Rule #1 of surviving second year med school: Never use mind numbing sex as a cure for pre semester burnout. Rule #2: Pray the stranger who kept you up until dawn isn't your new Cardiovascular Pathology professor.
New professor, Dr. Li, thinks you planned your night together just to manipulate your grades, making him your harshest critic and coldest nightmare.
CW: P in V. Smut 🔞MDNI 🔞
4:30am
He still hadn't stopped.
Your wrists were pinned above your head, both of them caught easily in one of his hands, and the morning light coming through the blinds was doing you no favors because you could see his face clearly and his face was the best face you had ever seen on a man.
"You're being loud again" he murmured, his mouth at your ear "Someone is going to hear you"
"Fuck—" You tried to move your hips and his free hand pressed flat against them and held.
"Look at me."
Dark eyes, completely steady, watching your face with focused attention, like he had been doing it all night and had not yet found it boring.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked
"Nonono, don't stop," you begged"Please don't—"
He drove into you slowly and whatever you were going to say next didn't happen.
He had looked so different last night.
Five hours ago you were sitting at a bar nursing a lime soda, trying to remember what your own name was.
Four days of cardiovascular pathology pre reading. Four days of arterial diagrams and a highlighter that had run out on day two but you'd kept using anyway out of spite, leaving faint colorless streaks across pages you were probably going to have to re read again. Your shoulders were practically locked in a perpetual knot and your brain probably had the texture of wet cement.
You just needed one hour. One hour of not being a medical student.
The bar was quiet, three blocks off campus, a place that played jazz badly enough that nobody stayed for too long. You'd ordered a lime soda because you had an eight AM class tomorrow and because the last time you'd had gin on a weeknight you'd shown up to pharmacology smelling like a bad decision and your study partner had not let it go.
You were two sips in and staring at nothing when someone sat down two stools over.
Dark coat, slightly too nice for the bar. Hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. He ordered a neat scotch, barely touching it, staring straight ahead like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He looked reserved, painfully polite when the bartender handed him his glass.
The jazz got worse.
"They really committed to the trumpet," you said, to the space between you. "I'll give them that."
He looked over. Startled, like he'd forgotten the bar had other people in it. Then something relaxed in his face and the corner of his mouth moved.
"The commitment is admirable," he agreed. "The execution is another matter."
His voice was a little rough at the edges, like it hadn't been used much today.
"First time here?" you asked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You ordered the scotch and their scotch is really bad. Regulars know not to order it."
He looked down at his glass and then yours. "You're drinking lime soda."
"I have class at eight tomorrow."
"So do I."
"Then you're also going to regret the scotch."
"Probably." He didn't drink it. Just turned the glass slightly on the bar. "Is the lime soda better?"
"It's better than you'd expect for this price.” You held out your glass. "Try it."
He looked at the glass. Looked at you.
"Just a sip." You held it closer. "I'm not contagious."
He took the glass. Tried it. "That's better than I expected."
You took the glass back. "The jazz is awful but some drinks are good."
He almost smiled. Properly this time.
An hour later you'd discovered he was also in medicine and wouldn't say more than that. He wasn't shy exactly, more like someone who'd gotten used to not being asked.
You'd ordered another lime soda. He'd switched to water.
An hour later, outside, the night air felt cold, you stood on the sidewalk and looked up at him and the reasonable thing would have been to say well, nice talking to you and go home to get eight hours of sleep before the first day of a very important class.
"My apartment is two blocks from here"
He looked at you for a moment. "Okay"
The quiet reserved man who'd looked startled when you spoke to him lasted approximately as long as it took your front door to click shut behind you.
After that he was something else entirely.
He had your back against the hallway wall before you'd turned the light on, his hands finding your waist like he knew where they were supposed to go, mouth coming down on yours with a deliberateness that had nothing shy about it. He took his time. He was methodical in a way you hadn't been expecting and couldn't have prepared for, working through every response, adjusting, applying what he learned.
He kept you up until early morning. Multiple times. Your voice was gone by three AM, your thighs were shaking by four, and by five you'd stopped being surprised by anything he did.
By six you'd finally fallen asleep, briefly, against his shoulder.
--------
7:15am
"Zayne! Zayne, stop."
"Mmmm"
"I have class at eight. I cannot be late."
"You still have time"
His hips keep a slow rhythm, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His eyes are dark and heavy lidded, completely unbothered by the time.
"I have forty five minutes and I need to shower and find my notes and eat something and I haven't peed since like three AM and I'm not getting an UTI because of you—"
"Just a little more," he whispers, lips brushing against your throat.
"I'm serious," you whine, though your body betrays you, arching up against him instinctively as his grip on your hips tightens. "I can't miss this. It's my first day of —"
"Shh," he cuts you off softly, leaning down to capture your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp before his mouth slides down to your collarbone. "Five more minutes. You're fine. It feels too good to stop now."
"Zay—"
"Look at how wet you still are" he shifts his angle, hitting the exact spot that makes your brain turn to mush.
He rolls you over, pulling you back against his chest, his hand sliding down between your thighs while he fucks you from behind. The friction feels dirty and intoxicating. You bury your face in your pillow to stifle a scream when he fucks you harder, his breath heavy against the back of your neck. He holds you so tight against him that you can feel every single beat of his racing heart against your spine.
Twenty minutes. He ruins you for another twenty minutes, bringing you to a shattering, body shaking orgasm that leaves you breathless and tangled in the damp sheets. When he finally cums, he buries his face in your hair, his heavy body pressing you into the mattress as he lets out a ragged exhale.
Then, he lazily rolls over to his side, reaching for his watch.
7:42 am
He freezes.
You turn your head slowly, watching as his brow furrows, eyes staring at the watch face. He blinks once. Twice.
"What time is it?" you ask, voice cracked and hoarse.
"It's 7:42"
"Holy shit!" You sit up too fast and immediately regret every single decision you'd made in the last eight hours. You rip the covers off, almost falling out of bed as you scramble across the floor. "I'm going to be late! I'm going to be so fucking late!"
Zayne sits up rapidly "Where is my shirt?"
"I don't know." you are already across the room, yanking the closet open, pulling out the first things your hands touch. Jeans. Fine. Sweater. Fine. Socks, where were your socks? you had socks last night!
"Bathroom?" he asks.
"Through there, use whatever you need, just—" you are hopping on one foot getting into your jeans. "Don't use my toothbrush."
A pause from the direction of the bathroom. "I'm not going to use your toothbrush."
You grab your tote bag and start throwing things in. Notebook. Textbook —heavy, unnecessarily heavy, why were medical textbooks built like weapons?. Laptop. Charger. Pen. Another pen because you always lost the first one. Your student ID.
Zayne comes out of the bathroom, his clothes back on and his hair slightly damp. He lookes unfairly composed for someone who had approximately the same amount of sleep as you.
He opens his mouth.
"I have to run," you say, grabbing your keys. "Pull the door shut when you leave, it locks automatically. Don't let anyone in if they knock. Don't—" you pause, calculating, "—actually if anyone knocks just don't answer, my neighbor borrows things and never returns them"
He is watching you with an expression you don't have time to interpret. "Wait—"
"I'm sorry, I have to—bye, thank you, the door—"
You are already in the hallway.
The stairs take thirty seconds. The cold air outside hits you and you break into a run, bag bouncing against your hip, five blocks to the medical campus, the textbook inside the bag apparently made of fucking concrete.
Your thighs stage a formal protest around block two but you ignore them.
You hit the glass doors of the medical building at 7:58 and make it to Lecture Hall 3B with enough time to collapse into a seat in the middle row.
The clock ticks to 8:00.
You look up at the front of the room.
The podium is empty.
Other students are settling in, opening laptops, existing normally, having presumably slept normal amounts and done normal things last night. You push your hair back. Catch your breath. Tell your body to behave itself.
You pull out the textbook. Open it to chapter one. Anatomy and Hemodynamics of the Cardiac Muscle.
The door at the front of the lecture hall opens.
Quiet footsteps on the floor, the kind that don't rush. The room goes silent and a tall figure in a dark coat crosses to the podium and looks out at the room.
"Good morning."
You stop breathing.
That voice. You know that voice. It's the exact voice that called you good girl thirty minutes ago.
You lift your head from your textbook very slowly.
Dark hair, white shirt, perfectly buttoned, every button in the right place, no evidence of the last eight hours anywhere on him.
He reaches up and adjusts his glasses.
His eyes move across the room, row by row, and when they reach the middle section they find you immediately.
You watch him breathe.
Just once. Just a short arrested thing, his eyes stopping briefly on your face, your very flushed, still slightly out of breath face.
He clears his throat once.
"I'm Dr. Li," he says, and his voice comes out perfectly even, not a single crack in it "And I will be your professor for Cardiovascular Pathology."
You are so fucked.
Idea inspired by this 👇🏻🩷🩷. Will there be a scene like this? Yeah🤭
I know, I already have too many wips but I couldn't help it😭
┃nobody knows Nanami moves like an animal behind closed doors.
───────────────────────────────
"a-aah fuck, Nanami~"
you're tied up to the bedpost, flat on your stomach, taking your husbands dick greedily. It's dark outside, indicating he's been inside you for hours now. His big hands push your waist further into the mattress, keeping you in place.
"F-fuck, stay riiight there, honey." he groans into your ear, sending zaps to your clit.
You met Nanami at the office. You fell in love with how gentle he was. He was so patient with you, going at a pace you were comfortable with.
The first time you had sex with him, you told him how you have a very high sex drive, and that you understand if that's something he's uncomfortable with. But he simply said, "Okay."
You were confused at first, but he quickly proved keeping up with you in bed wouldn't be an issue.
Who would've thought the quiet coworker was an absolute animal in bed?
"w-wait Nanami, too much a-aah" you mewl.
"Use your safe word then, honey." he taunts.
his thumbs swipes on your clit, making your back arch off the bed, but he keeps you right in place, making sure you take all of him.
You knew your safe word. He made sure it was engraved in your mind, and you should use it right now, but he feels so good inside your cunt. Pumping in and out in a pace that made you roll your eyes back. He's stuffed you so full of cum, it's oozing out.
"You're wasting all of my cum, honey. Keep it inside for me, yeah?"
He falls on top of your back and grinds deeper inside. He's so heavy and big in every aspect.
"I-I'm sorry, I can't control i-it."
"It's okay, honey. Just gotta fill you up with more of me, right?"
His arm moves to your neck, putting you in a chokehold; your chin sits on his elbow. He squeezes slightly, making you squirt all over his cock.
The night was far from over. But you're right where you want to be.
Hiiiii can I please request the gaang seeing their girl in lingerie for the first time
POST ATLA GANG REACTION TO LINGERIE ⪩ ⪨ ꠹
Paring/Post: Toph, Zuko, Aang, Katara, Sokka x female reader
Content: 18+, suggestive themes, neck kisses, etc
This was a fun write! Thanks for the req! I wanted to add Tagah so badly to this lololol! No proofread!
SOKKA
“All right all right, let’s cut to the chase. What’s the surprise?”
The light blue lace hugging your body fit nice and snug against your frame. You bought a few clothes from the local tailor a few hours ago when you went shopping. You were originally going to get some groceries, but a cute little lingerie set in the back corner on display caught your eye. You were surprisingly a perfect fit, and the saleswoman had definitely played you like a fool since you had bought it in an instant after trying it on. You had put a blindfold on Sokka after the two of you had eaten dinner, promising him a surprise he couldn’t resist getting his hands on.
“Impatient, huh,” you pull away from him, “maybe you don’t deserve the surprise. I’ll just take it back to the store a—”
“Ok- ok, I’m sorry.” Sokka reaches out for your wrist, strong hand gripping you back toward him. “I’m sorry, forgive me?”
“Mhhh,” you swirl your fingers over his wrist, “maybe, it depends on how grateful you are at the end of the day.”
Slowly, you untie the thick messy knot at the back of his head, smiling giddily when you hear the groan of impatience leave his anticipating lips. You were a bit nervous for his reaction, granted, you’ve never tried wearing anything as risky as this in your entire life.
The makeshift blindfold droops into his lap before puddling to the floor. His eyes light with excitement, then they lower into a wide dim stare. His mouth shuts like a box, a soft clamp that makes you shiver in embarrassment. Did he not like it?
“Sokka?”
You wave your hand over his blank face, not even earning a mere flinch from his eyes.
“What?” You thrust your hand into his forehead, giving him a firm smack that knocks him back into reality. “Do you not like it? If you think I look bad all you have to do is just say so!” Letting out a huff of frustration and embarrassment you turn to leave. You should have known better than to wear this stupid thing.
“Wait!” A hard tug pulls you back onto Sokka’s shaking thighs, he hugs your warm waist tightly to his stomach, nose burying into your shoulder.
“Let me go— mph!” His lips meet yours, his strong hand gripping your chin so you can’t escape the intrusion of his warm silk tongue.
He grips your thighs, rubbing your hips against him, you felt the delectably hard girth from under his pants push against your ass.
“Don’t walk away from me like that, it’s not fair to me,” he sniffs in your scent. “I plan on enjoying my surprise tonight…”
TOPH
“You want to “show” me an outfit?”
You were standing in front of your girlfriend pretty much bare, the only thing you had on was a cheap small black lingerie set. It was a dress shaped set, not too revealing but it covered your lower body completely. The upper part would be the surprise. It was thin, laced and tight, and your nipples poked out thanks to the sharp freeze from the cool air.
“ I want you to feel around it, c’mon, let me know if you like it, Kay?”
“Let me know if it feels good, c’mon don’t be a bummer—“ you twirl your arms around her slim strong shoulders, burying your cheek into her neck. “You’re hurting my feelings..”
“What the hell am I even supposed to say?” She pushes you off her onto the soft cushion below “this stitching feels great,” she bats her eyes “oh, and the way the lines hold the outfit together is just perfect…”
“Toppphhh” you groan loudly in protest “cmon! Just feel my outfit!”
“If I do it will you stop bugging me and let me sleep?”
“Mhm!—Mhm!” You gleefully hop from the pillow on the ground, feet scraping up sand as you walk to her on the hammock. “I think you’ll like it.”
You grab her wrists, placing her calloused palms on your hips.
“Oh wow, a normal dress, can I stop now?”
“Not yet, rub higher.”
Her fingers felt ticklish against your skin, you loved how careful and precise her attention to detail was despite her complaining. She etched over each precious line, each stitch until she got to your chest. Her hard fingertips grazed delicately across your pebbled nipples, you both couldn’t help but gasp out together, her from shock, and you, well you felt electric.
“What the hell are you wearing? Are you even wearing anything?” You feel a hard rising pressure between your feet before sand bends around your legs, hooking your ankles together so she can pull you onto her lap. You laugh viciously when she tickles across your ribcage, her face twisting in confusion when she rubs again at your chest. Her fingertips were extremely dry and calloused, plucking your nipples upward in an involuntary act of pleasure.
“Are you doing this to get a rise out of me?” she snarls, grabbing tightly at your waist as you try to scurry away. “Because it’s working..”
KATARA
“I was planning on joining you, are you really going back to bed without me?” Katara’s voice rang happily out in the dark room. You were under the covers in your shared bedroom, eyes hazy with sleep when Katara finally shows up after hours outside helping Sokka outside. You had put on a cute lingerie set hours ago, hoping that she’d come back eventually and see you in it. But now, you just didn’t have the energy…
“Sorry,” you give a weary smile, scooting over so she could lay down beside you, “you just took so longggg, m’so tired.” Katara gives a half offended huff, pushing a pillow into your face as she laughs vigorously while you struggle underneath her.
“I got a bit distracted with Sokka, he wanted my help testing out his new invention. I told you that!”
“A new invention..” you teasingly cringe “I’m surprised it didn’t kill you.. you must be so tense? Right?” You lift up from your blanket to hug Katara from behind, her shoulders were tense as expected.
“Yeah it was, he was making a big mess and ohhh—“ your hands knead into her back and shoulders while you kiss alongside her neck with peppered pecks. “Sweetheart,” she rasps out “didn’t you say you were tired..? You don’t have to do this for me…”
“Oh shush,” you smile. “If I didn’t want to do it, I’d be back in bed asleep, besides..” you bite into her shoulder, causing her to yelp “I like making you feel good…”
Katara’s soft moans were like music to your ears, you were starting to grow greedy, needy once more for her despite being tired. “Lay back for me, won’t you?”
She does so almost immediately, laying back on the fluffy pillows with a soft sigh of relief, her calloused hands rubbing on your thighs up to your ass before she finally feels thin lace. Her eyes pop open when you crawl on top of her, and if you looked close enough, you were sure you could see some drool oozing down her plump bottom lip. “When did you…?” She whispered, blue eyes big and round as she admires you from below. “Oh sweetheart..” she bites her lip, a hint of guilt evident on her pretty features “You’re making me feel bad now.” She lightheartedly says “You waited up for me in this? “ her strong hands grip into your soft thighs, massaging into you just to hear you moan out.
“Wanted to surprise you..” you pant out when she leans in to bite your thigh.
“I am surprised..”
“Hopefully in a good way?” You shyly inquired, noting how soft her expression gets when she sees your hesitation.
“Maybe I should show you how I feel…” she lifts your legs a bit, peeling the thin bottom lace that shielded none of your pussy to the side. “C’mon, sit down will you? “
ZUKO
“Zuko, are you in here?” You were sneaking all around the palace to look for your husband. He had said he’d be in bed two hours ago, but when you woke up minutes earlier he wasn’t there. It must mean he was still in his throne room. You were in a long robe to cover up your lingerie you had personally requested from your personal tailor. You were with a servant, your friend, who had snuck you out of your room so you could sneakily go find your husband. It was her idea to get this lingerie in the first place, might as well execute your plan since Zuko was prone to being alone since there were so many guards out front.
“Why are we sneaking in again?”
“Obviously because, I don’t want anyone to see me in this..now help me out!”
“There’s a door , servant quarters that leads to the throne room, follow me..” you both sneak inside, making sure to be silent before you enter the side of the throne room. It was empty as expected besides Zuko sitting dead asleep in the middle. You tip toe to him, making sure you’re flush against him before blowing a puff in his ear.
“What the—“ Zuko stiffened in your hold, only relaxing when he sees the cute pout etched on your face in the dim light. “Mhh..” he rubs away the sleep from his eyes before hugging you close. “I missed bedtime didn’t I?”
“Yup..”
“Mh, baby I’m sorry..” he yawns out before he gives a puzzled expression. “Did you walk all the way here in this robe?” He tugs at the silk like fabric in his large hands.
“I have my ways of getting where I need to..now, how are you gonna make it up to me for breaking our promise?”
“Mhh.. what do you..” he yawns, “want me to do?”
“I have a few things in mind.” You lower your robe, licking your lips when you notice your husband’s tired expression jolt up in shock.
“What the–“ he grips you “Baby— did” he looks around “did anyone see you in this?”
You furrow your brows, “no, why? You ashamed?”
“No–“ he chokes out apologetically,, “ Just wanted to make sure they didn’t see what was mine..”
you shift on his lap when you feel a large hardness under you, his pale cheeks pink and shy. “Damn it.. you look gorgeous.”
AANG
“Aang you’re home!” You were in a new long robe, a robe you had bought from the local tailor a few days ago. Aang was visiting a new temple, leaving you alone at home for the past few days. You were friends with the tailor, and since it was your birthday she had gifted you a cute lingerie set despite your vivid hesitation. You were shy about wearing clothes like that, and well.. as for your husband, you weren’t too sure if he even liked stuff like this in the first place. Would he brush it off? You made sure to wear a robe just in case, wanting to at least give him a warm welcome before you strip yourself almost bare in front of him. “How was the trip? You look so exhausted..” you grab his strong hand, leading him into the bedroom. “You must rest.. I insist..” You don’t give him a chance to speak, maybe you were holding things off.. maybe you wanted to distract him from this expensive looking robe around your body so he wouldn’t ask questions, but you know Aang.. he has to ask anyways.
“That’s new, I’ve never seen that on you before, where did you get it?” He rubs along your hip, smug smile evident on his face when he notices your timid face. “You look beautiful..”
“You really think so?” There we go, there was that pretty smile. “I got it from my friend, you know her, she’s Naomi, the tailor shop owner..”
“Ah, I’d recognize her stitching anywhere..” he playfully said “it suits her style, I should have known.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” you play with his lips, rubbing your thumb across the chapped rubber like texture. “How was the trip?”
“Agh— right, I forgot..” he rubs his head, sighing “didn’t find too much of anything. Nothing to bring back to my collection at least..”
“Maybe we should go together next time,” you hum, in which he gives a nod.
“We should, but sweetheart, it’s a bit warm in here,” he rubs across your shoulder, linking his hand under the robe before lowering it down. “You should take this—“
“—Off…”
Aang face immediately flushes red, his big gray eyes widening in shock and awe all at once.
“Shit—“ you scramble to tug your robe back, but Aang holds your wrist firmly in his.
“…She uhm..” you gulp down a nervous breath “she gave me this too.. Do you like it?”
“Sweetheart..” Aang never failed to make you feel like air when he carried you with his big arms, he was pretty quick to flip you gently underneath him. “Do I like it? God yes… you look..”
He bites his puffy lip, eyes darkening in need when he finally gets a full view of the tight lace hugging your skin. Only Aang knew you’d be unable to walk next morning by the time he’s done with you.
Synopsis... While on vacation at Ember Island, your two best friends discover that you struggle with low self-esteem, and decide to cheer you up in the best way.
Pairing: Sokka x reader x Zuko
Warnings: Smut MDNI; FEM!Reader; threesome; size kink grrr; cervíx kíssing; p in v; pet names, swéaring; matíng presses; multiple positions; oral (m & f receiving), kissing both Zuko and Sokka; If you squint, the characters have a crush on the reader; dirty talk; fingering pssy; unprotected s; tummy bulges; creampiess; hEADLOCKS; hair pulling; squirting. —this is for the girls, the bi and their wifes (reader).
[ 🌸 ] brrr--my spirit animal is Toph because she also fall in love with the hot guy
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..
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You shifted slightly with a soft hum, letting the warm sand sink beneath your feet. The murmur of the ocean was calm, steady—like it was accompanying the light conversation you were sharing with Zuko. Sitting on your towel, facing the quiet horizon, you could hear Aang and Katara laughing somewhere in the distance, probably chasing Momo through the waves.
Toph, meanwhile, was sprawled out on the sand with her arms and legs stretched wide, like a carefree starfish. You wondered, not without a hint of envy, if she had already fallen asleep. She probably had—the girl was calm, solid as a rock.
Zuko was sitting beside you.
It was… strange seeing him like this.
You had always known him tense, carrying the weight of being the Fire Lord even in the simplest moments. But now, with the breeze brushing through his dark hair and his expression relaxed, he seemed like someone entirely different.
“It’s a beautiful place, Zuko… thank you,” you murmured softly.
Your gaze lingered on his hands for a second too long—large, steady hands moving with unexpected gentleness as he brushed a few dark strands away from his face.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied with a small smile.
His golden eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something there. Something warm. Soft.
Your heart skipped.
You probably imagined it… right?
Yeah. That had to be it.
You were about to say something—anything to fill the silence that suddenly felt too aware—but Sokka appeared out of nowhere, returning from the bar with three drinks in hand.
“Hope you didn’t miss me too much… although that would be flattering,” he said, winking at you dramatically.
The joke was terrible.
And precisely because of that, you couldn’t help the smile slipping out.
His hand trembled slightly as he handed you your drink.
“Here you go,” he added before turning to Zuko. “And this one’s yours. Hope you go completely wild tonight.”
Zuko blinked, visibly confused, unsure how to respond.
You bit your lip, holding back a laugh.
Their dynamic… never stopped being ridiculously entertaining.
…
You remained seated on the towel, drink in hand, watching the waves roll in and out… but not really seeing them.
Something inside you had dimmed.
Maybe it was the way Katara looked so radiant under the sun—so beautiful, so confident. Even Toph, lying there without a care in the world, seemed more… secure. More comfortable in her own skin than you had ever felt.
You let out a quiet sigh.
“Are you okay?” Zuko’s voice came closer than you expected.
You turned your head slightly. He wasn’t relaxed anymore—he was watching you with that quiet attentiveness of his, the kind that always seemed to see more than you said.
“Yeah… just tired,” you lied, lowering your gaze to the drink in your hands.
A brief silence.
“That didn’t sound very convincing,” Sokka added nearby.
You huffed softly. “Didn’t know you were an expert in emotions now.”
“I am,” he shot back without hesitation. “Especially when someone’s making that face.”
“What face?”
“That ‘I’m fine’ face when you’re clearly not.”
You rolled your eyes, though without much energy to argue. You took a small sip, the bitterness of the alcohol warming your throat uncomfortably. Zuko, meanwhile, stayed quiet.
Instead, you felt his hand brush against yours—just barely, like he was testing whether you’d pull away.
You didn’t. You didn’t have the strength to.
“You don’t have to pretend,” he said softly.
His tone was different. Softer. Closer.
Something in your chest tightened.
“I’m not pretending…”
“Yes, you are,” Sokka cut in, this time without his usual teasing tone. “And it’s weird, because you’re usually terrible at lying.”
You looked at him, ready to snap back—but the words didn’t come.
Because they were right.
You dropped your gaze again, that uncomfortable knot forming in your throat.
“It’s just that…” you started, but stopped.
What were you even going to say?
That you didn’t feel like enough.
That even surrounded by them, part of you still felt out of place.
Ridiculous.
You shook your head. “Forget it.”
But this time, Zuko didn’t let you slip away so easily.
His hand moved, covering yours completely. His warmth contrasted with the cool ocean breeze.
“Look at me,” he said.
You hesitated.
But you did. And there it was again—that look.
“You’re not out of place here. You know that, right?”
You blinked, startled, something inside you wavering.
“Then why does it feel like it?” you murmured.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was… heavy.
Sokka sighed softly beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because your head is a terrible place to live sometimes. Trust me, I’ve got experience.”
That earned a small smile from you.
“But that doesn’t make it true,” he added, leaning closer.
Zuko didn’t look away. “If you could see yourself the way we see you…” he started, then trailed off.
“It’d be a lot harder for you to think like that,” Sokka finished with a half-smile.
Heat crept up your face. “You’re exaggerating…”
“No,” Zuko said firmly. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin—a small gesture, but enough to make you lose your train of thought. “We’re not.”
The air shifted.
Heavier. Closer.
Sokka rested an arm behind you, close enough for you to feel him without it being overwhelming. “Besides,” he added with a crooked smile, “if you weren’t amazing… why do you think we’re here with you instead of annoying someone else?”
A soft laugh escaped you—this time more genuine. “That proves nothing.”
“Of course it does,” he said. “I don’t share my time with just anyone.”
“Neither do I,” Zuko added, not breaking eye contact.
That didn’t sound like a joke.
…
You met Zuko through Sokka.
At first, it was… complicated. But slowly, you started to understand who he really was—beyond the rigid posture and intimidating stare, there was someone patient, restrained… deeply gentle.
And despite everything—the war, the title, the weight they both carried as friends of the Avatar—they still held onto something that completely disarmed you:
That simplicity.
That way they were with you, like… you were enough.
Even if you still struggled to believe it.
And yet, here you were now between them, in the beautiful bedroom Zuko ordered to prepare so you could rest, except you wouldn’t do that tonight—you kiss Sokka while Zuko trailed wet kisses down your neck, his hands exploring your body with a certain hesitance while Sokka worked at the knots of your bikini.
You pulled away from Sokka just enough to breathe, but he chased your lips, trying to drag the kiss out longer. A soft kiss brushed your cheek before a hand gently turned your head—Zuko’s lips grazed the corner of your mouth before claiming you fully, while Sokka pressed kisses along your jaw.
The sudden air against your now bare skin, paired with Sokka’s firm grip on your ass, tore a moan from your throat—one Zuko swallowed with a low, approving sound.
His movements were slow at first, almost unsure, like he was learning you—until he found the right angle and kissed you properly. Deep. Consuming. His tongue dragging against yours in a way that made your breath hitch. It was hungry—devouring you like a man starved, leaving you breathless.
God… you were almost certain your collarbones and chest were flushed red from the relentless attention of Sokka’s mouth.
Zuko pulled back, breath uneven, eyes dark with desire—just like Sokka’s.
“Are you okay with continuing?” Sokka asked against your neck, then looked at you seriously.
Zuko pulled back slightly, waiting.
Waiting for your answer. And spirits—you felt so heard. So cared for.
They wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want. They wouldn’t. You nodded first, flushed and breathless before managing, “Yeah… I’m sure.”
Sokka was the first to take control, guiding you onto the bed—and for a second, you wondered if all three of you would even fit, because for the first time you really noticed the difference in their builds.
Sokka was only a few centimeters taller than Zuko, a bit leaner, but his muscles were well-defined. Zuko, on the other hand, was broader—his sturdier frame sometimes made him seem taller than he actually was.
And then there was you—between them, feeling smaller.
You sat slowly on the soft mattress, your gaze flicking from Sokka to Zuko, their eyes dark as they took you in. You could feel the slick heat between your thighs, your arousal already soaking your folds and inner thighs.
Your hands trembled—just slightly—as you reached for the waistband of their shorts, pushing them down slowly.
Zuko wouldn’t admit it out loud, but this was the first time anyone had ever sucked him off.
He watched you carefully while Sokka settled behind you, his cock already hard, right in front of your face.
Your eyes lingered on Zuko first.
His cock was… intimidating. Thick, veined, the head flushed with need, a few drops of pre-cum already sliding down the length of him.
Sokka’s, in contrast, was prettier—slightly curved, slimmer—but something told you he’d still make you cry.
You felt him behind you, brushing against your entrance. For a moment, you thought he’d push into your wet cunt—but he didn’t. Not yet.
Your hand, steadier now, wrapped around Zuko’s cock, moving slowly, timidly at first, stroking up and down—trying not to miss a single inch.
Zuko—usually so composed—struggled to keep his breathing steady.
Then he felt your mouth.
Warm. Wet. Wrapping around him.
Spirits… your lips stretched around him, and you were sure the corners of your mouth would ache later.
You tried to focus, but Sokka’s hands roaming your body made it impossible. His fingers dragged along your skin before pinching your nipples lightly, his lips leaving wet kisses along your neck.
A moan slipped out of you—vibrating around Zuko’s cock—and he let out a low groan in response.
Sokka’s fingers slid lower, almost playfully, finding the wet heat between your thighs.
He didn’t hesitate.
His fingers circled your clit slowly, teasing, drawing it out—making sure your orgasm stayed just out of reach.
Your muffled moans pressed against Zuko, your lips wrapped around him.
“Look at her… so wet. Such a dirty girl,” Sokka murmured hoarsely against your ear.
Then his arm slipped around your neck—not tight, but firm enough to guide you—keeping you right where he wanted you, still sucking Zuko’s cock.
Your half-lidded eyes lifted to Zuko, and you could see it—his control slipping, the tension in his jaw as he tried to hold himself together.
Your saliva dripped down your chin, making a mess of you.
A pretty mess.
You sucked him a few more times before pulling back for air, your tongue dragging slowly along his length, licking up the saliva that had gathered there.
Then you turned toward Sokka—your gaze hungry.
Yeah.
You were completely worked up. His fingers left your heat only long enough to lay you back on the bed.
He followed immediately, a crooked smile on his lips. For a brief second, warmth bloomed in your chest—something soft you couldn’t quite place—but it vanished the moment you felt lips press against your soaked folds.
Zuko.
A curse slipped from your mouth before it turned into a moan against Sokka’s lips, because he was already kissing you again while Zuko’s large hands spread your legs wider.
Your hand—no longer shy—slid into Zuko’s dark hair, guiding him, pressing him closer as he kissed your clit.
Something he was more than willing to keep doing.
Sokka’s hands covered your breasts, kneading your flesh like he couldn’t get enough. His mouth left yours just long enough to kiss your nipples before he straightened slightly, bringing his cock closer to your lips.
His fingers tightened in your hair. You didn’t hesitate. You took him into your mouth while Zuko ate you out.
You weren’t going to last.
Not when Zuko’s fingers slid inside you, searching for the right rhythm to push you closer to the edge. Sokka wasn’t far behind either—the way his grip on your hair tightened, the way he fucked your mouth—you were a fucking sight.
“That’s it… come for us.”
You whimpered as your climax crashed into you, your senses overwhelmed.
Sokka cursed under his breath before pulling away, spilling across your face.
You were too dazed to even process the feeling of his cum on your skin, though you vaguely registered him yelping, apologizing as he scrambled for something to clean you.
Zuko looked up at you from between your thighs, a little awkward, a little concerned—but there was something warm in his gaze that made your cunt clench again.
Sokka came back with a cloth, gently wiping your face. “You okay?”
You nodded weakly, letting out a breath. “Yeah… that felt good.” You wanted to keep going.
Spirits, you really did. Who knew if these two incredibly attractive men would ever fuck you again? Zuko helped you stand up, then turned you around so your back faced him and—
You yelped when he suddenly lifted you, your legs spreading instinctively as his strong arms held you up. You were completely exposed in front of Sokka—your flushed, swollen clit on full display. You were a show. You felt the tip of Zuko’s cock press against your entrance, making you gasp. “Relax,” he murmured against your ear.
You tried.
You really did.
Because when he pushed inside, it felt like he might split you in half—but it felt so good. Your wet cunt swallowed him whole. He gave you a moment to adjust before starting to move—slow at first, each thrust deeper than the last. Your body stretched around him, adjusting, taking more and more.
The angle—
God, the angle—
He was so deep, hitting your cervix with every thrust, making your mouth fall open, drool slipping past your lips. You couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat when he shifted slightly and—
There.
Your G-spot.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better—
Sokka leaned in and started licking your clit. Your toes curled tightly, your whole body shaking from the overwhelming sensations crashing into you. You sobbed as you came hard, your body giving in completely—your release spilling out, soaking Sokka’s face. You squirt right in his face.
“Look at you… shameless. Getting him all messy too… is that payback?” Zuko murmured against your neck, amusement in his voice. You flushed harder—but before you could even try to apologize—
Sokka licked you clean. Completely.
Melting you all over again. “Did that make you clench? Fuck… such a dirty girl,” Zuko’s voice was strained now—he was close. Sokka’s hand slid over your stomach, pressing lightly, appreciating the bulge of Zuko inside you. You hadn’t even noticed it before. Spirits—it was too much. You weren’t going to last—
“I think she’s gonna come again… cute little thing,” Sokka murmured, kissing your stomach. Your vision went white as you came again, and Zuko followed right after, spilling inside you.
You felt dizzy, your breathing uneven as you tried to steady yourself. It had been a lot—but you weren’t complaining.
It felt too good. Zuko lowered you slowly, pulling out of you before pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, letting Sokka catch you.
“That… was amazing,” you managed, breathless.
Sokka smirked. “Guess that means you want to keep going?”
“You’d be guessing right,” you replied weakly.
He pushed you until your back touched the bed, he put your legs up against your chest, your knees almost brushing your breasts, letting your legs rest comfortably on his shoulders as he slid back inside your still-sensitive cunt with ease.
He cursed. “Don’t think I’m gonna last… not after that show you put on earlier,” he groaned, kissing your neck, his hands gripping your chest, playing with your nipples until you whimpered as he start moving inside you—going deeper and deeper.
You weren’t going to last either.
The sounds of skin slapping, your soft cries—it all echoed in the room. You couldn’t focus on anything else. You were drunk on him. You trembled, pathetic, as you came again, tightening around him.
“Fuck… you’re so pretty. Look at you,” Sokka groaned, barely holding on before he finally came deep inside you.
You gasped when he pulled out, collapsing beside you. You didn’t need a mirror to know how wrecked you looked.
Zuko returned just then, holding a couple of damp cloths, already dressed in underwear—you hadn’t even noticed when he left.
“Did you bring one for me—” Sokka didn’t get to finish before Zuko tossed a cloth at his face, making him yelp indignantly.
That made you laugh softly, even if your body ached.
You tried to sit up, but Zuko stopped you, gently starting to clean you himself so tenderly.
it’s impossible to move. you are completely trapped between two giant, muscular walls of heat, and honestly, you aren’t even mad about it.
to your left, zuko is snoring softly, one of his massive, heavy arms draped over your waist like a permanent seatbelt. his long dark hair is a messy, beautiful disaster across the pillows. to your right, suguru is already half-awake, his fingers gently tracing mindless patterns on your bare shoulder. his long black hair is completely loose too, smelling faintly of the expensive body wash he always steals from your side of the bathroom.
"morning, angel," suguru murmurs, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. he leans over, his chest pressing against your side as he plants a soft, lingering kiss right on your forehead. "you're awake early. did this loud idiot wake you up?"
before you can even answer, the "loud idiot" stirs. zuko’s grip on your waist tightens instantly, pulling you flush against his chest. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, huffing out a warm breath that tickles your skin.
"not loud," zuko grumbles, his voice rough and defensive. he blinks his golden eyes open, glaring weakly at suguru across your chest. "you're the one talking and waking her up, suguru."
suguru just chuckles, a low, teasing sound that vibrates against your back. "i was being gentle, zuko. unlike you, who clamps down on our beautiful wife like a bear trap every night."
"i do not!" zuko defends himself, a bright blush spreading across his nose and the unscarred side of his face. he looks down at you, his eyes instantly softening into pure devotion. "i don't hurt you, right, sweet girl? tell him i'm gentle."
you just laugh, completely sandwiched between them. you reach up, your small hands tangling into zuko's thick, long hair to smooth it back, then reaching behind you to tug playfully on suguru's dark strands. they both melt under your touch like giant puppies, despite being big, intimidating men who could easily crush anyone else. but with you? they are absolute mush.
"see? she loves me more anyway," suguru teases, leaning over you again to press another kiss to your other cheek, his lips brushing against your skin intentionally slow just to rile zuko up.
"stop that," zuko mutters, his eyebrows knitting together in that classic, dramatic pout of his. "you already got the first kiss of the day. it's my turn."
"then take it, zuzu," suguru smirks, propping his chin on his hand as he watches zuko get flustered. "nobody is stopping you."
zuko huffs, but he doesn't waste time. he hovers over you, his broad shoulders completely blocking out the rest of the bedroom light. he cups your face with a warm, slightly calloused hand, treating you like you're made of the finest porcelain. "good morning, my love," he whispers softly, before pressing a sweet, deep kiss to your lips, then moving to your cheek, right next to where suguru just kissed you.
but they aren't done. it's like a daily competition with them.
suddenly, they both coordinate without even speaking. suguru leans in from the right, and zuko leans in from the left. you are completely sandwiched in the middle as both of them press their lips to your cheeks at the exact same time, kissing you so hard your cheeks squish together.
"guys!" you giggle, your voice muffled by their faces. "i can't breathe!"
they pull back just an inch, both of them grinning down at you with identical expressions of pure adoration.
"sorry, darling," suguru says, though he doesn't look sorry at all. he reaches down, smoothing the blanket over your chest, his eyes scanning you up and down. "are you cold? your feet feel like ice. zuko, warm her up."
"i'm already trying," zuko says, shifting his body so his legs tangle with yours, his natural fire-bender body heat radiating off him like a human radiator. he frowns, inspecting your face closely. "did you sleep well? your eyes look a little tired. do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed? you don't have to get up at all today."
"oh, look at you, so attentive," suguru teases, leaning over to brush a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. "but i think she'd prefer my cooking today, zuko. your tea is good, but your rice is always a little burnt."
zuko’s head snaps up, eyes flashing with jealousy. "it was burnt one time, suguru! and i was distracted because you were distracting her!"
"excuses, excuses," suguru hums, flashing a wicked, beautiful smile. he shifts closer, pinning you beneath his weight in the most comfortable way possible, his chest pressing down on yours while zuko hugs you from the side. "either way, our girl deserves to be pampered. aren't you our spoiled little princess today?"
you can only nod, your heart completely full as your two giant, long-haired husbands start fussing over you all over again, burying you under a mountain of blankets, soft arguments, and endless kisses.
The royal dining room smelled like braised komodo turkey, warm spices, and impending chaos. That last ingredient was entirely Sokka’s fault.
He had arrived two days ago under the very reasonable pretense of a “diplomatic visit” which everyone in the palace understood to mean he had eaten all the sea prunes in the South Pole and needed a change of scenery. He had immediately made himself at home in the most aggressively Sokka way possible—reorganizing the palace kitchen’s meat storage, loudly critiquing the royal chefs’ spice choices, and staging what he called a “cultural exchange” that mostly involved teaching three Imperial Guards how to play Pai Sho wrong.
Zuko was handling it with the strained, tight-jawed dignity of a man who genuinely loved his brother-in-arms and also, genuinely, desperately wished he would go home.
You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life.
“The problem,” Sokka announced, gesturing with his chopsticks at nobody in particular, “is that Fire Nation desserts don’t hit right. Too much spice. Not enough—I don’t know—comfort.”
“They’re not supposed to be comfortable,” Zuko said flatly, not looking up from his bowl. “They’re supposed to be refined.”
“Refined.” Sokka repeated it like a curse word. He looked at you across the wide lacquered table. “Y/N, back me up. You’ve eaten in the North. You know what a good dessert tastes like.”
“I’m staying out of this,” you said serenely, pouring yourself a cup of jasmine tea.
“Smart woman.” Zuko reached for his own tea.
“Traitor,” Sokka said to you, but his tone was fond. He jabbed his chopsticks toward the small porcelain dish near the center of the table. It was a delicate Fire Nation layered cake, dark red bean paste between thin sheets of honey sponge, dusted with powdered cinnamon. “I’ll admit, though. That thing looks dangerous. In a good way.”
“It’s yuèbing-style,” you said, leaning forward slightly to inspect it. “Fire Nation adaptation. They bake it with dragon fruit reduction instead of lotus paste.”
Sokka’s eyes lit up with the specific enthusiasm he reserved for food and battle strategy. “Okay. Okay, that sounds incredible, actually—”
“It is,” you confirmed. You picked up a small serving spoon, cut a neat portion, and held it out. Not toward Sokka, but toward the man sitting directly to your left.
Zuko stiffened.
It was a nearly imperceptible thing. A millimeter of tension across his broad shoulders, a slight sharpening of his gaze as it dropped to the spoon now hovering in the space between you. The cake sat there, perfectly portioned, an earnest little offering from his fiancée.
He looked at it. He looked at Sokka, who was watching the exchange with the focused, calculating attention of a man who had once tracked a sea serpent across open water for three days on a bet.
Zuko looked back at the spoon.
“I have my own utensils,” he said.
You blinked. “I know. I’m offering you mine.”
“I can feed myself.”
“Zuko—”
“I’m twenty-eight years old.”
The silence that followed was exquisite. You held his gaze for one long beat. He held it back, expression perfectly composed, jaw set at the precise angle you had privately catalogued as his I am the Fire Lord and I am not flustered, what are you talking about, I am completely fine angle.
You lowered the spoon.
Across the table, Sokka made a sound that wasn’t quite a cough and wasn’t quite a laugh, but existed somewhere in the loaded territory between them. You caught his eye.
Something passed between you. It was wordless, instantaneous, and absolutely damning. It was the specific telepathy that develops between two people who both find the same man endearing in his mortifying stubbornness.
You looked back down at the spoon in your hand. Then, with the serene composure of someone who had absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever, you turned slightly in your seat and extended the spoon across the table toward Sokka instead.
“Sokka,” you said pleasantly. “Do you want to try it?”
Sokka’s expression went from conspiratorial delight to the studied, innocent blankness of a seasoned chaos agent. He straightened in his seat. He placed a solemn hand over his heart.
“I,” he said gravely, “would be honored.”
He leaned forward. He accepted the spoon. He closed his eyes as he tasted it with the theatrical reverence of a man experiencing a religious event, and then he let out a low, appreciative groan that was at least forty percent louder than necessary.
“Oh,” Sokka breathed. “Oh, that’s—Y/N. Y/N, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“Isn’t it?” you agreed warmly.
“I might have to move into the Fire Nation palace permanently.”
“We have a lovely east wing.”
“Perfect. I’ll take it.”
The temperature in the dining room had been climbing for approximately twelve seconds. You felt it before you looked. It was the specific, simmering heat that radiated off Zuko when his composure was being tested. The barely-leashed inner fire usually only made itself known when he was in the middle of a council session gone wrong, or when his fiancée had just deliberately fed another man dessert right in front of him.
Zuko was staring at Sokka with an expression so flat and so incinerating it could have stripped paint from the walls.
Sokka, to his eternal credit, met that stare with the breezy, untroubled grin of a man who had survived a war and therefore had genuinely recalibrated his fear threshold. He set the spoon down on the table between you with a small, precise click.
“I mean,” Sokka said, in the tone of someone making a completely reasonable observation, “you did turn it down.”
You pressed your lips together very hard.
“You specifically said,” you added, with perfect innocence, “that you could feed yourself.”
Zuko turned to look at you. The flat expression had not moved. If anything, it had intensified. His golden eyes tracked from your face to the spoon to Sokka’s deeply satisfied expression and back to your face again, and you watched the precise moment he decided he was not going to dignify this with a response.
He reached across the table. He picked up the spoon. He cut himself a portion of the cake with the silent, deliberate calm of a man who was certainly not bothered. He ate it. He set the spoon down.
“It’s fine,” he said.
“Just fine?” Sokka asked.
“It’s cake, Sokka.”
“Y/N said it was incredible—”
“The conversation,” Zuko said, with a finality that had once ended full council meetings, “is over.”
You and Sokka thought it was funny.
Well. Your little prank is not so funny now.
Because right now, you are in the Fire Lord’s private chambers, stripped bare and face-down across his lap with the heavy silk sheets bunched uselessly beneath your palms, rapidly revising your opinion of the entire spoon incident.
He had been very calm about it. That was the most unnerving part. No raised voice, no dramatic declaration. Just the quiet deliberate efficiency of a man with a point to make and absolutely no intention of rushing. He walked you through the mahogany doors, turned the lock, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and looked at you. That was all it took. One look, and here you were: draped across his lap as his large calloused hand rested light and warm at the small of your back, the blistering heat of his thighs radiating straight through your bare skin, the horrible charged anticipation of waiting.
“You thought that was funny,” he said. Not a question. His voice was low, that gravelly unhurried register that did something catastrophic to your better judgment.
“A little,” you admitted, into the sheets.
His hand lifted. It came down with a sharp deliberate crack across the curve of your backside, and the sound that tore out of you was not dignified in any conceivable way.
“Zuko—”
“A little.” He repeated it perfectly even. His palm smoothed immediately over the sting, the scorching heat of his hand pressing into the bloom of warmth he had left behind. Your whole body clenched involuntarily at the contrast, the sharp bite of it dissolving almost instantly into a spreading maddening heat that pooled low and heavy in your core. “We’ll revisit that.”
He did it again. And again. Slow and measured, with that ruthless patience he applied to absolutely everything—council sessions, fire katas, and the systematic dismantling of your composure. Each strike was followed by the same soothing pass of his palm, his thumb tracing the flushed curve of your skin almost tenderly, and the combination of it was genuinely unhinged. Your fingers twisted into the silk. Your hips rolled without your permission. You heard the low dark exhale that came from him in response.
That was the thing about him. Zuko’s jealousy was a quiet, suffocating weight. He operated with the exact same obsessive, single-minded intensity that had once driven him across the globe for three years. Now, all of that relentless focus was trapped inside this room, directed entirely at stripping away your composure until you remembered exactly who claimed you.
You supposed that’s just how Fire Lord Zuko is. The jealous type.
By the time he finally stilled his hand, your skin was flushed a vivid burning pink, radiating its own warmth, every trace of your natural waterbender’s cold chased clean out of you. Your breathing was a wreck. The sheets beneath your palms were damp from the faint frost that had spiked off your overwhelmed skin and melted instantly against the furnace heat of his thighs.
“There,” Zuko murmured, his hand resting warm and still against your lower back. His voice had dropped into something quieter. Not soft exactly, but settled. Certain. “There you are.”
What came after was not gentle, and it was not quick.
He put you on all fours. His hands were sure and unhurried as he arranged you exactly where he wanted you, and the first stroke of his cock splitting you open dragged a completely ruined sound out of your throat that you felt no shame about whatsoever. He was thick and devastating at this angle, every thrust bottoming out so deep you felt it behind your navel, his hips snapping into the still-flushed spanked curve of your ass with a sharp filthy sound that filled the entire chamber. His long dark hair had come loose from its tie and fell around his face as he leaned over you, the ends brushing your spine, and even half-wrecked as you were the sight of him in your peripheral vision made it worse—that sharp jaw locked tight, those golden eyes dark with focus, the broad scarred expanse of his chest sheened faintly with exertion, lean muscle shifting with every drive of his hips.
He fucked you thoroughly. Properly. Deep hard strokes at a pace that left you completely incoherent, your arms trembling, your face pressing into the pillow as your own voice became entirely unrecognizable to you. Tears tracked silently down your cheeks, the bright overwhelmed kind that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the total dissolution of every last piece of your composure. You came with a broken sob muffled into the silk, clenching hard around him, and he followed close after with a low wrecked groan pressed between your shoulder blades, his hands gripping your hips so tight you’d feel it tomorrow.
For a moment, you both just breathed.
Then he drew you up.
He positioned you with those large certain hands, your back against his chest, his legs bracketing yours, the scorching wall of him solid at your spine. You were facing the mirror at the foot of the bed. You understood immediately, completely, why it was where it was.
You looked absolutely catastrophic. Your hair was a total wreck, dark strands plastered to your flushed tear-damp cheeks. Your lips were swollen. Your eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, the look of someone who had been thoroughly taken apart and hadn’t been put back together yet. Your cool skin was flushed with heat and steaming faintly where it pressed against the blistering heat of his chest, the fire-and-ice contrast rendered almost obscene in the amber glow of the hearth.
And then there was Zuko behind you, which was a genuinely unfair thing to have to look at in this particular state. His dark hair was fully loose now, falling in thick dishevelled waves past his jaw and brushing his scarred collarbone. His chest was bare, broad and heavily muscled with the lean hard lines of a man who had trained every day of his life, old battle scars mapping his torso in silver and pale gold. His jaw was tight, a muscle feathering in his scarred cheek. His golden eyes burned steady in the low firelight, fixed entirely on you. He looked like something forged from fire and focused want. You looked like you’d been hit by a wave and hadn’t surfaced yet.
The contrast was genuinely criminal.
His chin hooked over your shoulder. His golden eyes found yours in the glass and held.
“Don’t look away, princess,” he said quietly.
His hand slid down your stomach.
You were already so sensitized that when his fingers found your clit, your whole body jolted on pure reflex. His other arm banded across your ribs immediately, dragging you back flush against him, keeping you exactly and inescapably in place.
“Zuko—” His name fractured in your throat. “I can’t, I’m already—”
“I know,” he said. He didn’t stop.
His fingers worked your clit in tight relentless circles, the direct pressure against something so oversensitized from everything before that every stroke felt like too much and not enough at the same time. His other hand slid up to cup your left breast, squeezing the soft weight of it before his fingers found your nipple and pinched, sharp enough to make you gasp and clench and dig your nails into his forearm hard enough to leave marks.
“Look at the mirror,” he said against your ear.
You looked. You wished briefly that you hadn’t. Your face was a complete disaster, mouth open, eyes wet, cheeks scarlet, expression stripped down to pure sensation with nothing held back at all. The image of you coming apart while he remained so devastatingly composed behind you, his dark eyes tracking your every reaction with that consuming focused attention, was enough to make your thighs shake all over again.
His fingers tightened on your nipple, a rolling pinch that sent a sharp spike straight down to your already screaming clit. Then the hand at your core shifted, two fingers curling inside you while his thumb flicked directly over your swollen bud, and you actually sobbed. Loud and undignified and completely beyond caring.
“Still think it was funny?” he murmured against your ear, low and dark and almost conversational. His fingers never lost their rhythm for a single second.
You opened your mouth. You were going to say a little. You had fully intended to say a little, purely on principle, right up until his thumb pressed down firm and his fingers curled deeper and his other hand delivered one sharp stinging flick directly to your clit. Your entire spine arced off his chest.
What came out instead was his name. Just his name, over and over, increasingly incoherent.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, low and rough against your temple.
The orgasm hit so hard your vision went white at the edges, your whole body shaking, thighs clamping shut around his hand. His arm was the only thing keeping you from sliding completely off the mattress. He worked you through every convulsing shuddering second of it without mercy, fingers pumping steadily through the clench of your walls, thumb drawing slow circles over your hypersensitive clit until the sounds you were making were mostly just breath and the occasional broken fragment of please.
He finally, mercifully, stilled.
The room was very quiet. The hearth crackled. Your chest heaved. His chin was still hooked over your shoulder and in the mirror his expression had shifted into something quieter. Still dark, still certain, but underneath it the faintest trace of the thing he could never quite say out loud in dining rooms and corridors. The thing that only ever came out like this.
A thin curl of steam rose where your sweat-damp skin pressed against the furnace of his chest. The hearth fire guttered once, sympathetically.
He lowered you both down onto the mattress slowly, tucking you against his chest the same way he always did, with that quiet absolute possessiveness, like the decision had been made a long time ago and he had no interest in revisiting it. His hand settled heavy and warm at the curve of your waist. His thumb began its slow idle circle.
You lay there completely and entirely destroyed, listening to his heartbeat gradually decelerate against your cheek. The burn of him had faded from overwhelming to something grounding, a steady bone-deep warmth seeping into places the cold had lived for years.
“For the record,” you said, into the quiet.
“Mm.”
“You could have just eaten the cake.”
A beat. Then, low and dry, his voice rumbling against your cheek. “I’m aware of that.”
“Would have been easier.”
“I said I’m aware, princess.”
You smiled against his skin. “I’m just saying. For future reference. If I offer you a spoon—”
“I’ll take the spoon.”
“Good.”
“Don’t test me again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, partially lying as you pressed a soft kiss to the scar over his eye.
prologue ⧽ read more
this is actually a bonus chapter from the main ‘sublimation’ universe ;)
★ he just can’t stop fucking you… nsfw ﹙𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹚
He leaned against the railing, taking a slow breath of the dark night air to let his heart rate settle. But as the cool wind began to bite at his bare skin, he turned on his heel and stepped back inside.
The warmth of the room enveloped him instantly, along with the heavy, unmistakable scent of recent intimacy. His gaze shifted toward the center of the shared bed, landing on your vulnerable, trembling form. You lay tangled in the damp sheets, your thighs shuddering involuntarily while a thick, slow stream of white dripped from your overfilled center. Lewdly pooling onto the mattress beneath you.
He ‘tsked’. Can’t have you being wasteful.
Despite this a quiet chuckle escaped his chest at the sight. Crossing his arms, he couldn't help but recall every detail of how you ended up in such a wrecked state—the relentless hours that had just transpired, the delicious breathless and desperate pleas you had made, and the sheer length of the marathon he had put you through. He had lost track of how many times he had brought you to your peak, relentless in his pursuit until he had pumped an obscene amount of himself inside of you, leaving you completely undone.
He’d whisper many things in your ears.
“Just like that… you’ll take everything I give you hm?”
“Good girl. My sweet girl. You’re all mine aren’t you.”
His cooing mixed with the debauched sounds of wet skin pounding against each other. There was little of your mind left to coherently reply. Only moaning his name.
His quiet musings shattered when a soft, needy whine broke the silence of the room.
In a dazed attempt to relieve the deep, throbbing ache pulsing within you, your back arched off the bed, driving your hips high into the air and turning your soaked, sensitive heat toward him in an unconscious plea for relief.
He could see you try to squeeze and clench your insides at some imaginary force. (Which would be him in a moment)
The view instantly wiped the playful smirk from his face, replaced by a sudden, dark intensity in his eyes. He didn't need to be asked twice. Taking it as the open invitation it was, he strode back toward the edge of the bed, unbothered by the mess you’d made.
He teased your red and swollen lips with a kiss, before fingering the escaped spent back inside. Eliciting a soft moan from you.
He gripped your hips, and entered the fat tip of his dick. After all, the night was still young, and neither of you was getting any sleep.
Pairing: Zuko x fem!waterbedner! reader
Summary: Immediately after the Great War ended, Zuko needed to dedicate himself to his duties as Fire Lord and rebuild his country after the years of his father's rule. And you knew perfectly well that this wasn't the time in your life where you could be that for him. So you left. And for those six years, until Aang concocted a plot to lure you into meeting Zuko, you never thought of the new Fire Lord... except on some midnights.
Taglist for Zuko: @rosieposiediditagain
Zuko's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~
"And I never think of him… except on midnights like this" - "Midnight Rain" by Taylor Swift
You hate midnights like these.
Midnights, when you're staring at the ceiling of whatever motel you're currently staying in, unable to calm your thoughts. Lately, they've been happening more often. You'd lie there staring at the ceiling, playing with your tribal bracelet, praying to the spirits to finally let your raging thoughts shut off, even if only for a moment.
At midnights like these, you preferred the nights when you fell asleep exhausted from crying. At least you didn't think so fiercely about him then.
A letter from Iroh lies abandoned on your nightstand. It arrived today. It was delivered by a falcon adorned with royal insignia. You have no idea how Iroh's falcons managed to track you down, and the soldiers Zuko sent you after have only run into you maybe three times in six years. You find it quite amusing.
Although perhaps you've become too practised at avoiding them.
Or maybe Zuko had finally given in. Part of you would have been relieved, but there was still this stubborn other one that wouldn't let you just move on from him as you should. And that little, treacherous piece of you only grew more hopeful with each letter Zuko's uncle wrote.
You wonder if Zuko wrote to you too. If he spent steady, sleepless midnights lying in his royal four-poster bed, thinking of you, cursing you on scraps of paper that will never reach you. You swallow the lump in your throat at the thought and ignore the sting in your eyes as you open Iroh's letter.
Dear Y/N,
Six years without a word is a bit too dramatic, even for an old man like me, let alone Zuko. But I must admit he's handling it better than I ever could.
I hope you're safe. You could at least write this down since we both know you're reading these letters. (My wise birds would sooner peck at anyone else who tried to take them away. And considering how perfectly they're returned to me, I'm convinced they're in your hands.)
So, since my letters aren't working on you, I have to bring out the big guns.
Happy reading,
Iroh
You frown, sitting cross-legged on the bed and leaning against the headboard, rummaging through the envelope. Three sheets of paper fall out. You open the one that's more chipped and crumbled than the others.
You freeze, recognising Zuko's handwriting. You drop the paper onto the bed as if it were made of living fire and practically jump out of it, your bare feet hitting the squeaky wooden motel floor.
The old bastard sent you some of Zuko's letters that might have been for you.
They really shouldn't have had THAT much of an effect on you. You blame your reaction mainly on the fact that for six years you'd been so fervently avoiding any contact with him that now even something like the stupid, probably old letters Iroh easily took from whatever hideout Zuko kept them in made your heart race, your breath hitch, and you could hear the rush of your own blood.
Only when you feel the cold on your feet do you realise that your panic has gotten the better of you and has begun to freeze the floor beneath you.
"Fuck," you curse, trying to clear your mind and focus on melting the ice from the frosted floor.
The only thing missing from your misfortunes for today would be someone suddenly entering your room and discovering that you're not a non-bender examining the condition of the local lakes.
You don't even want to guess how quickly you'd find yourself in the nearest military base, waiting for transport to the palace. And straight to him. Just because you saw the letters he wrote.
"Is everything alright there, honey?" You're pulled out of your dark thoughts by a knock and voices coming from behind the door. "I heard some cracking."
After making sure there is no more ice in the room, you put on your robe and open the door slightly.
"It's okay, Mrs Birohna. I... I just thought I saw a spider and got scared. " You laugh awkwardly, hoping the old woman will buy your lie and leave you alone. So you can read the letters. Or burn them. You don't know yet which will be better for your sanity.
"I don't rent rooms with spiders…"
"Of course. I just imagined it. A strange refraction of light. Sorry for the noise."
The woman eyes you suspiciously but eventually nods, too tired to snoop further.
"If you can't sleep, make yourself some tea instead of waking up other people," she mutters angryly before you close the door behind her. A very polite woman. Now you know why the prices here were so low compared to other motels. And why you were the only one renting a room here.
You promise yourself this is the last time you'll stop here and return to bed with a small candle, which you place on the nightstand. You stare at the three new letters, trying to gather your courage. Which is idiotic, to say the least.
Because what could happen if you read them? Nothing. Just words on paper. Probably telling you how Zuko despises you and wishes he'd never met you. After all, you could stand it… right? At least that was what you deserved.
"Fuck it," you mutter, shaking your head and sitting on the bed. You were on Team Avatar when it was you against the world. Three stupid letters from your ex can't affect you like that.
With trembling hands, you reach for the first letter. Probably the oldest. The ink is already a little faded, and the paper is starting to crumble slightly at the corners, either from age or from constant rubbing—a nervous tic you'd seen Zuko exhibit several times before you left.
You hold your breath slightly when you see the date in the top corner.
A week after you left.
Y/N,
Where the hell are you? I wrote to Aang, he said he hadn't received a letter from you in months. Not to mention that meeting, which clearly isn't happening. (Thanks for the extra ride, because of course I followed you like a fool the morning you left, only to be surprised that no one showed up.)
Did you lie to me? Really? Is this how it's supposed to be now? One argument and you run away?
This is so irresponsible and stupid, I never would have expected it from you. But maybe it's just one of your Water Tribe customs. Soak into the earth and evaporate.
I won't argue with you over letters. I don't want to argue with you at all, but how the hell could you just… disappear?
You're scaring me us all.
Come home,
Zuko
You snort, mad, as if he had no right to be so furious with your behaviour. No one has ever been able to piss you off like he does. And in a letter from six years ago. A week after you ran away... well, maybe he had a point after all.
You tossed the letters aside, your mood completely ruined. You'd expected at least one angry letter from Zuko-he wasn't exactly a calm man, after all-but it still stung.
So you decide to be absolutely childish and ignore the remaining two letters. There was no point in reading them. They were outdated; whatever Zuko had written in them, he certainly didn't think so anymore. He might not have been courting anyone yet, but he was definitely over you by now. It made sense not to dwell on the past.
However, your hand has a brain of its own and reaches for another one.
You shake your head, close your eyes, and rest your forehead against your treacherous hand, trying to talk yourself out of this idea.
And you really do put those letters aside. You're ready to throw the rest into the blazing fire in the morning. Because what would they change? Nothing. Absolutely. Six years have passed. Nothing could ever be between you again.
So you throw everything on the nightstand and stubbornly lie in bed with your back to them. And so you lie. The first hour passes. The second. Before you know it, it's 3 a.m., and you still can't sleep.
Finally, you roll over. Your gaze involuntarily drifts to the stack of papers on the nightstand beside you. And in the moonlight, Zuko's signature is visible, as if to spite you. Your heart beats slightly faster, and you're suddenly acutely aware of the water droplets beginning to form on your palms.
"Damn Iroh." You mutter, sitting down and picking up another piece of paper.
This one is different. Maybe a little... fresher than the first, but it's more wrinkled. Zuko's handwriting is uneven here, as if he wrote in a hurry. Your fingertips involuntarily trace the swirls of ink that form his name. You shake your head. Time to rip off this band-aid and read how he became hateful to you.
Y/N,
This has really gone too far. You don't answer my letters, some of them just bounce back. Do you know how bloody scared I am for you? Six months of silence is probably punishment enough for whatever I've done. And help me, souls of all the Fire Lords, I don't even know what for you can be so angry with me.
Where the fuck does it end? Do I really have to search the world for you like I did for Aang? If I go on an expedition looking for you, will you finally come home? Will you at least send me a fucking piece of paper telling me you're okay?
Because I can do it. You know it perfectly well. You know me perfectly well. Just as I know you. So, don't make me chase you around the world, because sooner or later I'll find you and drag you back home. With or without your consent.
And maybe I'm turning into my damn father, but what else am I supposed to do when the love of my life suddenly left without a word? No one has heard from you, no one. Not Katara, not Sokka, not Aang, not Toph, although she's a great liar and even if she knew anything, she wouldn't tell me.
Let's end this cat-and-mouse game. For our mutual peace of mind. Mostly mine.
Write and tell me where to come pick you up,
Zuko
You look at the date again. Ironically, you were the closest you'd ever dared to venture to his palace. As if you'd somehow sensed it. You sigh, rereading his words. You'd break. You know you would. If that letter had fallen into your hands, you'd have returned to him. To that palace. You don't even know if it was the right thing to do. You're no longer sure of anything. And it's all thanks to Iroh.
You sigh as you begin another letter, convinced that nothing he writes could destroy you more than your own thoughts about yourself. And oh, how wrong you are.
Y/N,
Do you know it's been four years already? It's pathetic that I know the more exact date with hours, minutes and probably seconds, right? Four years without seeing your smile, your eyes. Four years without hearing your voice. Four years living with only the memories of your scent, the taste of your lips, and the feel of your skin under my fingertips. Four years of dreams, haunted by visions of our future that we could have had, the past, and terrible visions that I am afraid to say out loud for fear of tempting fate by making them come true.
Four years and I still can't find you or forget you.
Sometimes I think I see you. In the palace, in the market, at those rare Gaang gatherings. (You worry us all, by the way.) But then those people who look so much like you turn, showing me their empty faces that couldn't even be compared to yours, and my heart returns to that strange state. Not quite alive, not quite dead. As if it still hoped you'd come back and we'd fix everything.
I miss you so much it's pathetic. Every night, full of pride and honour, I sit at my desk and start writing you the desperate letters of a longing, abandoned lover. But I can't stop. Even if I wanted to.
Because none of this matters when you're not here. It's disgusting, the power you have over me, and you don't even know it, you don't want to know it, because you run from me as if I could ever hurt you, and yet you're the one who ripped my heart out and took it with you, never even looking back.
And the worst thing is that I don't even know why.
You have no idea how many sleepless nights I've spent, and still do, wondering what I did to make you leave without a word.
First, I thought someone had kidnapped you, that something had happened to you. I sent my soldiers out like a madmaniac searching for you. And do you know how my heart shattered when one of them told me they'd found you, but you were running from them? As if my father had sent his men after you?
Then, I thought that maybe you'd found someone else, and Y/N, honey, the thought alone makes me want to set this whole palace on fire. I wanted to burn everything that reminded me of you, but still, after all these years, your room stands untouched, and I'm stuck with these damn little things of yours, celebrating them like some kind of relic, because what else do I have left of you?
You don't even know (or maybe you know this feeling better than me) how hard it is when suddenly all you have left of your loved one who was with you every day are just some miserable little things that have already lost the scent of them? It's like you're dead. But you're not. And that's the only thing that comforts me and keeps me truly sane, with any shred of sanity that allows me to function normally and move on with my duties.
And maybe that was the reason you left? My anger and control issues, but Iroh reminded me that I've changed, that I'm not like that anymore. And perhaps the greatest proof of his words is that even if I didn't want to, I still love you as much as the day you left. Maybe even more. And you don't know how much I wanted to hate you, to move on, but how could I hate someone who first gave me a chance? Who saw in me something more than an angry prince chasing a false sense of honour and pride.
But I don't have any of them anymore. No honour, no pride. Nothing. The only thing left for me on this great golden throne, surrounded by people who treat me with respect and sometimes those who are our friends, is helplessness. Because that's exactly what I am. Helpless. Without you. My greatest love and loss of my life.
So please come back. I'm begging you. I'll come to you on my knees and crawl like a worm if you want. Just come back and argue with me, yell at me, or stay silent from a distance where I can at least look at you. Just come home. So I can love you. Make me stop screaming your name on these rainy nights like some lost, stupid blind man, hoping to find his way back home.
Yours. Even if you never read this,
Zuko
You don't even pretend not to care anymore. Tears flow freely from your eyes, and you let out a single, pathetic, shuddering breath. Because you were truly convinced he couldn't love you anymore. Maybe he didn't? After all, it was a letter from two years ago... or at least that's how you try to soothe your tormenting conscience and heart.
Because maybe if he was as miserable without you as you were without him, on those nights when he was all you could think about... then maybe you made the wrong decision after all? Maybe six years of looking over your shoulder, travelling from country to country, running from your past and loved ones, were... senseless?
You flinch when you suddenly hear the cry of a falcon.
You bite your lip until it bleeds. You hiss, pressing your hand to your lips. You manipulate the red liquid, wrapping it around your fingertips and stopping the slight bleeding.
Falcon squeals once again.
"Stupid bird." You whisper, listening and wondering if the old housekeeper will suddenly burst into your room.
The falcon flies up to you and lands on your lap, pecking you punishingly on the thigh - not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a nice bruise.
"Ouch! Okay, okay. You don't have to torment me like that," you tell him, and you arch out of bed, looking into your duffel bag for some dried meat to give him and something to write with.
You weren't going to change your mind. You couldn't come back.
You're absolutely convinced of it. But Iroh seeps into your head through Zuko's letters, enough that with a trembling hand you reach for a scrap of parchment and a quill. You were about to do what Iroh asked of you. A small olive branch for all these years.
I'm safe and sound. I also hope your next tea is cold, overly sweet, and preferably tastes like that particularly disgusting dried herb from Ba Sing Se.
Sincerely,
You know who
What you didn't know was that this very short letter would be the turning point in your escape from the past.
"You could at least knock," Zuko mutters, looking over the parchment—a plan of new laws he wanted to introduce, which his advisors might not necessarily like.
“To my own nephew’s chambers?” Iroh teases him, entering with a tray of tea. "You didn't sleep, as usual?"
Zuko sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hand, and glances at the time candle on his desk. It was almost 5 a.m.
"A good ruler doesn't sleep," he replies, reaching for the teapot to pour them tea. His gaze lingers on the envelope on the tray. The envelope with his uncle's name written in your handwriting. "Shit," he mutters, pouring the tea and scalding himself with it.
He sets the teapot down on the table with a thud. Iroh gives him a disapproving look, wiping up the mess Zuko has made and watching him closely as he picks up the unsealed envelope.
"What is it?" He swallows hard, trying to control his emotions. The candle flame flickers gently from side to side, sensing his turbulent emotions and yielding to the bending he unconsciously does.
"Something I thought you'd want to read."Iroh shrugs and takes his mug, sipping his jasmine tea. "My falcon brought this an hour ago. The ink is fresh. It gives us... a narrower field of potential searches."
"I won't pursue her against her will," he mutters, tossing the envelope onto the table. He crosses his arms, making sure his willpower doesn't break, and he reaches for the letter like a pathetic desperado. "It's been six years."
"It's true. Just like you can't sleep at night, refuse to even talk to potential suitors, and spill your tea when you see an envelope with her handwriting."
Zuko blushes slightly with embarrassment. He should finally learn that lying to Iroh isn't worth it. Or he should do much better if he has already tried.
"I'm… simply tired of being Fire Lord. Stress, lack of sleep, and all that." He lists, avoiding looking at both his uncle's eyes and the letter from you which was still lying on the table.
He grabs the cup to avoid nervously fidgeting with his fingers or accidentally setting anything on fire. Six years without a word, and suddenly, a letter from you to his uncle lay before him.
"Mhm... well, then it's a good thing you're going on vacation with Aang and the others to Ember Island soon, right?" Iroh replies, not at all convinced by the overly casual attitude Zuko was trying to maintain.
Zuko just nods. His bun tilts slightly, and the metal flame ornament almost falls into his tea cup. Iroh tries very hard not to laugh at his nephew's nervousness.
"Get some sleep," Iroh says, standing up. "I'll make sure they write to Aang with a reminder. The boy may be the Avatar and protector of the world, but he can also be... forgetful."
"And the letter?" Zuko asks, turning towards the door - moving for the first time since he saw your handwriting.
"I've already read it." Iroh tosses casually over his shoulder, not even pausing, and leaves his chambers.
Zuko is left alone. With your letter on the table.
He loosens the collar of his robes, suddenly feeling stifled in his chambers. He glances at the map of his country, analysing every village within an hour of the falcon's flight...
He shakes his head. He had far more important things to do. Treaties and agreements to review, a meeting with the generals about future armaments... and yet he reaches for the abandoned letter.
And there are three things that Zuko knows for sure. The first one is that you're safe. The second: Iroh's next tea was exactly opposite from what you wished for his uncle to be. And the third one – most terrifying for him to realise – was that you still had so much power over him. And the proof for that was not only his earlier, awkward teenage behaviour but also his heartbeat accelerating with every word he read and the fact that he was able to read that letter in his head with your exact tone of voice.
Still, after six years, he was haunted by you. Zuko sighs, waving his hand to extinguish any fire in his room and plunging into a momentary darkness that breaks with the rising sun.
Thank you so much for reading this!!! If you want to, let me know what you think in comments! 🥰🖤🖤
Part 2 is comming soon, maybe even a little more if you want?
Also, someone should investigate how on earth I remember the Fire Nation using falcons as carrier pigeons when I watched Atla like 10 years ago. xD
𝓩𝓾𝓴𝓸 had always been a loving and understanding husband, even with the vast age difference between you both.
Whatever you wanted, you got. This was a known fact across the nation, the Firelord had finally settled down and not only was it with a woman nearly half his age, but turns out she's also a massive brat!
Sometimes Zuko wonders what he was thinking, or if he was even thinking at all when he agreed to marry the twenty-one year old Earth kingdom princess when he was already forty.
He wants to blame his advisors and their words of "You need someone young who can give you plenty of healthy heirs." and "She's the princess of a powerful nation, it would secure peace for decades."
Which was good and true, and while Zuko had become more peaceful and in tune with his emotions as he aged and healed from his trauma, he just couldn't seem to handle your attitude.
While he sometimes thought it was funny, cute even, he couldn't for the life of him deal with your inconsistent emotions lately and trying to talk it out had only gotten him so far before you were back at square one.
So what did Zuko do? He resorted to making you cockwarm him.
"Haah Zuko, I'm s-sorry for being mean. Please let move."
Your dress was lifted above your hips, panties pushed down and hanging off your ankle, and Zuko only pulled his pants down far enough to pull his cock out, still seated on the plush cushion at the top of the dais.
"Sit." He glared at you after you scolded him in front of his council about seating arrangements for some meaningless ball, quickly dismissing the flustered men when you went as far as to point out his few grey hairs when he ignored you.
You've been straddling him for the past hour, your legs spread wide and placed on either side of him, his cock buried deep inside of you. Learning the hard way that just because Zuko refuses to argue with his wife in front of his men, doesn't mean he won't make you pay dearly after they leave.
"I don't think you are, love." Zuko blinks. He uses one hand to keep reading the letter from one of the clan leaders and the other to hold onto your waist, long fingers digging into your skin.
You whine, crossing your arms like a petulant child. Zuko doesn't care.
"I've been sitting here for an hour and you still haven't let me move."
"Forty-three minutes," he corrected nonchalantly, trying to focus on the words on the scroll even though nothing was registering when your pussy keeps pulsing around him. "And yes. That's the point."
His breath hits your neck, making you involuntary buck against him. A small roll of your hips that made his jaw tighten, and he sets the scroll down with a sigh.
"You moved." He grabbed onto your hips with both hands, lightly squeezing until you yelp, biting back your excitement.
Zuko thought he was punishing you when in reality this was the most fun you've had since you moved to the stuffy capital. But you would let him have his moment.
"It was a twitch!"
"It was a movement was it not, dear wife?" His golden eyes finally meets yours when he pulls you back against his chest and grips your jaw, making you face him. "What were the rules again?"
You scowl. Aww, was that supposed to mean something to Zuko?
He just raises a hand and brings it down on the side of your ass, a loud crack ! filing the throne room, quickly followed by your even louder whimper. When you clench around him, he groans softly against the back of your neck and brings his hand down again to rub your tingling skin, his fingers leaving traces of heat.
"See?" His voice is low and rough, his lips kissing the spot behind your ear. "Consequences."
Zuko goes back to pretending to read his letter, though he has to grip the paper extra tight to stop himself from laying you on your back and fucking you loud enough for the guards to hear. It's only five minutes later when you finally look at him over your shoulder and pout.
He gives in, but he needs to hear you say the words first.
"Have you learned your lesson?"
You nod, whimpering and shaking as you fought the urge to ride his cock, your hair beginning to slip from where your Firelady crown held it, legs burning from the position and clit spasming from how fucking horny you were.
He pulls your hair until your back is flush against his chest, licking from your neck and up to your earlobe where he sucked before letting go with a pop !
"Use your words." He whispers in your ear, making you shiver and him groan from the movement.
"Y-yes, Zuko. I'll only yell at you in the privacy of our chambers."
Good enough for him. "That's my obedient girl. Now move."
"I thought I wasn't allowed-"
"Move. I'm done with the scroll." His hands slid up your ribs, cupping your breasts through the loosened silk and flicking your perky nipple. "I've been done for twenty minutes. I was just waiting for you to learn your lesson."
You twisted to look at him over your shoulder, eyes wide and face flushed from the effort you put in to not move. "You were.. the whole time?"
"The whole time." He kissed the corner of your mouth. "You're not the only one who can be stubborn."
true form!sukuna who loves loves loves back scratches.
it’s mainly become routine now: you’ll sleep beside him, on his chest or the crook of his shoulder, while two of his arms wrap around your waist & one cups the right side of your face while stroking hair from the left. and then you’ll scratch him weakly, on the nape of his neck, & suddenly the beast of a man flops over.
“sukuna..”
he doesn’t say anything the entire time. just moves every time your hand does, trying to give you the best access possible while his hands tighten almost threatingly around you, which is his way of encouraging you more. when you start scratching properly he’ll press his cheek against your face and suddenly be preening for more, going at every angle.
only once have you not scratched him & immediately you regretted it. he froze before manually doing it himself, hands moving from your waist to drape your arms over his exposed back (he only doesn’t sleep with a shirt on, ever, because of it) and do it himself
once you swore you heard a purr, but who are you kidding? wouldn’t be beside him.
ellievsbear
amandla
stormborns
romaincrisis
areudirty
