.
“I had seen my mother live that life, and I did not wish to repeat it. I wanted to… continue school, travel, fall in love. So I ran away.” Your brows knitted together. “I ran away, and made it all of what? A few blocks? Only to end up within another cage entirely, I—”
You reeled yourself back, smoothing over your expression with a pleasant smile.
“I think I was nineteen at the time, maybe twenty at most.”
A beat passed as Zuko studied you, and a wavering thought wondered if he was undergoing some horribly misguided attempt to try and discover a flicker of humanity left within you. Madame Yoru and the guard still weren’t at the spying hole; the most you could do was steel yourself.
“Do you remember who ruled at the time?”
You snorted. “No.”
“No?” He repeated, eyes narrowing.
Did he think you were lying?
“It’s funny, isn’t it? How a girl’s mind works?” Your thumb traced the rim of your cup. “I remember the colours of silk everyone wanted that year and the styles we wore our hair in. I remember the rose hip and hibiscus perfume my friend wore and how she always took her tea lukewarm with honey. I remember the boy I spent months pretending not to like.”
Your smile turned distant.
“But Kings? Wars? Politics? No, not a single recollection.” You shook your head. “It’s all so ridiculous now, thinking back on it.”
The Warden grunted in response, displeased. For a second, you thought that he would allow silence to fall over you both again, to allow himself some peace as he drank his tea, while you sat across from him pretending to do the same. In contrast to your expectations, he spoke up once again.
“I take it that you were turned against your will then?”
The question made you hesitate, and suddenly you had the uncomfortable realisation that this entire time he hadn’t been interested in your replies, but rather your reactions. You lowered the empty cup you had been nursing, properly lowered it until it connected with the table with a soft clunk. It wasn’t a graceful movement, not perfected and artful in the way Spider Lily would, but rather the actions of a girl caught entirely off guard. You looked up sharply, and he simply stared with a smug expression.
The mask slipped. A short, bitter laugh escaped you. “You think any of us are here willingly?”
Zuko’s arrogant expression didn’t change.
“Lord Kage likes to collect pretty faces. Girls, boys—anyone who catches his attention,” you spat. “He turns us and brings us here to be broken in and serve. There’s nothing more valuable than a whore that doesn’t age.”
“And if you refuse to serve?” Zuko questioned.
“Oh,” you hissed. “I think we both know there are plenty of ways to break a person, immortal or not.”
“They beat you?”
“No,” you muttered with a mocking little pout. “You really think Kage would damage his own merchandise?”
“What does he do then?” The Warden pried.
Your gaze drifted towards the floorboards, and for a fleeting second, you could feel it. That creeping darkness at the edges of your vision, shaking hands against rusted iron, and the stench, Spirits the stench—
Your eyes snapped up, and you found he was watching you intently as you teetered dangerously on the edge between reality and a dream. Eerily, you spoke.
“They put us in a box.”
“A box?” he repeated, confused.
Realising he was baiting you for more information, your expression twisted. You sucked in a deep breath, planting your hands hard enough on the low table that the teapot rattled. For a moment, you juggled between indifference and performance, before finally settling on one of your practised, pleasant smiles, even if there were a few cracks in it.
Zuko looked mildly vexed by your sudden withdrawal. It was entirely obvious to you now that he didn’t seem concerned anymore with covering up his true intentions with his line of questioning.
“Are you finished with your tea? I can pour you—”
“You want something from me, don’t you?”
Despite the abruptness of the Warden’s interruption, his tone and expression were entirely calm, perhaps too calm. Your smile fell while his only grew, your composure fully cracking. You pushed up until you were kneeling on the cushion, hands braced against the table as you stared across at him. Had your intentions truly been that obvious? A horrible thought dawned upon you, enough to make a cold chill run down your spine. If it had been that obvious, had the others noticed, had Madame Yoru? Is that why she was taking so long to take a peek? Were they all out there, secretly planning Spiritsknew what—
You couldn’t go back.
You couldn’t go back to that box—
“You willingly came to me. You walked down from the display and sought me out, not the other way around—”
“Careful, Warden.”
The warning came smoothly, so smoothly that the look in your eyes would’ve made any normal man quiver with fear. As you knelt, slightly towering over where he sat, still naked aside from the towel that clung around his hips, an unnatural stillness took over you. It was the kind of stillness only an apex predator on the hunt could hold. Zuko looked unimpressed.
“Is it revenge on your master?” He queried, leaning forward with an emboldened expression. “You want me to kill him, to create enough of a commotion for you to escape?”
Your eyebrows scrunched, head tilting as you examined him with a perplexed expression.
“Escape?” You laughed, though it was humourless. “There is no escape from this place.”
You cut your laugh off shot, expression abruptly steeling as you stared at him, speaking with complete and utter seriousness and sincerity. “The only escape from this place is death.”
That finally seemed to throw him, his face screwing up in confusion. The first genuine surprise you’d manage to get from him all evening. You leaned further over the table, until your faces were inches away, until you could feel his breath tickling your lips. Your next words would require his full attention.
“I want you to kill me.”
“What?” Zuko barked immediately, bewildered.
The words felt strangely easy once spoken aloud, like a weight had been lifted off your tired shoulders. You smiled steadily and unwaveringly, as though you were discussing the weather and not proposing your own execution. “I will help you get an audience with Lord Kage, as long as you promise to kill me before you leave this room.”
The silence that followed was palpable. All Zuko could do was stare, obviously struggling to contain whatever emotional leakage was slipping through the cracks of his usually stoic expression.
“After your master is dead, you will be free to leave this place—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you muttered. “Unless you are the Blue Spirit himself, I do not think you are capable of killing the monster that is Lord Kage. I appreciate the sentiment of your mercy, but the only true kindness you can show me at this point is ensuring I am dead regardless of whether you defeat him or not—”
“What if I am him?” Zuko cut over you, and you blinked.
“What?”
“What if I am the Blue Spirit?”
A scoff escaped you before you could stop yourself.
“If you were the Blue Spirit, we would not be having this conversation. I would already be dead,” you sneered. “So, I am asking you a favour. After I fuck you and feed from you, enough of a performance to get them to trust you, I need you to kill me.”
You watched his expression harden, yet he didn’t even flinch as you leaned in close, a sharp, seductive smile pulling at your lips. You couldn’t even hear his heart change from its steady beat as your breath ghosted his bottom lip. “Do you agree to this?”
Zuko’s eyes narrowed, the scar pulling tight as he leaned backwards sharply, establishing some distance. “Why would I agree to that?”
Anger flooded your face, your fangs peaking out over your bottom lip as you hissed at him.
“I need you to grant me that one mercy. It shouldn’t be hard for you, should it?” The low table groaned under your weight as you dug your palm harder into the surface, the wood nearly splintering under your inhuman grip. “You are a Warden, after all.”
“Hold on—”
His voice sharpened for the first time all evening, and you knew he was about to argue. But the words had scarcely left his mouth before both of you went deadly still in unison, hearing the warning sign you’d been waiting for since the moment you entered the room. It wasn’t anything immediately obvious, no raised voices or knocks at the door. Just footsteps, unhurried, circling the room in the inner, hidden servants' hallway tucked between the walls.
Your head turned instinctively towards the far wall of the room, near the raised bed platform. Anyone ordinary or unfamiliar with the House of the Evening Bloom would have heard nothing more than servants passing by, but you knew better. You had learned the rhythm of those footsteps years ago. Madame Yoru wasn’t one to hurry; she was the worst type of predator—the one that liked to torment and toy with her food long before the thought of ending its misery ever crossed her mind. She wanted you to hear her. The heavier tread alongside her steps was likely one of Lord Kage’s guards. The Madame to confirm you had performed and earned your keep, and the guard to confirm that the Warden had allowed himself to be defiled and filthied by his enemy.
Instinct took over just before the footsteps paused. You surged to your feet, sweeping the low table aside with far more strength than any mortal woman could possess. It skidded across the tatami, a sharp crack sounding as it struck the opposite wall. The clay teapot and cups rattled violently as lukewarm tea spilt across the floor.
Zuko didn’t bother questioning your actions or urgency as you closed the distance between you, just as the cover on the eye-sized hole on the far wall slid open.
You tumbled to the floor, him flat on his back, the towel twisted and barely covering his lower half as you straddled his hips, kissing him. There was nothing gentle or hesitant about it; it was intended to be heard as much as seen. Your fingers tangled into the loose strands of his damp hair as you pressed yourself close. He groaned into your mouth, tongue sweeping against yours as his hand settled on the small of your back. You arched into his touch, only the silk of your robes separating you as you teasingly ground your hips against his already rehardening cock. The movement earned an irritated little grunt from him, and he pushed himself up. You followed the flow of his movements, allowing him to manoeuvre you as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist.
Zuko lifted you as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Blindly, he guided you both to the bed, your lips working desperately and needily against one another. Perching himself on the edge, he settled you onto his lap, the mattress dipping beneath your combined weight. When you finally drew back, the Warden eagerly chased your lips. You huffed out a breathless laugh, resting your forehead against his. The towel had been lost at some point, leaving him completely bare beneath you. You dragged your fingernails across his shoulders and chest, giggling as he kissed a wet trail of kisses along your jaw and neck.
Slipping gracefully from his lap, your bare feet met the floor without a sound. You slowly rose to your full height between his spread thighs. His cock stood flushed and heavy against his stomach, the head already glistening with precum that caught the lowlight. You met his gaze with a knowing smirk, taking two measured steps backwards, fingers finding the fastening of your robe.
Was he performing as well? All too aware of the unseen eyes that were watching from behind the wall? Or had genuine lust slipped through the cracks of his restraint? The question flickered once before you snuffed it out. Zuko had been caught in your web the moment you kissed him, and already the persona of Spider Lily had settled over you like a second skin, fangs digging in. Given the irregularities of the evening, it was startlingly easy to push every opposing thought aside. Decades of training had carved this routine into your bones—the slow reveal, the calculated arch of your back, the precise tilt of your chin. Your mind would quiet, it always did when you let the mask take over. There was no room for doubt when every movement had been rehearsed and executed a thousand times.
You were numb to it.
The embroidered silk loosened around your frame. You eased it from your shoulders, letting the crimson fabric slip down your arms in a slow, liquid cascade. The Warden’s brow lifted, the only outward sign of interest, but neither of you could deny how his eyes tracked the motion hungrily as the robe peeled away from your breasts. Your peaked nipples caught briefly on the silk before the garment continued its descent, sliding over the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips, until it pooled in a shimmering circle at your feet.
You stood bare before him. Zuko remained seated on the edge of the raised bed, elbows braced behind him, amber eyes dragging over every inch of your exposed flesh with unapologetic focus. His gaze lingered on the swell of your breasts, the drip of your navel and the smooth line of your thighs. You stepped out of the robe at your feet with unhurried grace and closed the short distance between you. Your bare skin brushed the inside of his knees as you sank slowly to the floor. Your fingertips trailed down the hard lines of his abdomen, mapping each scar and ridge of muscle before your lips followed, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the same path.
Zuko’s breath stuttered ever-so-slightly, his throat working as you settled between his thighs. His heartbeat thrummed beneath your mouth, quickening with every brush of your lips, the steady pulse of blood rushing just beneath the surface. The closer you drew his thigh, the stronger the scent became—rich, metallic, threaded with the faint sweetness of arousal. It filled your senses, and the barely restrained hunger that had been growing within you honed. You could smell the artery pulsing beneath his skin, the blood hot and eager, and the need to taste it clawed at the back of your throat. Your tongue flicked out, tasting the salt and the clean bite of remnants of cypress soap, but it was the iron-rich promise beneath that made your mouth water.
There was an ache in your belly, a deep, gnawing ache. You’d known aches in your time. The ache of slick heat between your thighs, never to be satisfied. The ache of sobs that rattled your chest and tears that stained your cheeks. But this ache had nothing to do with desire or agony, but rather everything to do with the veins pulsating so close to your teeth.
With no warning or even an indication of what was to come, you sank your fangs into the saddle-worn, meaty flesh of his inner thigh. The Warden hissed, the sound breaking into a low groan as your mouth sealed over the punctures. His blood flooded across your tongue, thick and warm, laced with the tang of adrenaline. It was far richer and cleaner than the thin, alcohol-tainted taste you were used to from clients. You swallowed greedily, each pull sending a fresh wave of heat through your own veins.
It took everything within you not to consume him entirely, to suck him dry until only a husk remained.
No.
No, you had to remind yourself.
Your hunger would settle, and soon it would not matter at all. You needed him alive for your meeting with Death to come to fruition.
The aphrodisiac in your bite hit him almost instantly, your eyes catching how his cock twitched hard against his stomach, another bead of precum sliding down the flushed head. His thighs trembled beneath your hands as pleasure rolled through him. You lingered a moment, savouring the taste with a muffled, wanton moan, then forced yourself to draw back enough to lap at the bite wound. Your tongue moved in slow strokes, sealing the punctures with saliva, while Zuko’s breath came ragged above you. One of his hands found your hair, fingers threading through the strands and dislodging a few of the gold and tortoiseshell pins that held it in place. The soft clink of metal against the tatami barely registered over the sound of his breathing.
You looked up at him through your lashes, lips still wet with his blood and smiled.
“You taste… delicious,” you murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth, every syllable curated for the audience you both knew were watching.
His molten honey gaze burned into yours as you braced your hands on his knees and rose from the floor. Blood still slicked your lips and chin, thin streams trailing down your throat, pooling along your collarbones. You leaned in again, pressing your mouth to the hard plane of his stomach, then higher, kissing and licking your way back upward in a glistening, sticky path of spit and blood. His muscles jumped beneath your lips.
Reaching his chest, you paused, breath ghosting over his nipple before your fangs sank into the firm swell of his pectoral. The flesh gave way with a soft, wet pop, and fresh blood welled up against your tongue. Zuko groaned roughly, his body convulsing beneath you as you drew another slow mouthful from the wound—
The moment did not last long.
With a low growl, his hands clamped around your waist and hauled you upward, dragging you onto his lap in one powerful motion. Your knees settled on either side of his hips, and the length of his cock was wedged between your bodies.
The aphrodisiac-like effect in your bite was taking hold fast. There was nothing left of the cool, calculating Warden who had walked through the door. His breathing had gone ragged, pupils blown wide and dark, the grip on your waist unconcerned with care. His fingers dug into your skin with bruising force, pulling you closer, rutting his cock against your belly in short, desperate rolls of his hips. His heart hammered against your chest, every exhale carrying an edge of a groan he couldn’t quite swallow.
“I can tell,” you cooed, voice syrupy-sweet, “that my bite is taking effect on your system now.”
Zuko’s only answer was a strained, half-irritated grunt, his jaw tight as he fought to keep some thread of control. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lashes fluttering, but the tension in his body told you he was losing the battle fast. Very much aware of the watching eyes from the wall, you continued teasing, hips grinding a slow circle that had his blunt nails biting deep enough to leave marks.
You smiled against his throat, listening to the rush of blood just below the surface.
“That’s it, Warden. Feels good, doesn’t it?” You hummed, taunting. “Understand why men get addicted now? Are you going to get addicted to me too?”
Zuko’s only answer was a strained, wordless sound caught somewhere between indignation and raw need—his sharp jaw set in a way that spoke of a man fighting to keep his composure.
“That’s alright,” you whispered, breath hot against the shell of his ear. “I like you better when you don’t talk, Warden.”
His cock remained trapped between your bodies, each lazy roll of your core smearing his warm, slick precum across your stomach. With the taste of his blood still in your mouth, a wicked thought crossed your mind. “Want to taste yourself?”
Pulling back enough to meet his eyes, you could see the internal battle that raged within him—pride, restraint, the knowledge that this was still a performance? You were unsure. And, as if relenting to some hidden urge, he finally mustered a nod, his eyes glazed over.
Your mouth hovered over his, close enough that the word brushed his lips. “Open.”
He obeyed without hesitation.
You gathered the mixture on your tongue—thick saliva laced with the copper tang of his blood—then let it drip slowly. A long, glistening strand stretched between your mouths before it broke, the warm, pink-tinged glob landing half on his waiting tongue and half across his lower lip and chin. Zuko flinched at the sensation, a low, involuntary sound catching in his throat, but he didn’t pull away.
You watched the slow motion of his throat as he swallowed, his eyes fluttering half-shut like the taste had hit him like a drug. With a soft giggle, you used your thumb to smear the remaining mess across his lower lip, pressing it onto his tongue so he could taste every drop.
To your surprise, he reciprocated the motion, tongue sweeping over the pad of your thumb. You watched intently as he savoured the taste, suckling and nibbling at the digit—
A flicker of arousal pooled warm and unwelcome between your thighs, surprising enough that you felt your cunt flutter in response as your composure faltered. Before he could catch his breath, you withdrew your finger and leaned in again, your mouth crashing against his in a messy, open kiss. Your tongues slid together, the taste of his blood shared between you. His lips parted wider as he chased the flavour, a groan rumbling from his chest. Your hands framed his face, holding him steady as you licked into his mouth, sucking his tongue.
While he was distracted, you rose smoothly onto your knees, guiding the flushed head of his cock between your thighs. The moment you began to sink onto him, Zuko’s hips jerked upward in a helpless thrust. The kiss broke on a rough, breathy moan that spilt from his throat into yours, and you took him in one slow motion, until your hips met his and he was buried to the hilt inside you. The stretch forced a shallow sound from your own throat, more for the watchers than from any real pleasure, but the heat of him was undeniable. You could feel every thick inch pulsing within your walls as they adjusted around him.
Once you were fully seated, you began to move, hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that dragged him in and out of you. Each rise and fall was calculated, each squeeze of your inner muscles timed to wring the most reaction from him.
Zuko groaned. His hips bucked up to meet yours, driving himself deeper, and you felt the exact moment his control began to fracture. Your fangs found the strong column of his throat, and the skin gave easily beneath your bite, his hot, rich blood flooding your mouth in a sudden rush. Zuko’s cock jolted hard inside your cunt, pulsing in time with every swallow, his hips stuttering upward in short, desperate thrusts as the pleasure of your bite crashed through him. His head tipped back, a broken groan tearing from his chest, and you felt him throb and twitch as if the act of feeding was dragging him closer to the edge with every mouthful.
“You’re losing control, Warden,” you whispered against his throat. A thin line of blood escaped the corner of your mouth, rolling hot and sticky down your chin. “I can feel it.”
Your hand pressed flat on the centre of his chest and pushed. Zuko went willingly, letting you tip him onto his back until he lay flat against the sheets.
Still straddling his hips, you moved on him with the same poise you had perfected over decades, each rise and fall of your hips made to look desperate while remaining entirely controlled. Your inner walls squeezed him at carefully chosen intervals, timed to the rhythm of his breathing so he would feel every calculated flutter. Every moan pitched just right—soft at first, then louder, breathy, the kind of sound that made men feel powerful. Your hands rested lightly on his chest, fingertips tracing idle patterns across his skin, but your real focus stayed locked on his face. You watched the subtle twitch of his brow, the way his throat bobbed when you clenched just right, the faint flare of his nostrils when you sank to the hilt. You were looking for the smallest flicker of a reaction that told you whether to slow down or grind harder. The head of his cock was dragging against sensitive places you knew were better to ignore. You noted the way his breathing had quickened, the slight tremor in his thighs, and the way his eyes rolled back as he lost himself in the sensation. All good signs—you catalogued each one.
When his grip tightened, and his hips began to lift to meet yours in short, involuntary thrusts, you decided it was time. You let your performance build, your moans growing louder, more breathless, your body moving with just the right amount of desperation. Your head fell back, exposing the long line of your throat, and you let out a carefully crafted cry—high, broken, the sound of a woman coming undone. Your walls fluttered around him, your thighs trembling on cue as you rode out the fake climax, every detail flawless.
But when you looked down again, Zuko’s eyes were no longer half-lidded with pleasure—they were sharp, focused, and unmistakably irritated.
His jaw was set, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his hands had gone still on your hips—
He hadn’t finished.
The tension in his body wasn’t the kind that preceded release; instead, he was watching you with growing displeasure. You felt the shift immediately. The air between you changed, the heat of exasperation swelling. His gaze pinned you in place, and you could see the realisation dawning in his expression: he had seen through the act.
Fuck.
He hadn’t orgasmed.
He hadn’t even been close, like somehow within those last moments he had willed himself not to, just to prove a point, but worst of all—
He knew you had faked it.
For an uneasy moment, you wondered why he was so angry. After all, wasn’t this entire arrangement for the benefit of Madame Yoru and the guard? A performance meant to earn their trust so he could reach Lord Kage? Your pleasure had never come into the equation—only your ability to seduce and filthy what was supposedly an honourable Warden. When had he even noticed the moment your moans turned scripted, your body moving on muscle memory rather than genuine need? The entire evening, it seemed the Warden was determined to unearth something solid beneath the act, as if he were deeply offended by the idea of interacting with Spider Lily, but rather desired you, the girl hidden behind the mask.
“Finished with your fun, are you?” he growled.
Before you could answer, he flipped you over in one swift motion. Your stomach met the sheets, and his hands pressed down hard—one between your shoulder blades, the other pinning the small of your back—so you couldn’t even lift your hips or escape the weight of him. Using his knee, he spread your legs wide, every inch of you open and helpless beneath him.
“What are you—?”
“Does that act really work on other men?” He snarled low enough that only you could hear it. You squirmed under his weight, not entirely from discomfort or the desire to be free. An intense, unwelcome pulse of heat flared low in your belly at the sudden dominance in his tone. “Kind of pathetic, really.”
How had he managed to fight through the aphrodisiac so cleanly? You could only hazard a wild guess that he or Warden’s as a whole must have built up defences to such tricks. Zuko leaned down until his chest was flush against your back, his breath searing against your ear.
“You truly thought I wouldn’t notice that you didn’t finish?” His hand swept over the curve of your spine, fingers sliding between your thighs to stroke through your folds. The touch made both of you pause—his fingers came away slick.
The realisation that you were genuinely wet, genuinely aroused, startled you.
“Pathetic little courtesan act, moaning on cue like I’m some green client you can play. You feel that?” He dragged his fingers through the wetness again. “That’s real. You’re drenched.”
You were suddenly, painfully aware of Madame Yoru’s single watching eye behind the hole in the wall. You could imagine her straining, trying her best to hear the words being rasped into your ear.
“Why do you care?” you hissed back, voice tight. “I’m just trying to help you—”
He cut you off with a hard, deep thrust that punched the air from your lungs. You cried out, body jerking beneath him.
“If I noticed,” he growled against your ear, hips already snapping into you in a brutal rhythm, “then they certainly did. We’re going to have to make it more believable if I’m going to see your master.”
“Fuck—!” The word tore out of you raw as he drove into you again and again, the angle forcing every thick inch to drag against places you’d spent decades ignoring. You squirmed, trying to adjust, but his weight kept you pinned flat, unable to do anything but take it. Your hands fisted the sheets, knuckles white, and for the first time in years, the sounds spilling from your throat were desperate and involuntary.
You weren’t acting anymore.
The pleasure was building too fast, and Zuko seemed to have forgotten this was supposed to be a performance. His grip on you was possessive, his breathing uneven with something that felt dangerously close to real hunger. You were too far gone in the overwhelming sensation to stop it now.
“Fuck—Warden—”
His fingers slid into your hair and yanked, gathering a fistful at the roots and hauling your head back until your throat arched in a taut line. The sharp pull sent a bright sting across your scalp that only enhanced the pleasure already tearing through you. He drove into you again, the wet slap of skin loud, your mouth fell open, each thrust forcing another, a high, shameless moan to spill out of you before you could catch it. The shock of it hit like ice water. This wasn’t part of the act—
Your walls fluttered around him without permission, your thighs trembling, heat coiling and snapping low in your belly so abruptly that you couldn’t breathe. Every plunge of his cock was too much and not enough, and you couldn’t stop the noises pouring out of you, gasps, whimpers, broken little cries that pitched higher each time he bottomed out.
Zuko leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, and hissed words directly into your ear, breath harsh.
“Shut the fuck up,” he commanded. “I’m trying to work here.”
“Ah—fuck, I—I can’t—” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your hands clawed at the sheets, and you realised you were shaking—actually shaking—because the pleasure was cresting too fast, and you had no control over the way your body answered him.
His hand came up, palm clamping over your mouth, then two thick fingers pushed past your lips and pressed down on your tongue, trying to muffle the sounds. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.
“Mmf—please, I’m—mmm—” Your voice cracked, the words muffled around his fingers, and the realisation that you were begging, truly begging, sent another helpless flutter through your cunt.
You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t fake it, couldn’t slow the way your hips tried to push back against him, even though he had you pinned flat. A choked sob left you, half-moan, half-cry, and you felt your walls clamp down around him. The pleasure kept building, surging higher, and you knew there was no stopping it now. You were lost to it, lost to him, and the only thing you could do was moan around his fingers as he fucked you through it. You couldn’t tell anymore if he was still playing his part or if the aphrodisiac and the heat of the moment had finally cracked his restraint. Every snap of his hips drove him deeper, the angle forcing the thick head of his cock to drag over the exact spot you needed him—
“I can feel you’re close,” he breathed into your ear. “Make it real this time.”
You quivered around him, the pressure inside you winding tighter and together until it burst. A raw, broken scream tore out of you, muffled against his palm, your body locking down hard, pulsing and clenching so violently that your vision spotted. You convulsed beneath him, thighs trembling, a flood of slick coating his cock as the orgasm ripped through you.
“Fuck, there you are,” he snarled, voice rough.
He didn’t stop.
He kept driving into you through the aftershocks, using the frantic, fluttering squeeze of your cunt to chase his own release. The wet, obscene sound of it filled the room, the slap of skin against skin loud enough that you knew Madame Yoru and the guard could hear every filthy detail. His fingers stayed buried in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue while his other hand kept you pinned flat. He used the tight grip of your body like a man starved, hips burrowing in short, brutal strokes that dragged your orgasm out until you were sobbing against his palm, over-sensitive and shaking.
You felt his rhythm falter for the first time, hips stuttering, and then he buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. Heat flooded you in thick pulses, his cock twitching hard as he emptied himself inside you, grinding through the last shuddering waves until he finally stilled, chest heaving against your back.
The room was thick with the sound of both of you panting. Zuko’s weight still pressed you into the mattress, his breath hot against the nape of your neck, each exhale shaking slightly as he came down. You lay beneath him, body limp, every muscle trembling in the aftermath. Your mind was reeling, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
You had orgasmed.
Really orgasmed.
There had been no performance, no calculated moan, no careful scripting of your reactions. A strange mix of disbelief and fear curled in your chest.
Zuko shifted above you. With a low grunt, he pushed himself up onto his hands, his softening cock still nestled inside you. To your surprise, he didn’t pull out. Instead, one of his calloused hands left your shoulder and began to stroke down the length of your spine, palm warm and unexpectedly gentle. You stayed perfectly still beneath him, too stunned to move, the steady rhythm of his hand grounding you even as your thoughts spun wildly.
The hole in the wall slammed shut with a sharp crack. Madame Yoru and the guard were obviously satisfied with what they had seen. At the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing in the inner corridor, you shot upright so quickly that Zuko’s cock slipped free. Before you could even register the loss, you were on him.
Your lips crashed into his, hands fisting his hair and dragging him down into a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. He met you with equal force, one hand clamping around the back of your neck. The taste of his blood still lingered between you, and you poured every tangled, confused feeling into his mouth.
When you finally tore away, both your breathing was ragged, foreheads touching. You could feel his seed beginning to ooze out of you, and all you could do was swallow down the dread lodged in your throat.
Steeling yourself, you finally spoke, your voice scarcely more than a whisper—
“I need you to kill me now.”
For a long moment, Zuko simply looked at you.
He slowly leaned back, putting a few inches of space between you. The warmth that had temporarily blossomed vanished as his expression settled back into that familiar, unreadable mask. It was that stoic look you’d become accustomed to in your short time together, that hardness that swallowed every flicker of emotion before it could fully surface. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was angry with himself; he certainly gave off that impression. Perhaps, even if just for a moment, he had forgotten why he was here—forgotten Lord Kage, forgotten the House of the Evening Bloom and all its flowers. If only for a fleeting second, it was just your two souls meeting—like two stars colliding in the darkness—like the Spirits had willed that you meet on this one fateful day before you were both cast back out into the abyss. Regardless, it seemed your repeated request had shattered whatever illusion he’d allowed himself to entertain.
Without answering, he rose from the bed in one smooth motion. You dared to hope that his silence was a reluctant sort of acceptance. You remained seated, tracking him with your eyes as he crossed the room. His broad shoulder blades flexed beneath weathered skin as he bent to retrieve your discarded robe. For a second, you foolishly thought he meant to hand it back—
Instead, he tossed it at you.
You jolted as the embroidered silk struck your chest, sliding down your lap.
“You’re going to kill me, right?” you asked, voice tight.
He ignored the question entirely, as well as the pile of clean clothes the servants had left out. Returning to his discarded dirty pile, he dragged his blood and sweat stained undershirt over his head, followed by the heavier outer layers that carried the dust of half the Earth Kingdom upon them.
“Warden,” you tried again, rising to your feet as you gathered your robe around yourself. Humiliation curled hot up your spine. “We had a deal—”
He let out a slow breath through his nose as he adjusted his scabbard over his shoulders. “Just run away.”
You scowled, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
You thrust your arms into the sleeves of your robes with more force than necessary, fingers fumbling against the silk as anger began to eclipse despair. “That the only escape from this place is death.”
Only then did he fully look at you, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed in irritation. “Can you even hear yourself—”
A deafening crack echoed through the room as the shoji slid open so violently that it rattled in its frame. At the sound, Zuko had immediately assumed a fighter’s position, feet placed a shoulder-width apart, fists raised, while all you could do was gape in disbelief.
Peony stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling in quick, furious breaths, dark eyes fixed entirely upon you—
“You stupid, greedy bitch.” The words left Peony before either you or Zuko had the sense to react. All you could muster was to stare back at her in complete and utter bewilderment. You couldn’t believe she had the gall to march in, especially knowing the Zuko hadn’t left your side yet.
“Peony—” you started.
She crossed the room in three quick strides—entirely ignoring Zuko, who tracked her every movement with a Warden’s assessment—and slapped you hard enough that the force made your head turn. Pain blossomed across your cheek as your balance faltered, one hand flying instinctively to your face as you recoiled in shock. It took you a few baffled seconds, but you eventually lifted your head to look at Peony. She was trembling, not with fear, but with fury.
“I claimed him,” the words came through clenched teeth. “I was there first.”
You blinked at her, still dazed from the blow. Of course, the flowers often fought among themselves; the environment had always been built to pit you against one another, you were each other's competition after all. Though it was historically in the form of public humiliation or a not-so-subtle tongue-lashing, never anything this unbelievably reckless and blatant. But it seemed Peony had long passed the point of caring about consequences.
“The moment he walked through the doors, everyone saw it.” She took another step forward, eyes frantic. “He was mine.”
You couldn’t place her distress. You had expected her to be angry with you, yes, but this fury came from another origin entirely, like beyond the resentment was all-consuming fear. Deep down, you knew this had the stench of Madame Yoru’s meddling attached to it.
“Peony—”
“No,” she snarled. “Don’t you dare.”
The decades of polished smiles and practised elegance you had observed her hold over the years fractured all at once. The closer you stared, the more you noticed the details out of place. The slight smudge of her painted lips bleeding into her white face powder, the decorative pins in her hair slightly askew, eyes glistening with unshed tears—
“You’ve spent years sitting up on your little perch, pretending you were above the rest of us.” She jabbed a finger towards the direction of the display beyond the walls. “Too miserable to work, too miserable to smile, too miserable to earn your keep. Leaving the rest of us to deal with the disgusting, filthy scraps.”
She took another step forward, a manic laugh slipping past her sharp lips. “But the moment a handsome Warden walks through the front doors, suddenly Spider Lily remembers how to descend?”
Your jaw tightened, teeth grinding. “He chose me.”
“Oh, spare me.” Peony laughed with a gasp, clutching at her chest before her dark eyes narrowed with a hiss. “You challenged me. I wanted to drag you off him the moment you left the parlour.”
She pointed her finger at your chest. “I would have, if Madame Yoru hadn’t ordered me to wait until your little performance was over.”
Peony smiled wider, shoving your shoulder with a single, hard blow. “You’ve always been Lord Kage’s favourite, haven’t you? It has to be why Madame Yoru still keeps an embarrassment like you around.”
She shoved you hard again, hard enough that your calves struck the edge of the bed, her hands catching your robes as she made a fist around the embroidered silk. “I’ll make sure you pay for this. I’ll see you stripped of every scrap of favour you have left.”
“And when Lord Kage hears about this—” she yanked you forward, “—he’ll put you back in the box.”
Your hands instinctively flew to her wrists as dread washed over you, your breath hitching—
Her smile had turned vicious, knowing exactly what she was doing to you. “This time they’ll leave there until you forget your own n—”
Her hand drew back, intending to strike you once more. You braced yourself for the impact, frozen in place by just the mere mention of that box. But Peony faltered, her body jerking. You felt her grip loosen, her jaw going slack, a mixture of shock and horror flooding her features.
Confused, she slowly turned her head, and you followed her gaze.
Zuko was no longer half-dressed on the opposite side of the room. The Warden didn’t even seem to be present, replaced instead by a figure wearing a weathered, blue oni mask that obscured their face. But it was only when twin amber eyes met your gaze through the narrow eye slits that the scene before you clicked—
The Blue Spirit stood before you. Zuko, the man you’d spent all evening with—teasing him, sharing stories from a childhood you’d long since pushed to the recesses of your mind, drinking his blood and allowing him to fuck you senseless—was the Blue Spirit. You felt sick, yet almost laughed aloud at the same time. Was this what the Spirits had rewarded you with after a century of waiting and agony? Was this what fate had considered necessary? Two stars, burning fiercely in the night sky, only to explode on contact. Two stars destined to bring destruction to this place, like locusts to a garden. The petals would shrivel, and the flowers would wilt, and the House of the Evening Bloom, the greatest garden in the Earth Kingdom, would finally perish.
Peony’s eyes widened.
“No…” the word barely escaped her lips, and you followed her gaze down her robes. A wooden stake was punched cleanly through her chest, the pointed tip peaking out through a tear in her robes. For a moment, you both stared down at it, disbelief washing over both your faces.
Then the flesh around the wound blackened.
“Peony—” you gasped.
Lurching forward, your instincts overpowered reason, your hands catching her shoulders just as her knees threatened to buckle. For the briefest of moments, you thought you had caught her—until she began to fall apart. The flesh beneath your fingers cracked with a dry, splintering sound, fine fractures appearing across her throat and jaw. It spread over the rest of her body like frost across glass. You watched, horrified, as the colour drained from her skin. Flecks of ash lifted from her cheeks, drifting weightlessly between the two of you.
Her mouth opened as if to scream, but nothing came out.
Peony collapsed inward—not to the floor, but instead through your grasp—dissolving into a cloud of grey ash that slipped through your fingers and settled softly across the tatami. Her crimson robe crumpled a heartbeat later, folding neatly into the empty space where she had stood, as though the woman inside it had never existed at all. The room fell deathly silent, your gaze fixed on the pile of ash. Your empty arms were still outstretched where Peony had stood mere seconds before, your hands curved around nothing. Slowly, very slowly, you lifted your eyes. Zuko—the Blue Spirit—stood motionless, stake still clenched in one hand. The carved, wooden oni mask concealed every trace of expression, but something about the way he stood unnerved you all the same.
And to your disgust, and absolute horror… You couldn’t muster a shred of sadness or grief for Peony. Neither of you had been close, no, one did not make friends in the House of the Evening Bloom. But you had been trapped all the same, two gilded cages directly opposite each other so you could watch the other pace like a wild animal.
No, the only thing you felt was envy—envy that she had been taken, freed from this place, and you had not.
With wide, glassy eyes, you swallowed and slowly lowered yourself to your knees. The movement stirred the ashes scattered around Peony’s discarded robe, her essence swirling briefly across the tatami before it settled once more.
“Go on, do it,” you breathed. “I’m ready.”
The mask tilted, and you couldn’t help but feel there was something almost animalistic about his silent assessment. When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled behind the carved wood.
“No.”
You stared at him. “...No?”
A laugh bubbled in your chest, tight and high as your chest shook. Zuko remained still, towering above you, watching with what you could only imagine was disdain. It was only as tears began to blur your vision, thick, fat droplets pouring down your cheeks and under your chin, that you realised your laughter had morphed into ugly sobs. They rattled your entire body, rattled you so thoroughly that each wail went a wave of pain and nausea through you, your body folding in on itself as you braced your palms against the tatami.
The longer you sobbed, and the longer he silently watched, the hotter the flicker of resentment deep within you began to burn. Your head snapped up, your tearful expression pulled into a snarl as your voice rose despite yourself, finally unconcerned with anyone overhearing your demands.
“Why?” you shouted. “Why won’t you just kill me?”
Zuko scoffed—actually scoffed—and through the slits in the mask, you could see his eyes narrow. “You said only the Blue Spirit stood a chance of killing Lord Kage, that the only reason you wanted death first was because you believed no other man could achieve it. That you were afraid of the consequences of running if he didn’t fall—”
“Stop—”
“So I will kill him. I will kill him, and you will be free.”
“Zuko—”
“Run, run while you still can. You still have a few hours before the sun rises—”
“This wasn’t our deal!” You snarled, finally cutting over him loudly enough that he paused his spiel. “You agreed to kill me.”
He went quiet in a way that made you think he was making a face behind the mask, and his tone hardened as he finally replied. “I never agreed to anything.”
“You don’t seem to understand, do you?” You snapped, exasperated. Sniffling, you wiped at your face with ash-stained hands, anger finally forcing you back into your kneeling position to meet his eye fully. “Everyone and everything I have ever known is dead! They are all bones and dust in the earth now—where would I go, who could I even turn to? There is nowhere for me to run!”
“Then make a new life for yourself.” His voice was sharp enough to cut as he stared down at you, a hint of coldness in the way he held his shoulders. “You survived, what are you so afraid of?”
You laughed again, bitterly, looking at him as if he had lost his mind. Your next words came out in a snarl. “I haven’t seen the sun in years. I am a relic of a time that no longer exists! I don’t even remember my own name—how am I supposed to simply make a new life?”
“You remember enough, even if you pretend you don’t.” Zuko sneered. “That much is clear.”
“I thought you were supposed to be honourable,” you taunted. Maybe if you angered him enough, he would snap and kill you. Maybe if you provoked him, he would abandon the moral high ground, which he appeared determined to sit upon. “I thought as a Warden you were supposed to kill monsters, not fuck them."
The blue oni mask tilted again, his shoulders rising with a deep breath—the only sign that your words had affected him—before slowly settling. The fingers that had been curled into a fist at his side relaxed, the accusations you had hurled fizzling out as he denied you the reaction you desired.
“You’re not a monster,” he muttered, almost pitying. “I never thought you were.”
His softheartedness surprised you enough that you paused, chest heaving, voice trembling. You were a fool. A fucking fool. Kneeling before him, his seed still inside you, begging him to kill you when it was obvious he had never seen you as a threat. For all his callousness and coldness, you’d never expected the Warden to look beyond the act, to want to look beyond the mask.
“I am broken,” you confessed, head hanging low. “I am broken beyond repair. No matter what I do, I will never be free of this place.”
Whatever begninity had overtaken him waned; the familiar sound of a scoff reverbrating from behind the mask. “You are only broken if you allow yourself to remain that way. Pull yourself together.”
You swallowed hard, nails digging into your palms. “Do you know what they do if we disobey? If we try to run away? He will hunt us down, no matter where we run or where we hide. He will find us, and he will drag us down into that box—”
“What box? You all keep talking about this damned box—”
Your eyes flickered to the floor as his voice faded, shrinking in on yourself. Zuko shifted his weight, an uneasy mood sweeping over both of you as he realised your expression didn’t match the reaction he had anticipated.
Darkness flooded your mind, the weight of silence, walls pressing in…
You couldn’t go back.
“What is the box, Spider Lily?” Zuko repeated himself, his tone suddenly and eerily calm.
You couldn’t go back.
“The box…” You began, although your words sounded distant now, muffled and warped. It reminded you of the quiet mornings when all the clients left and the House fell into silence. You would bathe yourself in the lantern light, then slip under the surface, holding yourself there until your lungs burned. “It’s beneath the manor. They keep it past the cellars and wine stores in a room made of stone.”
A tremor passed through you as you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself, unable to look up at the Warden.
“It isn’t large,” you continued after a long, shuddering pause. “Not much taller than a child. It’s wide enough to fit one person, but only just. You can’t stand or lie down. The best you can manage is crouching—knees tucked against your chest, your back bent, and your head lowered.”
“The cramps start after… I don’t know.” You frowned, frustrated, eyes locked onto the tatami, Zuko’s boots at the corner of your vision. “Hours, perhaps. Maybe days. It’s impossible to tell how quickly or slowly time passes. But eventually, your body knows time has passed, your muscles seize and give out. You slump over from exhaustion.”
Your eyes squeezed shut, the room around you disappearing—the darkness, the silence, the phantom iron walls—
“Eventually, you stop trying to find a comfortable position, because there isn’t one.”
Zuko was deathly silent and still across from you.
“It is completely dark, so dark you can’t even see your own hands in front of your face.” Your breath hitched. There was a reason why you and many of the other flowers always kept your rooms lit, even when morning broke. “And silent too, so very silent.”
“You’d be surprised how loud silence can become—at first, you listen for footsteps, voices, anything. Your own mind becomes so loud, so you try to distract your thoughts. You count, you recite songs, poems, recipes, anything your mind can grasp onto.” You laughed softly, a disturbed little sound. “Then you begin hearing things that aren’t there.”
The words left your mouth before you could stop them, rushing out like a tidal wave—
“You hear conversations, laughter, people calling your name, scratching and knocking at the walls. I used to hear my mother singing—” You abruptly cut yourself off. You hadn’t meant to admit that.
You exhaled loudly. Loud enough that your shoulders shook as you finally dared to look up at the Warden. Only the blank oni mask greeted you.
“They never feed you at the same time, they’re careful at making sure you don’t recognise patterns. They don’t want you knowing whether it is morning or night… whether you’ve been there for three days or three weeks. They want you disoriented and afraid.”
Your eyes narrowed as you recalled it.
“But the hunger…” Your hands drifted to your stomach without thinking. “It becomes so terrible and all-consuming that you stop caring. You find yourself licking the inside of the box, because the iron tastes of blood. You convince yourself the rust tastes sweet.”
Another tight laugh bubbled to the surface, caught somewhere between your teeth.
“When they finally do feed you, they pour it through tiny holes in the lid.” Your voice was bitter as you recalled it. “And even if you’ve spent hours telling yourself that you’ll keep your dignity, that you won't give them the satisfaction of seeing you beg, you throw yourself under it. You scramble for every drop—it runs down your face, your clothes, the floor. And they laugh. They stand above the box and laugh while you lap it from the floor. They laugh while you beg for more.”
You held the oni mask’s stare, sullen as you recalled it, the sensation of sticky, half-congealed blood running over your head and face, of sucking the clots caught in your hair. “By the time they let you out, you’ve forgotten why they even put you in there in the first place. So you beg forgiveness for a crime you can’t even remember committing.”
“I’ve been in the box three times,” you admitted. “I don’t know how long for, but I am certain it was months, if not years. All I can remember is that when they opened that lid, I thanked them. I thanked them for their mercy and kindness. That I begged them to put me back to work instead of sending me back to that darkness—”
Zuko turned abruptly. He didn’t so much as spare you another glance before striding towards the shoji. His boots struck the tatami with enough force to make the floorboards underneath creak. You still couldn’t read his expression beneath the oni mask or fully discern the emotion behind his silence, but everything he refused to say was revealed in the stiff set of his shoulders and his precise, clipped movements. A predator, a hunter, a killer—whatever the label, he effortlessly adopted the persona within moments, just as casually as you changed into your robe each evening.
He reached the shoji in three long strikes, his hand shooting out. The wooden frame shuddered violently from his grip, his fingers punching through the paper before he realised the force he’d used. For a heartbeat, he remained locked in place, head bowed ever-so-slightly as though overcoming whatever storm threatened to surface beneath the mask. You had a sickening realisation. The longer you watched his mannerisms, the more obvious it became.
He was furious.
When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerous enough to send a chill through you.
“I am going to kill your master.” His fingers tightened around the frame until the splintering wood creaked. “And then I am going to burn this place to the ground. You’d be wise to run while you still can.”
He slid the shoji open, and the distant, faded sound of sanxian strings and the laughter of drunken patrons floated down the empty hallway. You lurched to your feet, so quickly your knees nearly buckled beneath you.
“No!” The word tore from your throat raw. Your foot caught in the discarded folds of your robe, pitching you forward. You stumbled blindly across the room, crashing hard against the abandoned bath. The heavy wooden tub lurched at the impact, long cold water sloshing over the rim and soaking the sleeves of your robes. You barely felt it, your attention locked onto his back as he began to walk away. The one person capable of ending your ongoing, century-long nightmare was disappearing into the hallway. “I need you to kill me!”
A sound escaped your chest, and you shoved yourself away from the path, palms skidding over the wet timber. Half crawling, half stumbling, you threw yourself after him. Your vision blurred so thoroughly by tears that the doorway became little more than a smear of light. But, by some miracle, you caught him just before he crossed the threshold, your knees striking the tatami with enough force that your teeth clattered as you clung to his ankles.
“Please…” The word came out as a sob. You clutched at the worn leather of his boot, as if your sheer desperation could anchor him in place.
“I need you to…” Your forehead dropped against his shin. “Please… please.”
Your shoulders shook uncontrollably. The tears came harder now, droplets pattering across the leather as your breath dissolved into ragged sobs.
“I need you to free me. I can’t…” You choked. “I can’t do this anymore.”
With a quiet exhale through his nose, Zuko looked down. The carved blue mask peered at you, molten honey eyes lost to the shadows. Ever stoic, he shifted his stance. Not to comfort you, but rather free him himself. Stepping back, he broke your grasp with a firm tug. Your hands closed around empty air.
Without another word, the Blue Spirit disappeared down the corridor.
As the shouting began, you remained collapsed in the doorway, hands still outstretched, sobbing so violently that you were sure your ribcage would cave in.
You did not know how long you had remained on the floor. Time had become meaningless again, dissolving into the same shapeless darkness that had swallowed entire decades of your existence. At some point, the tears had stopped falling quite so freely, though your cheeks remained damp and tight with salt. You stared blankly at the tatami beneath your face, following the woven igusa with unfocused eyes.
Beyond the room, there had been screams. The crash of splintering wood as furniture was thrown, the pounding of hurried footsteps through the corridors, and the shoji slamming open and shut. The carefully rehearsed illusion of the House of the Evening Bloom—the laughter, the music, the flirtation—had collapsed into naked panic. You had barely reacted to any of it. The sounds reached you, distant and distorted. Every cry blurred together until they became little more than white noise—like an earthquake, or the sound of blood rushing in a silent room.
At some point, others had tried to rouse you from your catatonic state. Patrons, fellow flowers, the servant girls you had tried and failed to protect. They had pleaded with you, begged you to move before the flames creeping through the manor swallowed you whole.
Unbeknownst to them, you welcomed the idea.
Each of them eventually gave up, leaving you where you lay. All too terrified by the fire—or maybe rather they were fearful of the Blue Spirit that still prowled the halls. The scent of smoke grew stronger as time passed. At first, it had been faint, an almost pleasant layer to the oudh incense that permanently clung to the walls. Then came the heat, creeping beneath the shoji, filling the room one slow breath at a time. You couldn’t quite find the will to care, to even react to the fact that the House of the Evening Bloom was quite literally burning before you. You simply watched as the smoke became thicker, listening as the walls and roof groaned and shuddered around you. If this was how it ended, then perhaps it was fitting.
You had resigned yourself to your fate, that was, until the shrill voice of Madame Yoru sounded over the chaos. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over you, waking you from your fugue state, suddenly aware of how hot and suffocating the room had become—
“You!” She hissed, and you slowly lifted your head. She no longer resembled the immaculate Mother of Blossoms. Half of her elaborate hairpins had come undone, black hair hanging loose around a face streaked with soot. One sleeve of her expensive, crimson robe had been burned away entirely, exposing blistered and blackened skin beneath, yet she seemed oblivious to the injury.
Her usually cruel expression had melted into something feral, for once her immaculate posture and composure were shattered. She stalked towards you with a snarl. Her nails buried themselves deep into your hair before you even managed to push yourself upright. Agony exploded across your scalp as she dragged you across the tatami.
“What have you done?” she shrieked. “Do you understand what you have done?”
She threw you, hard. You struck the edge of the low table, which was still pushed up against the wall—one of the ornate carved legs splintered on impact, collapsing onto your side.
“What did you tell him—?”
A kick caught you in the ribs.
“What deal did you make with him—?”
You curled instinctively around the blow, arms shielding your head as another strike glanced off your shoulder. Smoke was pouring through the open doorway now, the ceiling groaning above you. Madame Yoru seized your sleeve, hauling you upright, only to slap you hard enough that your vision flashed white.
“I never understood why you were his favourite,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You were always weak and ungrateful. I should have let you starve in that box—”
Her hand shot towards your throat, and you stumbled backwards instead, managing to wrench yourself free as silk tore beneath her fingers. Instinct seized what little remained, and you tore out of the room. Stumbling down the hallway, you dodged upturned furniture, fallen beams and splintered shoji. Somewhere behind you, Madame Yoru screamed.
You burst into the parlour, your hand flying to your mouth as a series of hacking coughs tore from your throat. Thick smoke clawed at your lungs with every inhale, while a wall of blistering heat rolled across your skin so fiercely that your eyes watered. You knew you should’ve kept running, should’ve sprinted out the doors into the street beyond, taken in the world before the sun crept over the horizon, lost yourself in the maze of Ba Sing Se… but instead you were rooted at the centre of the room. Your gaze drifted upward, and you laughed.
The display was burning.
The great tiered platform, once the pride of the House of the Evening bloom, had become little more than a towering pyre. Flames climbed hunrgily from perch to perch, devouring lacquered timber until blackened and spilt apart with deafening cracks. Silk cushions shrivelled, embroidered fabrics curling in on themselves before erupting into showers of glowing embers. How many nights had you spent up in the highest tiers, looking at the men below? How many times had you prayed never to descend those steps again? One by one, the carefully placed seats where you and the other flowers had spent decades waiting to be chosen gave way. You watched as it collapsed inward, showering you in a spectacular burst of sparks and hot wind.
The fire spread greedily across every familiar corner of the parlour. The paint of the red and black pillars crackled, the draperies that had once enshrouded the room billowed as pillars of flame, and the lanterns that had once hung above were lost in the smoke. The low tables lay overturned amongst shattered porcelain, abandoned cups of sake and baijiu bubbling.
Your laughter caught in your throat as movement stirred beyond the smoke—at the mouth of the corridor stood Madame Yoru, and with no hesitation and fangs bared, she lunged.
But to your surprise, and maybe horror, she made it all of half the distance before a blur of blue and black crossed your vision. And much like Peony, Madame Yoru was frozen in place, mouth agape in confusion as she slowly looked down at the wooden stake protruding cleanly through her chest.
Almost immediately, cracks spread across her skin, the shrill sound of her scream cut short as her body fractured, collapsing into a pile of ash that scattered across the burning floor, revealing Zuko. The masked Warden’s chest was heaving, visible wounds poking through slices in the fabric of his clothes. Despite it, deep down you knew. You knew that if Zuko was standing before you… That if the House of the Evening Bloom was burning around you… No, Lord Kage would never have allowed it. So it could only mean… You knew it could only mean that…
Lord Kage, the Red Prince of the Pleasure District, was dead.
The monster was dead.
The Blue Spirit had killed him—he had done what centuries of Wardens before him had failed to accomplish.
He had killed him.
Your knees buckled, and you collapsed before him, a sound caught somewhere between a cough, sob and a laugh escaping you. Suddenly, the smoke no longer felt so unbearable, nor did the heat radiating from the fires surrounding you. As Zuko stepped closer, over the pile of robes and the scattered ashes Madame Yoru had left behind, you raised your chin to meet his gaze with a sniffle. Up close, you could see the full extent of his wounds; some were deep, but nothing life-threatening or crippling. You could even see the bite mark you’d left on his neck peeking out at you from under his undershirt. Blood and ash were smeared over the oni mask, and you studied the blank, smiling expression carved into the wood.
“Lord Kage is dead.” Zuko finally spoke, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the flames, though his voice was gravely from the smoke. “You’re free now.”
Free.
The word felt foreign.
You smiled up at him, not the practised smile of Spider Lily, but simply your smile. Perhaps the first honest smile you had worn since entering the House of the Evening Bloom. And it seemed to tell him all he needed to know, as he didn’t appear surprised as you reached out with trembling hands for the stake still clenched in his fist. He did not stop you as you guided the sharpened point towards your chest, resting it directly over your undead heart.
Still smiling, though tears blurred your vision, you pressed it into your skin, just hard enough to feel the promise waiting on the tip. When you finally spoke, there was no performance left within you. Only the girl Lord Kage had stolen all those years ago, asking for one final act of mercy. You curled your fingers around his and spoke what you hoped would be your final words.
“Kill me.”
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Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart.
You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say…
You—1. Gojo—0.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.
Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.
They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.
“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
—you were laughing.
At him.
“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.
“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”
He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?
Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.
Fuck.
Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.
And his irritation.
He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player?
And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.
After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.
But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him.
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.
And then he’d started playing.
He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.
And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.
He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.
Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.
Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.
Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.
In middle school they adored him just as much.
The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot?
He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him.
And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.
Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.
Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.
Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?
Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.
He smoked them all- hah!
Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.
Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.
They actually did puncture his football.
He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.
But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.
Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.
The offer.
He was glad to leave it all behind.
He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.
All that…for this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair?
Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.
Fuck again.
This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-
And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion.
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.
And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasn’t his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.
Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.
And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-
But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.
“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”
“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”
“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”
You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”
“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”
“Nothing.”
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”
“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”
“Oh-”
“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”
“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”
“What did you just-”
“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”
Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.
He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”
“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’
“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”
You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.
And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—
“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.
And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”
“Mhm.”
“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”
Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”
“Well…”
And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.
Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”
2-3 to Japan.
All the way from 0.
And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.
From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions.
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.
“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”
They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
You’d simply rolled your eyes.
It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?
Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.
Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.
And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs.
To you.
And stops right before you.
“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”
You sigh.
But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.
“Fine.”
“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.
But that earnestness in his eyes…
You wonder if-
Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”
“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”
You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”
“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”
It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”
Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.”
She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”
“No promises.”
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!
He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.
And a flying kiss.
You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.
.
.
.
“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”
“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.”
“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day.
And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.
And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.
And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.
And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”
Ah…
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”
“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”
You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat- now go.”
Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww.
You: I’m blocking you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)
You: Ah, of course.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.
You: Hello, Satoru-san.
(Foot)ballz: hehe
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)
(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…
(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝
With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.
And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.
From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…
That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.
Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.
In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”
“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”
And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”
“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”
He wastes no more time.
“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”
“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”
“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.
.
.
.
“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”
“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”
“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”
That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.
And yet, here you were.
Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.
“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”
You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”
He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”
“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”
“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”
“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”
“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”
“You seem like the type to never retire.”
And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.
“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.
“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”
“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”
“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”
“Getting dating rumors?”
“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”
“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”
Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.
“Did you really mean it?”
Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”
Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”
“I did. Why?”
“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”
“Awwww-”
You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”
“Let me have this moment—”
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.
He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.
There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”
“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”
A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”
You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”
And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.
You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.
With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”
Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—
But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.
Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.
And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”
“Me.”
As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”
“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.
“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.
All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.
“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”
And just as he’s about to lean in-
You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.
But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up and get over here.”
And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—
“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.
“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”
“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”
“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”
“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”
“I’m in.”
And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.
“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-
“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”
“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…
Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
It’s just so much.
You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.
Your eyes widen.
How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”
“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.
But Gojo was…really massive.
Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”
From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.
His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”
“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”
“Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.
The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.
His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin.
He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”
“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”
You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”
“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff.
“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”
“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.
One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.
And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times.
But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”
“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”
He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.
A stalemate.
Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.
With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.
But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”
Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.
You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”
“Now, that’s not very nice~”
And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.
He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”
“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”
“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.
Speaking of tender spots…
“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…”
“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”
“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”
“N-no-”
“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”
“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”
“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”
“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”
Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.
By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-
“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that.
“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”
Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-
“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for.
And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.
“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”
“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”
And, well, a bet is a bet.
You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.
Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—
“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”
You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”
“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”
“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.
You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”
In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.
Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.
Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
“Cock got your-”
“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”
“I-I don’t need to—”
“She’s saying…”
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”
And then he’s tugging at your jersey.
You’re looking up in confusion.
Then he’s pulling at your jersey—
And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And he’s taking you right along with him.
Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.
His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight.
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…
Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.
“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead.
As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”
The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And it’s not just that.
Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?
This fucking good?
And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”
He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”
“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”
“I-I am-”
“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal.
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-
Grinding.
And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.
“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.
And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”
You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.
Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”
“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.
“Fuck-”
“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”
“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.
“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”
He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”
Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”
“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”
“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”
“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”
You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”
“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”
You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”
“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.
“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”
“O-oh my god, Satoru-”
“It’s captain.”
And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”
It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”
And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.
More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.
He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.
Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.
It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping.
Overspilling.
There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”
Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”
And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”
“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”
“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”
“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”
“Of course I remember.” He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”
“Pardon?”
“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.
“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”
“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.
And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”
“Aw, man.”
“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
“Are you new here?”
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldn’t know.
But outside was the waiting room.
He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.
It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.
Well, as the second chair occupied.
So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.
And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. “Yes?”
“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”
“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”
You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”
He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”
“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”
The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”
At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”
“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”
You sigh.
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”
“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”
You share your name.
He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.
And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—
But, Gojo Satoru turns back.
He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”
You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared.
Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.
He’ll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—
“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!”
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.
You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.
“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”
You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”
He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.
A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.
summary: there's a meeting happening and you kept interrupting Zuko from talking which makes him kick everyone out. He tells you to stay and makes you take your punishment but is it really a punishment?
mentions: secret lovers
contents: slight plotxsmut, smut, oral (M receiving), sucking, 18+, uses the word cock, inexperienced shy yet confident Zuko
"Everyone out!" Zuko shouted but his gaze landed on you. You could practically feel the fire inside of him building as he thought about how annoying you were during the meeting. Everyone glanced at each other and then towards you giving a pity smile. It's me isn't it.
"Is everyone going to leave or do I have to make myself clear again." He said sternly. "No Lord Zuko, you guys heard him everyone out." As soon as everyone turned to leave he shouted your name. You stopped dead in your tracks yelling at yourself for interrupting him so many times during the damn meeting.
"You may face me," You slowly turn around glancing at him. He was quite handsome sitting on his throne. "As much as I love hearing your ideas, how do you think people will act if I keep letting you do that during my meetings."
You shrugged your shoulders and give him the biggest smile you can offer. "Hm well maybe if you didn't keep me a secret I wouldn't have to interrupt your meetings for your attention." He chuckled as he reacted to what you were saying. "Come here."
You obeyed immediately. Butterflies quickly swarmed your stomach as you approached your handsome man on his throne. As soon as you're within reach he grabs your arm and pulls you towards him. "Do you remember your punishment if you were to interrupt me so many times again during my meetings?" Your eyes widen in surprise.
"Here?" You questioned as you glace around the meeting room. He smirked and nodded. "You did interrupt my important meetings after all. You're not dumb, you're very smart and so you know what you have to do next as your punishment."
You sighed as you slowly sink down your knees and gulped. You and Zuko have made out quite a few times but never did anything this intimate. This was the first for both of you, zuko has only ever shown his body to you and you take pride in that yet it made you sad that he is still keeping you a secret.
You slowly undid his drawstrings from his pants and pulled down causing his cock to spring free and hit his stomach. Your mouth opens slightly gazing at what you had just witness. Zuko coughed up slightly blushing at your reaction. "Is- is this okay?" He asked softly. Before he can even react you reach forward wrapping your warm soft hands around his thick cock. Zuko groans as you swiftly move your hands up. He felt heavy in your hands yet he was very soft. "You didn't answer my question." He tries to mumble out.
You inched forward and wrapped your mouth around his tip. He gritted his teeth angry at the thought that this feels so damn good. "Does that answer your question?" You leaned forward and wrapped your mouth on his tip again slowly taking more and more of his cock. "That- that feels so good." He tilted his head up as he spreads his legs wider. You looked up at him and noticed how delicious he looks, he still has his clothing on but you can tell that he's taking deep breaths calming himself from not cumming too early. You increase your speed fast making sloppy noises around his cock. Since it was your first time, it was hard to wrap your mouth around his thick cock.
"If- if you don't stop I'm going to cum I think." You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him. "You think?" He shyly looks away. "I've never done anything like this before. Don't judge me, I've had way too much of that my entire life." Your eyes soften as you understood what he meant. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your cheek trying to show him that you care and that you weren't judging him. "It's okay Zuko, I haven't done this either now let me concentrate you are distracting me."
"Me? I'm distracting you? Don't be so-" His words cut off when you fully swallowed his cock in one go. He raised his hips up trying to make you take more. You gag around his cock as he thrust more into your mouth. "I'm sorry I got carried away." You hummed as you grabbed his big hands and placed it on your head. He runs his hands through your soft hair. You move your mouth off his cock with a slight glimmer in your eyes. "Use my mouth Lord Zuko." His eyes widen and you can practically see him gulp. He pushes your head down while he also thrusts his hips up making you take his cock deeper and deeper.
He doesn't stop this time, he keeps chanting your name as if it's the only thing he knows how to say. The flames in the dimly lit room grew larger as he groans out more and more. "I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum, I'm going to-" He thrusts his hips up one last time as he pulses inside your mouth filling it with his cum. He holds you there for a couple of seconds groaning while throwing his head back. "Oh fuck." He mumbles.
You swallow his salty cum and gave him a smile as you wipe your lips from the saliva you created. "Was that good?" You asked as you stood up. He grabbed your sleeves and gave you a kiss. "That was amazing. Thank you." He sits here not believing what just happened. His chests heaves up and down as he tries to catch his breath.
"Now we should probably go before I get asked where I am." He stood up with shaky legs fixing himself, making himself look presentable as you do the same. He steps a couple steps down and raises his hand up for you. "My Lady."
"Why thank you Lord Zuko. The fire in here is quite larger don't you think?" He laughs as you guys walk hand in hand towards the corridor.
"No more secrets." He says as he kisses you at the door not realizing it opened at the same time.
ა ˙˖ in which → firelord zuko deflowers his favorite servant
firelord zuko 𝓍 servant!reader
⤳ content: 8.2k words, p in v sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mentions of virginity, blood, overstimulation, creampie, mentions of cheating
You can remember the exact day it started, this cat and mouse chase between you and Firelord Zuko. It was your first day working at the palace and you had just been assigned to clean his room before he returned from a mission with the Avatar.
It was supposed to be simple. Get in, ensure that not a speck of dust was left behind and get out before he returned home. Easy enough right?
Wrong. Somewhere along your long line of superiors, someone had massively screwed up and failed to notify you that the firelord would be returning early.
You were on your knees with your ass up in the air, your kimono uniform keeping you decent enough as you stretched your body in an attempt to grab a stray piece of fabric from underneath his bed.
“Oh come on! How did he even get that back there..” You had no idea what the thing was, only that it was grating on your nerves and holding you up from your many other duties for the day. Amachiyo would kill you if you slacked on your first day and you really needed this job, as your parents were elderly and no longer able to work. You were the eldest and the responsibility to care for your younger siblings fell on you.
You sighed and stretched your arm further. Just a little closer and you’d be able to hook your finger around it! You were right there, your body half underneath the bed, your tongue poking out the side of your mouth as your face scrunched in determination. Why did he need this big of a bed anyways? It was well known that his majesty and his wife slept in separate quarters, the two hardly concealing their obvious disdain for the other.
You were too busy huffing and muttering obscenities to hear the bedroom door open and close, the sound of shuffling feet coming to a halt at the sight of you bent under the firelord’s bed. When you finally got it you practically sobbed, clutching it tight and scooting back, wiggling your body to free yourself from beneath the wooden bedframe. Your knees and hands were on fire, palms red from the embarrassing amount of time it took you to retrieve the..
You look at the fabric in your hand and squint. Was that.. was that a woman’s undergarments?
Someone cleared their throat just as you nearly were out and you froze, your blood turning cold when the voice spoke and their amusement was evident.
“Not exactly the view I was expecting to return to but I’m not complaining.” The voice chuckled and your heart dropped to your stomach.
You knew that voice. You heard it plenty during the speeches he would give at festivals and events, or the times he’d visit the lower city and you caught a glimpse of him and the conversations he easily held with shop vendors and flustered children. You can practically feel his smothering presence, the heat dripping from his body making the room ten times hotter.
This could not be happening right now. As a servant of the palace, you were paid dearly and in return all you had to do was perform your duties with grace and timeliness. As well as upholding the number one rule that had been installed into you leading up to your first day: do not sully Firelord Zuko with your presence. You had broken all three expectations on your very first day.
I’m definitely getting fired.
“It seems I've frightened you. Would you mind coming from under the bed? Your position isn’t leaving much to imagination. I fear for your honor.” He teases.
As if you suddenly remembered where you were, you quickly removed yourself from beneath the bed, undergarments still tucked in your hand and your heart now in your ass as you attempted to smooth down your kimono and avoided eye contact with the figure towering over you.
“M-my Lord! I- please don’t be angry. I was only cleaning before you returned, I-I swear I was not snooping! I thought I had more t-time-”
You swallowed hard and squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the scolding from hell you knew would soon follow. You had heard all the rumors. That his majesty was quick to anger when inconvenienced, even if he had changed much from when he was a young boy. That he lacked tolerance for incompetence and had even fired someone for making his tea wrong, sending the young boy off in tears.
What would he do to you? You were caught in his private chambers, no less in a compromising position that left your virtue to question. Surely you’d be banished from the country, forced to leave your family behind and flee to the earth kingdom-
You shuffled to your knees and bowed until your head touched the ground and the only thing you could see was the red carpet beneath you. Tears pooled in your eyes and threatened to spill, humiliation eating at you like a parasite.
“If you plan to dismiss me, please allow one of m-my sisters to work in my- my stead. My family won’t survive without-”
You’re cut off by the sound of a deep chuckle filling the room and your blush has covered your entire body at this point, the hair on your arms standing at full attention as goosebumps covered your skin and a tear slipped down your cheek. It wasn’t allowed but you could hardly stop yourself when a sound that angelic basically begged you to lift your head.
You gasped at the sight of your firelord staring down at you, an amused look on his face as he crossed his arms behind his back and lifted a brow, thoroughly entertained as he fought against his rising grin. HIs golden eyes were practically glowing from the warm sun creeping through the drapes, dark bangs falling into his eyes, half blocking the scar on his left eye.
He looked otherworldly. Like a god staring down on his devout worshipper, or a human peering at an ant, and it took all of your remaining strength to fight back the crude thoughts firing up from the sight of him hovering over you, snapping your head back to the ground. He was your ultimate superior, your firelord and you were a mere servant that was meant to neither be seen nor heard.
Your inner thoughts were indecent at best and treasonous at worst. You were far from his wife or even his concubine, and you’d do well to remember that.
“I’m not sure why you think I am cruel enough to fire someone whose job it is to clean up after me. Might I ask where you got this idea that I’m my father?”
Your eyes widened in horror, guilt rotting beneath your skin because you knew better than to believe in rumors but had quickly soaked up the ones pertaining to Zuko’s character and you had never met the man until this very moment. You had first hand witnessed his acts of kindness and yet..
“Forgive my misjudgment, Zu- my lord. My mother always did say my mouth would get me in trouble one day. I tend to spew nonsense when I am nervous, I mean no offense, It is merely gossip that is beneath you.”
The corner of his lip rises, but you don’t see that.
“Hmm, I suppose people tend to grow imaginative when bored. Though you’ll do well to remember that it is beneath you too. Please lift your head from the ground lest you intend to become part of it.”
You were instantly rising, not needing to be told twice as your neck and back were growing stiff from the position. You sat on the back of your legs, knees still digging into the floor and your hands squeezing at the fabric that got you into this disaster, eyes locked on the dark red robes Zuko wore to avoid looking him in the eyes again.
If Amachiyo could see you right now..
“Do you have a name?”
You stammered it out, voice cracking in the process but if Zuko noticed he didn’t say anything. You kept your eyes fixed on his robes, stomach twisting and mind racing.
He let your name flow off his tongue so beautifully, dragging it out until your face was burning from the sound. “Is there a reason you refuse to look at me? Surely it can not be my looks. Sokka insists the scar makes me 'stupidly hot.' I confess I’m still not sure what temperature has to do with it.”
You ignore the last part of that comment, knowing what would come out of your mouth would be far from an appropriate thing for an unwed woman to say to any man that was not her own. “I am forbidden, my lord.”
He simply grunts at that and steps closer, and your heart is thumping so hard that it hurts. You had never been this close to someone of great importance, let alone the firelord himself. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, so you opted for staying still and praying he’d dismiss you lest you embarrass yourself any further.
“Run along then little dove. We wouldn’t want you falling behind on your responsibilities, would we?”
Firelord Zuko was typically a very patient man, however innocent women like you were his guilty pleasure and you were driving him to the brink of insanity. He hadn’t seen you in the two weeks following that day he caught you under his bed, your ass in the air just begging to be fucked.
He was exhausted from his duties and frustrated that you seemed to basically disappear from the palace. It was shameful how badly he wished to see you again, a jest that a mere servant held his thoughts in chains. Zuko thought you might have a secret ability to bend his mind to think of only you, and it was comical as he didn’t even get your name.
He hadn’t slept with any of his concubines since meeting you, his thoughts always drifting back to the frightened maid. It made him feel guilty that he could no longer grow erect with other women, though he’d never leave them unsatisfied. Zuko was far from a selfish lover, even if he never wanted concubines in the first place, he always treated them well.
His current problem? He hadn’t shared his bed in entirely too long and it was starting to mess with his head, making him grow resentful toward you as if you had done something by simply existing.
Needless to say, dinner with his wife was going terribly, what with Zuko’s mood more rotten than it usually was. The clink of silverware against porcelain echoed through the dining hall and his duty sat across from him, regal as ever, her posture straight despite the late hour.
"You've hardly said a word."
Zuko looks up, annoyance evident on his face and he has to force himself to put his mask back in place. It wasn’t her fault that they had been basically forced to marry even if she betrayed him, but that fact didn’t make his reality any easier to accept.
“What is there to say?” He doesn’t miss the way she clenches her jaw, he just doesn’t care so he doesn’t linger on it.
“There’s always matter of state-“
“I just spent all day discussing matters of state.”
His voice was clipped, harsh enough that he hoped to end the conversation but she could never just let things be. Be it at the dinner table or in the gardens with other men.
“You seem distracted.”
Zuko nearly scoffed at that. What a fucking hypocrite. In the early days of their marriage he had vowed to make an effort, even if neither of them wanted this. The clans thought it would be best if he took a wife from one of the bigger three and though he refused in the beginning, he eventually agreed as he was young and dumb, still struggling to keep the elders loyal to him when they had been fierce Ozai supporters.
He regretted that the day he found her in the gardens with one of his guards in the late hours. It’s been years since then and still, they hardly speak to or see each other. Only when Zuko is forced to attend these tiring displays of union to keep everyone happy.
It wasn’t that he would have minded her sleeping around. They were both young when they wed, in relationships with different people prior and hardly knew each other. The way he saw it was that if he could have concubines then she could have her own lovers too, only she broke him after agreeing to give their arranged marriage a chance and he had never been able to forgive her.
Eventually he started sleeping with his concubines and that had been his life for the last eight years. He was fucking miserable.
Zuko let his mind drift back to you, despite knowing he was playing a dangerous game. The way your eyes had widened when he caught you in his chambers, tears forming at the assumption you would be fired, had left him confused and upset that you thought so lowly of him. He had seen frightened servants before but none of them had lingered in his thoughts for weeks afterward.
“Zuko.”
Her voice pulled him back from his wandering mind. He let his fork drop onto his plate, appetite completely gone now and anger simmering through his body. She never talked this much, both of them having mutually agreed to not make this more than what was required to keep people from whispering.
“What?”
Her smile is false, sadness evident on her face and for a split second Zuko almost feels bad about the attitude he’d been giving her. Until the image of her bent behind a flower bush with her dress above her ass and another man having his way with her evades his sight. He had been furious when he caught her all those years ago, especially since he’d only just consummated their marriage a fortnight beforehand.
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
“No. Must not have been important enough.” He sips at his wine with hopes of getting rid of the foulness on his tongue. She never had to do much to rile him up, her voice doing well enough to turn his mood sour.
“At least you’re honest.”
She copies him and sets her own fork down, peering into his eyes from across the table. It made him uncomfortable, as if she could look inside of his head and find that his thoughts belonged to a certain servant he was desperate to see again. He could easily find out who you were, order your higher ups to reveal the name of the woman who cleaned his bedchambers that day, but he didn’t want to come off as a creep. To scare you away before-
“Is there another woman?”
Zuko smirks from behind his wine cup, taking another sip before setting it down again. “No. I am faithfully yours, wife.” Sarcasm laced his voice and the woman’s eye twitched. Good. “Outside of my concubines of course.”
“Forgive me if I find trouble believing that. You do not sound very convincing, husband.”
“There is no other woman, I will not repeat myself. Let’s finish our meal with some level of decorum.”
Zuko’s irritation was rising and his patience was thinning by the second. There technically wasn’t another woman. As firelord he was expected to take concubines to strengthen the chance of producing heirs and she knew and agreed to that. On matters of you, he didn’t even know your name. Even if the way you were on your knees in front of him played in his head night after lonely night.
“Then what is it?” She pressed. “You’ve been absent even while sitting in front of me. I only wish-”
“Must there be a reason?”
“Yes!”
Her voice rings through the dining room, sharp and final and for a moment neither of them speak, the guards shifting awkwardly. The distance between the two of them was larger than the table that separated them. Perhaps in another life they would be able to talk to each other honestly, without the betrayal from the past lingering over them like a dark cloud.
The door to the dining hall opened before he could respond, servants entered to serve the next course but Zuko felt too sick to eat anything else. Guilt twisting in his stomach though he had done nothing wrong.
He barely glanced at them before doing a double take and freezing. Toward the back of the group and carrying a tray with practiced balance, was you, the ghost who had stolen his mind over the past two weeks.
His pulse glitched when you looked up at the same time, his breath catching in his throat because for a sweet, but all too short, few seconds you actually held his gaze. He was hypnotized, and when you looked away his rising smirk quickly turned into a frown.
Such a fucking tease.
Zuko could lie and say that the next time he saw you had been pure coincidence but that wouldn’t be honorable, now would it? He had learned your schedule following that night in the dining hall. You didn’t have to know that though, he would just have to pretend he had no idea that your shift ended an hour ago and that you liked to visit the public gardens afterward.
He’s stood behind you, watching as you bend over in front of the fountain and run your hand down the back of one of the palace cats. He never cared for the things but his younger sister, Kiyi, was fond of them so now they were everywhere. He had to scold his dragon for trying to eat one of them.
You looked so fucking edible outside of your work unifrom, dressed in a silk dress that hugged your ass and hips beautifully and Zuko could feel himself growing hard at the sight. His cheeks burned red at the thought of taking you right here, perhaps his wife had known something about fucking in gardens that he didn’t.
Perhaps he should find out.
“Hmm, scandalous as always.”
You were instantly shooting up and spinning to look at him and his heart almost leaped from his chest. Your hair was free of its usual pulled back style as you opted to let it free fall down your back, your face makeup free and you were so beautiful that it hurt. But the way your robes began to slip off your right shoulder and the wide doe eyed innocent look you were giving him, had his cock straining against his pants.
“My Lord!” You lowered yourself into a bow, hair falling forward and framing your face. “I did not mean to take up space, I was only admiring the gardens and then this cat came along and well, I just had to pet-”
“Please rise and do not apologize. I’m the one intruding, you were here first were you not?”
You were, Zuko knew that because he watched from a safe distance as you entered, waiting for the perfect moment to follow behind you. But that was his secret, right?
You simply stood there with your head bowed respectfully and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. He never liked the rule of not being allowed to look at your superiors but he also hadn’t thought much of it until he met you and decided that such a silly tradition would be dismissed.
“Are you incapable of speaking unless you are apologizing?"
“I’m so-” You quickly close your mouth, biting on the inside of your cheek and still refusing to look at him. Zuko had to fight to keep himself from laughing, you were just too cute. So innocent that you likely had no idea the inappropriate thoughts running through his head right now.
“I’ve found that the gardens look best in the late evening, wouldn’t you agree?”
Of course you would, it was the reason why since you started working here two weeks ago, you came here after every shift without fail. You didn’t know that he knew that though, so he asked anyway.
“Y-yes, my lord.” Your eyes were on everything but him and that just wouldn’t do. He was tired of playing this game, of pretending his attraction wasn’t burning his common sense away, like he didn’t dream of fucking you every night.
So he didn’t think before he was stepping forward, standing tall over you and letting the back of his hand slowly fall down your cheek, relishing in the way you were clearly struggling not to lean into his touch. This was perfect, it was so obvious you wanted him too. Zuko wasn’t alone in feeling this gravitational pull between the two of you.
He lets his finger trail over your bottom lip before gripping your chin between his thumb and index finger, turning your head toward him and lifting until it was tilted back and you were forced to stare at him.
Pure. The feeling that pooled in his stomach was a pure fiery lust that wouldn’t be satiated until he had you quivering beneath him and crying out his name.
“That’s better. From this moment forward you are to look me in the eyes when I speak to you, am I clear?”
He doesn’t miss the way your pupils expand and you allow your body to lean into his, so slightly that if Zuko hadn’t been tracking your every breath he wouldn’t have noticed. “But my lord.. People will talk. The rules-”
“Rules?” He chuckles even though a blush is creeping up his neck at the way you stare so trustfully at him. For the first time in years, he feels nervous. He had been an awkward teenager and horrid at seducing women until puberty kicked in and he learned a thing or two from the many girls that threw themselves at his feet.
“I am the firelord, sweetheart. I do as I wish.”
Zuko was a man of his word. After a desperate struggle to hold himself back from kissing you in public where someone might see, he straightened himself and pulled back, ordering you to meet him in his chambers later that night.
Your heart was racing the entire walk to the east wing of the palace, knowing what he wanted from you because it was what you desperately craved as well. It was why you changed into your finer robes, the finest you could afford as a servant. It was see through enough that your red dress underneath was very obviously visible.
How disgraceful you were, playing into this game with your superior, with a married man. The whispers that would begin once word spread that a mysterious woman that wasn’t the firelord’s wife or concubine, had been spotted entering his chambers, would be enough to bring shame to your family if anyone discovered who you were.
So why were you speeding up your steps to reach his chambers faster? How touch deprived were you to be so eager to sleep with a man you knew would discard you after getting what he wanted?
Still, you announced yourself to the guard posted outside of his door, raising your hand to knock when he confirmed you were who you said you were. Ignoring the way your body shook and your heart pounded in your ears.
On the other side of the door, Zuko was freshly bathed and still dripping with water when you knocked and walked in after he gave the clear. He stood in front of his bed, the small cotton cloth wrapped around his waist doing little to keep him decent, long hair falling down his back, free from the weight of the crown usually nestled atop his head.
“Firelord Zuko, I am here just as you requested.”
You cringe at the formality in your tone. You had never been with a man before and while you knew what Zuko wanted from you and you were more than willing to give it, this was new territory for you. You’d only ever kissed a few men before, never going beyond a heated exchange of spit and maybe a little grinding.
He would be your first.
“Good girl. Shall I reward you for following orders so finely?”
His words had you snapping your head up, eyes blown wide and face burning hot at his pet name. You had quickly believed rumors of his cruelty, terrified of working in the palace and here he was calling you a good girl.
The sudden reality check of Zuko’s true nature gave you whiplash. You can’t help the way your eyes lower, taking in every toned muscle, the scar on his stomach, the drop of water falling so slowly down his tanned skin, the dark trail of hair that disappeared between the cloth wrapped at his waist.
The man was truly out of this world.
“Yes p-please, my lord.” Harlot.
Zuko smirks at the humiliating desperation in your voice, golden eyes burning so bright that you thought he had actual fire in them. As he makes his way toward you, you feel your stomach twist and the goosebumps on your arms double in quantity.
The way he’s walking toward you like the god of seduction has an ache forming between your legs and spit filling your mouth. You have to actively keep your jaw from dropping lest you start drooling. How embarrassing would that be?
When he finally reaches you he’s looming, forcing you to tilt your head back to stare at him. He looked positively masculine, would he be rough with you? The smell of his soap was so strong, so sweet that you wanted to taste it.
He’s being gentle with you, thumb rubbing on your bottom lip as he uses his other hand to slowly untie your robe, never letting his eyes leave yours. His gaze was soul crushing, nerve wrecking enough that your body slightly shook, blood turning cold when his knuckles grazed your gown before he finished untying the knot.
Zuko doesn’t waste a second in pushing your robes to the floor, the soft fabric falling to the sides of your feet. He steps back to admire you and you can feel the flush on your neck and cheeks as his eyes linger on your breasts, hard nipples imprinting on the silk.
You had purposely chosen to forgo your sarashi so your breasts weren’t flattened like they usually were and a sick sense of pride filled your head at the way Zuko was eating you with his eyes.
For a moment you forgot that he was a married man with plenty of concubines to warm his bed, that this was simply a one time thing and he was just using you to get what he wanted.
“Hmm, get on the bed and I shall give you your prize.”
Your eyes are wide, pupils blown black with need and your body is buzzing so much that you can barely feel your fingers that have begun to sweat. Zuko only stands there, hands clasped in front of him as he waits for you to do as you’re told.
You’re too dumbfounded to do anything until he’s raising an eyebrow because from what your short lessons had taught you, the firelord does not repeat himself. So you’re nodding foolishly, hair spilling around your shoulders as you stiffly walk to his bed, trying your best not to collapse and embarrass yourself.
When your knees hit the bed, you turn around to face Zuko and gasp when you see he had been following you and now stood over you once again, dark locks falling into his face.
You swallow hard, your pulse skyrocketing as you reach a hand up to touch him, your fingers tips making the small peach fuzz hair on his face stand to attention the closer you get. Zuko’s eyes only leave yours to look at your lips, his hands moving to your hips to pull you close.
When your hand connects with his cheek, your fingertips brush the scar on his left eye. He stiffened for a moment before melting into the touch. He turns and places a kiss on your wrist, soft and so sweet that it sends shivers down your spine.
Zuko tilts your head up just a little before leaning down, every inch he closes making your knees weaker than they already were. And when his lips finally meet yours, sparks are bursting between the two of you, an invisible tether pulls you deeper into each other.
The kiss had started off slow, your lips moving together slowly as you both savored this moment, until you whimpered softly and your hand tugged at his hair. Zuko groaned back and immediately deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and you immediately suck it into your mouth.
It leaves your head pleasantly spinning, the floor shifting beneath your feet as he moves to grip your ass, both hands full and pulls you flush against him. You could feel his hard cock rubbing at your hip, twitching with need and your pussy is so drenched you can feel your inner thighs growing wet from your arousal as it starts to trickle out of your panties.
He finally pulls back and your left moving forward, aching for more but he keeps you still with a harsh squeeze to your ass.
“You’ve been such a good servant.” He murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. “Now lay on down and spread your legs for me, sweetheart. Your firelord demands it.”
Zuko shoves you onto your back on the bed, your dress riding up your thighs as you gasp. He drops to the floor in front you, slowly sliding your slippers off your feet and kissing your ankles, working his way up your body.
His hands push your gown up as he goes, and when he reaches your clothed cunt it takes the strength of all of his ancestors to stop himself from burying his face into your pussy and eating you through your panties.
Your scent is driving him insane, a mixture of jasmine soap and arousal clouding his senses and he wants nothing more than to devour you, but he wasn’t an animal. He would properly undress you first, take his time with you since you deserved nothing less.
When he reaches your breasts, he pinches each of your already hard nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers and grinning at the breathy moan you tried to fight back, head tossed to the side with your lip tucked between your teeth.
He keeps pushing the gown up your body until you sit up to lift your arms and he pulls it off, tossing it behind him without a care, your hair fanning out on the bed under him as you lay back down and he swears you’re the most divine creature he’s ever seen.
How funny life was, that the woman who made him feel most alive, was the one person his status would never allow him to fully have. Dangerous images started to form, ones where he left his wife and concubines and publicly claimed you as his. Such thoughts were unbecoming of a Fire Lord, untraditional, but Zuko had been breaking those since the day that crown was placed on his head.
What was one more rule overthrown?
The way you’re naively staring up at him has him drunk on desire, his hard cock straining against the towel still wrapped around his waist. He notices how you let your eyes drift across his body, admiring him just as he admired you.
When they land on his hidden twitching length and your eyes widen, he bites back a smirk, enjoying this entirely too much. You were shaking like you’d never done this before, eyes nervously looking around while you chewed on your bottom lip, almost petrified as if you were a-
He pauses, heart quickening at the idea of being your first. His feet move before his mind, reached down to grab your fiddling hands and lacing his fingers with yours to move them above your head. He uses his knee to spread your legs wide and settle his body between them, his cock pressing against your covered pussy.
You lock your legs around his hips, having no clue what you’re doing but following your gut. You're immediately rewarded with a sick pleasure as he grinds into you. It’s almost good enough to cover up the fact that you were terrified, having never gone past the grinding stage.
“Sweetheart..” Zuko whispers “Have you not been deflowered?”
And when you nod your head yes he can’t control the groan that escapes, lowering his head to place his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling long and hard because you smelled too fucking good.
He kisses the area between your shoulder and neck, making his way up until he’s face to face with you again. His pupils have dilated, his eyes burning brighter by the second.
“My my you’re just full of surprises aren’t you, my little dove?”
You swallow hard, your tongue caught in your throat when he starts to move a hand between your thighs, lifting his hips just enough so he can press his fingers against your aching pussy. The first brush of his fingers made you arch off the bed with a cry. He groans, low and guttural as he pushes your panties to the side and teases your entrance, circling but never quite giving you what you craved.
“I’ll take such good care of you, love. Make every second worth it.”
You let out a shaky breath and nod your head again, moving your hips to meet his fingers and growing frustrated when he pulls away.
He laughs at your desperation and it makes you flush hot, ashamed at how desperate you were acting.
“Be patient.”
“Please, Zuko, ngghh fuck.” Your voice cracks as he finally sinks one finger then two inside you, curling just right to make your vision whiten at the edges.
You’re whimpering and tossing your head side to side as he sets a cruelly slow pace, slick dripping down his fingers while he stretches you open. Those heated make out session you shared with men of your status could never live up to this, you were in pure bliss and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.
His breath is hot on your neck, tongue licking taunting strips that have you tightening around his fingers. When you're wet enough and stretched out just right, he picks up the pace bit by bit. Giving you more in small doses.
“That’s it, love. Take what I give you, you’re doing so well.”
He spreads his fingers, scissoring you to help prep you for his cock. You were so fucking tight that if he fucked you at this stage, he’d probably cum within five seconds of being inside you.
Zuko groans loudly when your hands escape his grip and you sink your nails into his back, hips moving in circles around his fingers. He can feel the way your cunt is jumping, clit hard in arousal and he has to taste your or he’ll die, so he’s picking up his pace until his fingers are slamming into you, thumb rubbing harsh circles on your sensitive bud.
Your stomach tightens the longer he goes, a bubble taking root through your body before it bursts and you’re crying out as your very first orgasm rips through you, pussy clenching around his hand.
He kept working you through it, his fingers heating up and your vision turns red from the intense pleasure the newfound warmth added, drawing out every wave until you were a trembling mess beneath him. Only then did he pull his fingers free, glistening with your arousal, and bring them to his lips. His tongue dragged over them with a groan, savoring the taste of you and it has you wanting more .
“What,” You take in a deep breath, face sweaty and burning. “Was that? Did you- did you use your bending on me?”
Zuko shrugs and smiles at you, bangs falling in his face. “A trick I learned. Did you enjoy it?”
Enjoy it? You wanted to laugh in his face because there simply wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what you were feeling, your body trapped between the spirit and living realm. Your pussy was still throbbing from being stretched, legs shaking like jelly as you struggled to catch your breath.
“I want more. Please.” You reach a hand up to touch Zuko’s cheek, thumb rubbing at his scar and you keep your eyes on him as you run your other hand down his side, enjoying the way his body shudders this time.
When you reach the knot keeping the cloth around his hips snug, you start to unwork it, your eyes never leaving his. He lets you, seeming entertained with the idea of you taking charge when only a few hours ago you wouldn’t even look at him.
When it falls to the floor you reach a hand between your bodies, fingers running through his pubes before you wrap them around his cock and he gasps from the sudden contact.
It’s warm, long and thicker than his print let on and your ten seconds of confidence are over before you can enjoy it, hand faltering as you imagine trying to fit that inside of you.
Zuko notices your hesitation, pulling back so he can look at you clearly while rubbing his thumb against your hip. “Don’t think too much about it, love. I promised to be gentle.”
You nod even though nerves still have sweat beading on your forehead. You wanted this, needed this more than anything and even though you knew your parents would be disappointed that you were unwed, you couldn’t find it in you to care.
You would deal with the consequences later, but for now nothing existed outside of this space you and Zuko shared.
“O-okay.” You whisper, the hair on your arms standing to attention when he moves your body up the bed and pulls your panties off, lying on his stomach between your legs as tossing them.
Now you understood how the first pair ended up under his bed.
You whimper as his fingers find your pussy again, circling your overstimulated clit with slow strokes. He nuzzles his nose against your thigh, placing a kiss on it before licking at your entrance in a strip.
You reach a hand down and grab onto his hair, lip catching in your teeth as you start to slowly move your hips against his face. Zuko groans encouragingly, replacing his fingers with his tongue and sucking your clit into his mouth.
You gasp, hand tightening around his black hair as your back arches off the bed and Zuko works you, stretching you open with his index finger, preparing you for what’s to come. Your nipples grow harder by the second, pussy throbbing and leaking juices all over his face and hand.
“My lord?” The voice comes from the other side of the door and you immediately recognize it as a co-workers, your blood turning cold despite the sweat coating your skin.
Panic, pure panic has you attempting to pull your body away but Zuko isn’t having it, using his hand to grab your hip and roughly pin you to the bed. His strength was overwhelming, even while only using half of it he was able to keep you still, attention solely focused on making you cum again.
Tears pull in the corners of your eyes when he adds his middle finger, pushing deep until his knuckles are flush against your pussy, ignoring the voice on the other side of the door.
You’re too gone to truly stop him, legs tightening around his head to pull him closer. You’re bucking widely against him, biting back several moans that threaten to expose your current.. condition.
Zuko uses his powers again, heating his tongue against your clit and you let go, eyes rolling back with your mouth dropped in a silent cry, pussy squirting juices onto the man beneath you. He doesn’t care, doesn’t stop sucking you dry until your legs are dropping from his shoulders.
“I just.. I thought you might be hungry since you skipped dinner.”
“Just ate.” His voice calls out, eyes locked on your eyes with a hint of mischief in them. “Leave me.”
SIlence.
Zuko doesn’t wait, grabbing your legs and hooking them on his arms as he lines his cock up with your entrance. Your eyes are as wide as the moon when he slightly nudges forward, grinding his impressive length through your folds to soak it.
When the sound of footsteps fade away, Zuko doesn’t give you a moment to speak before he’s pushing the tip in. He didn't rush it, didn’t force it. Instead, he held your gaze as he started to push through your tight walls, inch by inch, his breath ragged with restraint.
You cried out as the pain of your broken hymen tore through you, your nails digging into his shoulders. Zuko stilled, his jaw clenched, his voice a rough whisper. “Breathe. Just.. breathe. I’ve got you.”
His cock was discovering new depths, ones his fingers and tongue couldn't quite reach. He stopped with every inch, littering your face in kisses and licking your tears away. “So good for me, love. You’re so brave.”
The feeling of your hymen tearing was sharp and painful, the trick of taking a deep breath only working for a few seconds before it became too overwhelming. Still you bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet but Zuko noticed. Of course he did.
He pulls back, staring down at you with concern etched into his face. “Are you- are you okay? I can stop.” He chokes out the last part when your pussy grips him on instinct, forehead dropping onto yours.
“I just need, mmm, a minute. It burns.”
He kisses the corner of your mouth “My brave little dove. It’ll pass.”
You take deep, shuddering breaths as he gives you time to adjust to his size, his hand cradling your face, lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss as his hair falls on the sides of your face.
When the pain mostly withdrew and was replaced with a deep burn of desire, you nodded for him to continue.
He started by rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts that made your toes curl, making sure to keep his eyes on yours for any signs of discomfort. While Zuko had wanted nothing more than to pound you, he wasn’t a brute and wanted you to enjoy yourself too, especially since it was your first time.
“That’s it. Take all of it, perfect girl.” He grunts, his pelvis rubbing against your clit so beautifully that you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer.
“Haah, oh god! That f-feels amazing, my lord.”
The sound of his title slipping from your tongue has him reeling, leaving him hopelessly flustered and his cheeks dusted pink as he smashes his mouth against yours, your tongues tangling as he picks up his pace. Your pussy suctions every time he pulls far enough out and shoves his cock deep inside, mushroom tip rubbing against your cervix.
It drives you crazy the way he’s stretching you, the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure making the world around you tilt. You lift your hips, silently begging for more and it doesn't take long for Zuko to understand you.
He kisses you one more time before sitting on the back on his legs, grabbing your hips with both hands and leaning over your body to fold you in half. You’re in a mean mating press, your legs pressing into your chest as Zuko hovers over you.
His eyes are burning bright from the lit hearth, his chest red from exertion. Tears pool at the sight, he was truly unbelievable. Zuko was arguably the most powerful man in the realm and here he was, on top of you and in this moment, yours.
“Fuck, I w-won’t last long like this.”
Zuko swears. Something he never does as he finds it to be uncouth, however you were turning him mad, clouding his judgement.
“S’kay.” Your words slurred as you pushed his hair from his face and moved your hips as best as you could in this position. “Just need.. you to move.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Zuko doesn’t start slow because when he looks down and sees the way his cock is snug inside of you, disappearing and reappearing coated in light red blood, he snaps. His body hunches over yours as he slams into you, savoring the way you scream out his name and rake your nails over his chest.
“OH! Zuko, I’m-” You’re whining and tossing your head back, drool and tears leaking down your face, your pussy squelching from blood and arousal, making a big fucking mess on the silk sheets.
“Yes? Tell me, love. Tell your firelord what you need.”
You can’t speak, spit bubbling in your mouth while Zuko fucks you dumb on his cock. He’s pounding you so hard that your body is moving up the bed, the headboard slamming loudly into the wall as he has his way with you.
“I think I know what you need.”
The world tilts when he pulls you off his cock and flips you onto your stomach, using his hands to push your legs together.
“What are you-” Your question is cut short by the feeling of him lowering his body over yours and slipping his cock between your legs, nudging until he’s at your entrance again and pushing through your squishy walls.
“You need more, so I’m giving you more.” He bottoms out in one sharp thrust, his balls smacking against your ass as he starts to ruthlessly pound into you, his hand pushing your face into the mattress.
“Huuuuh, oh fuck! God yes, just like t-that!” Your fingers grip the sheets, knuckles turning white from the force.
Zuko fucks you impossible harder and in return, your pussy clenched around him tight, sucking up his cock and refusing to let go.
He has you in a prone position, propping himself on his elbows so he doesn’t squish you, lips sucking on your neck and making sure to leave marks. If he couldn’t publicly have you, he would make sure others knew you were already claimed. An ugly sense of possession swelling in his chest.
His thrust grows animalistic and your cunt flutters around him. The pressure builds in your core and coils tighter with every stroke.
“So perfect for me, love. Say it, say you’re mine.”
Your back arches, nipples dragging across the bed and you’re stuttering out I’m yours! as the knot in your stomach finally bursts and you’re cumming for the third time. The pleasure is white and it’s hot, your screams muffed as you turn your face into the bed.
Zuko wraps your hair in his hand, twisting it and pulling while he keeps fucking you, cock swelling as he chases his releases. His breathing is ragged, hips pushing you further down.
“Can I- fuck- can you I breed you?”
You nod your head, pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts. He slams into you a few more times before burying himself to the hilt with a loud groan, cock pulsing as hot cum spurts against your cervix, thick and overflowing.
His hips jerk with each pulse, pumping his seed deeper inside you. You feel the warmth of his cum leaking out, further ruining his sheets.
Zuko stays there for a minute, letting the last of his release drip into you before slowly pulling out and falling to the bed beside you.
You slowly roll onto your back, pussy sore and when you can think straight, reality crashes into you that you were no longer pure.
Who would marry you now?
Before anxiety could swallow you whole, Zuko was pulling you into his arms, grabbing your leg to hike it over his waist. You hesitate before laying your head on his chest, relief washing over you that he hadn’t immediately kicked you out.
Tomorrow. You could worry about your future tomorrow. For now, you would enjoy the bliss of being his before you were just his servant again come morning.
“Mine.” He leans down to kiss the top of your head. “All mine.”
He grabs your hand and toys with your ring finger, and you had no idea that Zuko was already planning a way to end his marriage without causing an uproar, thinking of how to ask you to be his girlfriend without scaring you off.
He would have to handle his council first, not that it really mattered in the end. Nothing and no one was going to stop him from making you his.
❦ lisa's note: this took an embarassing amount of time to finish so I hope you guys enjoy it and pls ignore any grammar errors, my brain is fried 🥲 comments are always appreciated!
