Helplessly In Love With Fictional Men

She/Her (20) Passionate Dreamer, ADHD, BI-Sexual, Enjoyment to Star Wars, Marvel and Assassin’s Creed. Hello and Welcome! I'm a writer but I mostly imagine those little worlds in my head than writing them down. Anyway I love you~ Have a lovely day wherever you are~

[queenofwolves210]

MasterList

Marvel

Matthew Murdock/ Daredevil

 1)Origins  2)Bump & Greets  3)Discoveries  4)Adoption Day

Star Wars

Captain Rex

Child of the 501st

Assassin’s Creed

Arno Dorian

Love That Hides

Original Work

A Dark Legacy

A Vampire’s Flower

[i-am-a-fish]

please do not look up to me. I am 1 inch tall. I'm down here. if you look up you won't see me

[breezey-with-an-e-art]

but what if i.....

[i-am-a-fish]

I REALLY LIKE THIS ART THIS IS SO CUTE I'M BEING HELD UP

[perpetualcynicism]

…𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜: In which your period cramps are giving you hell, but it’s okay, because a certain Grim Reaper is there to join you. …𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Fluff; kind of hurt/comfort; silliness. …𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Period cramps, swearing. …𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 6,690 words.  …𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: AFAB!reader (not female); takes place on day eight of the DLC; spoilers for some in-game dialogue near the beginning of the fic. Reblogs and comments are appreciated.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑.

You wake up to find yourself alive, morning sunlight streaming through the gaps in your shutters in a row of horizontal golden bars on the carpet. The thought crosses your mind that you should be dead by now—probably would be, had you not extended your bargain with Casper the night before.

Oh, Casper! Of course. You wonder whether he’s feeling any better now. As adorable as he is with a flushed nose and wrapped up in his pyjamas, you’d rather have him healthy than sick. You rise out of bed, yawning, and that’s when you feel it.

The waterfall. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. First a cold, and now this—you can’t catch a break, can you? With a frustrated sigh, you swiftly waddle over to the bathroom to inspect the damage. Thankfully, it’s not too bad, but that’s not your only problem. Your cramps tend to be the worst during the first few days, and lucky you, you just ran out of painkillers. You can already feel the accursed sensation beginning to build in your abdomen. It’s only an uncomfortable tingle at the moment, but you know well that this is but an omen of what is to come. 

Whatever. You’ll survive. Hey, maybe it’s the universe’s way of making you appreciate being alive?

…Yeah, right. If that’s the case, maybe you would rather have had Casper take your soul last night. This sucks. 

Well, not like you can do much about it. Worse things happen at sea, as they say. It’s about time you started getting ready; you’ve spent long enough in the bathroom. You slap on a pad, rush through your morning routine, and settle into the day-opening ritual which has now become habit: which is to say, texting Casper to fill the lonely void in your heart. You open the texting app and type, 

Seeing as I’ve lived through the night, I’d say the cold didn’t snuff you out. My big strong boy <3 Are you feeling any better? Ah, damn… I missed my chance to send you a ‘get well soon’ card and chocolates. Next time, for sure.

A few moments later, his reply pops up on the screen. He’s changed his profile picture again: another selfie, this time with a red flower tucked in his hair. A little smile spreads across your face. He took your suggestion, then.

hello to you as well.  i’m ever so sorry to disappoint, but i have no intention on ever experiencing that again. but, chocolates, hmm. curious. that need not be limited to a time when i am sick.

Oh? That’s new. You add ‘Casper likes chocolate’ to your mental list of things you know about him, which is growing by the day. 

A sweet tooth? Unexpected. 

even i can admit that mortals have brought some excellent things into existence.  chocolate being one of them. it is relatively high up the list. much like the computer i use now, or cup noodles. fantastic inventions. 

The talk of chocolate flips some sort of switch in your brain, and you feel suddenly like a starved animal. God, you could commit some atrocities for a chocolate bar right now. 

You know what, that’s fair. I’m having a chocolate craving right now myself.

you also have a sweet tooth?

Not usually, no. But it’s that time of the month again, so…

??? what time of the month? the twentieth?

You smile to yourself. 

Never mind. 

okay… so, as for your question… did you spend your entire night worrying about me?  do i consume that much of your thoughts?

Sounds like you were thinking about me, buddy. You’re sitting there, imagining me imagining you. Do you like me that much?

…….… i do not know what you are talking about.

You liiiike me.

Your conversation continues along a similar vein, with you teasing him mercilessly and him trying (and failing) not to fluster before returning to the topic of his recovery. He says he’s feeling better. That makes one of us, at least, you think drily. The pain is building steadily, and you’re having to shift in your chair to keep comfortable. Not that it’s working. 

anyways. sunshine, what do you know about birthdays?

You blink. That’s certainly a change of topic. 

Birthdays? That is ‘the day of one’s birth’, Casper.

ah! i forgot i was talking to the monarch of sarcasm.

I think we can both have that title.

if it is you, i suppose i do not mind sharing…. but, birthdays… what kind of things do people do on the days of their birth? live sacrifices? feasts?

The first proper wave of pain hits you. You clench your teeth, the lower half of your body seizing up against the unfair assault. You type,

Fuck.

A few seconds of silence on Casper’s end. Then,

people WHAT??

Briefly, you’re puzzled by his reaction. Then you read back over your conversation and realise how he must have understood your text. You can’t help but cackle.  

Oh. My bad. I didn’t mean it like that, lmao. I mean, some people do, of course. But not everyone. Anyway ignore me lol Why the question? Do you have any plans to conduct human sacrifices? Or… to do something else, perhaps…?

… ahem. to answer your first question. i was walking amongst the halls of my workplace last night…

While you were sick???

there is not enough time to worry about that. i had to find out more. about our strange… connection. the link beyond the one i created between us. it was late. i happened to overhear some superiors talking quietly… for context, i am of the 13th station, grim reaper number 8394. …they said that… those numbered 8100-8400 of the 13th station were created on this day, many decades ago.

Your mouth falls open.

You’re telling me… TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY??????

Cue a discussion about Casper’s preferred birthday activities, the fleeting nature of love,  and a debate about whether or not imps would appreciate having a tail pinned into their backside. Just as you finish gaslighting him, a familiar notification flashes across your screen, taking you by surprise.

[Incoming call. Accept?]

Your mouse hovers over the two options, Yes and Yes. After some careful deliberation, you select the bottom option. You can’t help but think of that meme about the illusion of free choice—except here there isn’t even the illusion. It’s not as if you mind it, though. 

Casper’s red-lit room fills your screen, along with the man himself, who is lounging as usual in his chair with his cheek resting on his hand. He’s back in his normal attire, with the hair clips and Azrael absent (to your dismay). Nevertheless, the sight of him makes you feel fuzzy inside, and for a moment you aren’t thinking about the cramps.

“Wow, way to call out of the blue!” you remark. 

“I grow sick of typing, and I longed to see your face,” Casper replies, his tongue poking out from between his lips. 

“Oh.” You feel your face warm. “That is… awfully honest of you, Grimmy.”

“I am always honest,” he says with an air of self-satisfied pride. 

“No, you’re always truthful. Definitely not always honest,” you correct. “They're different things.”

He smiles. “You know me so well, Sunshine.”

You readjust your position in your own chair again to alleviate the discomfort. “Somehow. It really does feel like we’ve known each other forever.”

“Strangely, I feel the same way,” he remarks, raising his eyebrows. “Perhaps an aftereffect of our souls being linked.”

The conversation about birthdays is still lingering in your mind, and your thoughts wander to the flier you saw yesterday for that festival. “Hey, Casper?” you say. “Have you ever seen fireworks?”

“Fireworks?” Casper frowns. “I cannot say I have. They're usually used in celebrations. Not a lot of overlap with my line of work. Why?”

“I was just thinking that it’d be perfect for your birthday. It’s fleeting, it’s beautiful, it’s… human.”

“Huh… Then I would like to see these fireworks, sometime.”

You begin to reply, but before you can say anything, your abdomen gives another spasm and you fold over, pressing your forehead into your palm with a muttered, “Ugh, shit.”

Casper frowns, leaning forward in his chair. “Sunshine? What’s the matter?”

“I’m dying,” you croak out. It doesn’t feel like a lie. 

“You—what?” Panic sounds in his voice. His eyes scan over you for a few seconds before his eyebrows pinch together sharply. “Wait. Surely that cannot be the case. Our souls are linked, so if you were truly dying, I would be dying as well, yet I am not.” He pauses. “But still, something is evidently causing you pain. What is it?”

Despite the discomfort, you manage to crack a smirk. Depending on how Casper replies to your next question, this might be so fun—and considering he didn’t know what you meant by ‘that time of the month’, your money is on the ‘fun’ option. “Say, Casper,” you begin, crooning out his name, “do you know what a period is?”

Casper gives you a dead stare through the screen. He looks both supremely unimpressed and supremely perplexed. “A period?” He scoffs. “What a daft question. Of course I know what that is. A period is a designated amount of time, such as a particular period in history. Although, I fail to see what this has to do with your current pain.”

You were hoping he would say something like this. A laugh slips forth from you at his confusion. “Oh, Grim, you really are too funny sometimes, you know.”

In response, he pouts and crosses his arms, as if trying to protect his integrity from your merciless teases. “What? You think my definition was unsatisfactory?”

“Well, not necessarily, but it’s not quite what I was getting at.”

“What are you getting at, then?”

“Do you know how babies are made?”

“Ba—!” He flushes, bright red. You snap a hasty screenshot before his expression can fade. Priceless. “Of course I know how mortal infants are… conceived. But why should that affect—” Just as quickly as the colour came to his face, it drains out completely, leaving his skin white as a sheet. (Admittedly, this is not much paler than usual.) “You do not mean to say that you are…” Casper can’t seem to stomach the words. At last he manages to squeeze out in a hoarse whisper, “...with child?”

You double over again—this time not from pain, but from laughter. Oh, my god, this is too good. You laugh so hard, in fact, that it makes the cramps worse, and you have to force yourself back into a state of composure lest your abdomen literally falls off onto the floor. Wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of your eye, you reply, “No. I am most definitely not with child.” This seems to relieve him somewhat. “But it is related.”

Casper pinches his brow and sighs. “Just explain what is going on, mortal.”

“Alright, alright.” You sigh out, long and slow, letting your face settle into a comfortable deadpan. 

It’s time to educate the Grim Reaper on some biology. 

“Well, basically, every month, most people with a uterus go through this cycle,” you explain. “It’s called the menstrual cycle, despite the majority of those who experience it not being men, but that’s what you get when the history of science has been dictated by old guys for the last few millenia. Anyway, you see, your uterus doesn’t have the intelligence to know when you’re actually planning to have a baby, if you plan on having one at all, so every month it spends time and effort building up a lovely little blood-nest for the egg to grow in once it’s released and fertilised. However, if you haven’t, let’s say, undergone the necessary procedures for fertilising an egg, your body gets the memo a little bit too late. So by the time you’ve made it clear that no, I am not birthing a creature this time around, it’s already prepared everything. Once your uterus realises its work was in vain, it all goes to waste and gets thrown out via the, ah, what would otherwise be the child’s exit.”

Casper looks mortified. Any cringe you may have suffered by phrasing your explanation in such a way is absolutely worth it. “And this occurs every month?” he asks, almost in a state of disbelief.

“Every month,” you confirm, very solemn.

“That sounds terrible.”

You grin maliciously. “Oh, and that’s not even the best bit. Because leaking out your insides each month obviously isn’t enough, Mother Nature, in all her kindness and generosity, sometimes gives you cramps while it happens as well. Which is how we arrive at my present situation.”

He considers this new information for a few seconds, no doubt to work through the trauma you have just given him, before he narrows his eyes. “...Surely there was a more straightforward way of getting to your point,” he says.

“Well, yeah.” You shrug. “But it’s very important that you know how periods work. There are too many men out there who are ignorant about this kind of thing.”

“I suppose that is true,” he concedes. “And I cannot be comparable to those other men.”

“Obviously not,” you agree. 

“Are there any ways to stop it?”

“Well, that depends on what you mean,” you reply. “For stopping your periods altogether, not really. You can take contraceptive hormone tablets which prevent you from building up your endometrium, but once the bleeding has actually started, it’s too late for that. Painkillers are also an option, but…”

“But?” he prompts. 

You raise your chin and proclaim with dignity, “Painkillers are for the weak.” (Yes, you do recognise that this is a counterproductive and baseless view to hold. No, that will not stop you from milking it for humour.)

Casper raises an eyebrow. “‘For the weak’?” he repeats, sounding sceptical.

“...And I’ve also run out,” you admit. “Anyway, then there are other things you can use for comfort, like hot water bottles, but…” You sigh, dropping your joking for a moment, and rub your eyes. You can feel a migraine starting to set in. “Honestly, I just can’t be bothered to get mine right now. Too much pain and too much effort.”

A look of hard determination settles onto Casper’s face. “I understand. Stay where you are, Sunshine, and do not go anywhere.” 

And before you can say anything more, the call disconnects.

“As if I would be going anywhere right now anyway…” you mutter to the dark screen, though the grumbling contains no real bite. You have an inkling of what he’s planning to do—actually, no, who are you kidding. You know with ninety-nine percent certainty he’s on his way over to you right now, probably with a shopping trolley’s worth of ibuprofen in tow. It’s sweet of him. You don’t know how you can even begin to thank him. 

You push the window open for Casper in advance, then lean back in your chair and scrunch your eyes shut, trying to tune out the cramps—but goddammit, it really hurts. It’s like needles are driving constantly into your midsection before your guts are wrung out like a wet towel. You shift position a few times in the hope of settling in a more comfortable position, to no avail. There’s no helping it when the problem is inside you. 

A couple odd minutes go by in which nothing much happens, and you start wondering whether you jumped to your conclusion about Casper too soon. He’s already troubled himself once to come over and look after you, and that was only a couple of days ago. Twice might be pushing it. 

Nope. Right on cue, you hear a knock on your window, and the Grim Reaper slides into your room. You have to swerve sideways so that he doesn’t barrel into you as he sails over your desk onto the floor. Somebody was in a hurry, then.

“Welcome, welcome,” you say as he picks himself back up and brushes off his shoulders. “As ever, feel free to remember that my door does in fact exist.”

He breezes right past you without acknowledging your quip. “Sit,” he says flatly. 

“I am literally sitting right now.”

He rolls his eyes. “On your bed, mortal. It is more comfortable than your chair.”

“And you would know that how?” 

You find yourself on the receiving end of a thoroughly unimpressed look. With a sigh, you throw your hands above your head in surrender and do as you are told, trudging across the room with the grave sufferance of a war veteran and settling yourself between the cushions on your bed. It is, admittedly, more comfortable than your chair. 

“I have researched how to manage these cramps of yours,” Casper explains. “Painkillers do indeed seem to be the main suggested solution. I forgot to ask which are your preferred type, so I decided it was best to cover all bases.”

He passes a stream of little packaged boxes into your hands as he talks—ibuprofen, paracetamol, naproxen, tablets, capsules… even the orange-flavoured bottles of liquid your parents would give you as a kid. You end up with a little mountain on your lap of more painkillers than you would ever need. 

“This is… a lot,” you say, picking your words with care, “but thank you for getting them.” He tried, which is what matters. You place the boxes aside except for one—a pack of ibuprofen tablets similar to the ones you usually use—and, along with a swig of water from the glass next to your bed, toss it down your throat. A thought occurs to you then, concerning Casper’s lack of human money and readiness to run away with an old lady’s flowers. You turn to look at him. “By the way, please tell me you paid for all these.”

Casper is silent. You face-palm.

“Oh, my god. One of these days you’re actually going to get caught.”

“Do not worry. I was very discrete.” He sounds pleased with himself. It is an improvement from last time, in a way. 

“That’s not really what I’m worried about. Just…” You rub your temples. “Look, I’m very grateful for the painkillers, but please try not to steal anything else for me in the future, okay? Twice is more than enough.”

“So how shall I get things for you?” he questions.

“Well, I can lend you some cash in advance if you need to buy something,” you suggest.

“I have no need for mortal currency.”

“…You do realise that is precisely why we’re having this conversation?”

“Then let me rephrase,” he says with a huff. “If not for you and your strange needs, I would have no need for mortal currency.”

“I never said you had to get me painkillers,” you point out. “I’m very grateful for it, but that choice was ultimately on you.” 

A look of helpless dismay crosses his face. “I cannot stand by and watch as you suffer.”

The moment he says this, the pain intensifies. You clench your eyes shut and mutter a curse beneath your breath. Sickness twists in your gut. In less than a blink Casper’s hand is on your shoulder and he’s peering across at you with concern swimming in the red pools of his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” you protest, but your voice is strained. 

“I don’t think I need to point out how obviously that is a lie.” His expression softens by a touch as you recover yourself a little, but his hand still lingers on your shoulder. This is when a pink, rotund entity nestled beneath Casper’s other arm catches your attention. 

“You brought Azrael?” 

“...I thought he may be of assistance to you,” he admits. A faint dusting of red settles over his cheeks. “Azrael also… ahem, does not enjoy seeing you suffer.”

“Aw. Tell him I say thanks.”

Casper nods, very seriously, and hands the axolotl plush over to you. You pull it—him—into your chest and bury your face in the soft fur. It smells like Casper, you can’t help but notice. Ever so slightly floral, with a hint of incense and myrrh. It’s… nice.

“Where is your hot water bottle?” His voice rouses your drifting mind and pulls you back into the present moment. “I will bring it to you.”

“It should be in one of the drawers in the hallway.” You nod your chin in the general direction. As he begins to walk over, you are struck with an epiphany. “Wait,” you blurt. “I have a better idea.” You pat the space directly beside you on the bed and put on a dazzling smile. “You could be my hot water bottle.”

Casper’s eyebrows pull together in an expression of pure affrontedness. “Me, your hot water bottle? What a ludicrous suggestion. I am a gri—”

“—grim reaper, not a hot water bottle, I know, I know, yada yada.” You fix him with the most pitiful, puppy-eyed look you can muster, pushing your lips into a pout. “Make an exception just this once? For me? Poor, little me?”

For a moment, Casper looks torn. Then his shoulders slump in surrender, and you hear him muttering something under his breath about ‘troublesome humans’ as he sidles up to you—not next to you, but behind you, so that his legs are on either side of your hips and your back is pulled flush against his torso. His arms snake around your waist to tug you a fraction closer, and he rests his hands—ungloved, you notice—on your front, roughly above the area of pain. Like last time, your skin buzzes at the contact, almost magnetic, as if it wants to be closer, closer, until there is nothing separating your souls from twining together for eternity. 

…Thoughts of eternal soul-twining aside, you realise your mistake too late: you forgot how fricking cold Casper’s hands are. It makes no sense. The rest of him is warm, and very comforting, actually, but his hands may as well have just been pulled from an ice bucket. You shudder despite yourself when he lays them on top of you. 

He begins, “Is something—”

“It’s nothing,” you hasten to reply. “It’s just… your hands are a bit colder than I expected.”

“Oh.” Casper rubs his hands together before placing them back on your abdomen. “Is that any better?”

No, it’s not better at all, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that. You really don’t want him to move away from you right now, either. You reason that maybe physically things haven’t changed, but emotionally speaking, seeing the lengths he’s going to for your sake… “Yes, much better. Thanks, Grim.” 

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, at which you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Alright, then, Steve.”

You feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back as he heaves a sigh. That’s one victory for you.

You close your eyes and lean back into his embrace. The position is comfortable, but you can’t relax as much as you would like to: the subzero temperatures of his hands are too great to ignore. You try to shift as little as possible, not wanting him to realise that anything is wrong, but you can’t stop yourself. In fact, you’re pretty sure this is actually making the pain worse.

After a few minutes, you hear Casper sigh again. “Clearly, Sunshine, you are not comfortable. My hands are still too cold, aren’t they?”

“No,” you lie slowly. 

“I can feel you shivering.” 

“Okay, maybe a little,” you concede. “It’s possible I’m still a bit sick, too.”

“You should have told me earlier.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said it felt better. Just… that wasn’t necessarily physically.”

He clicks his tongue. “You and your mortal word games. Wait here. I will get you an actual hot water bottle.” He lifts his arms from around you and you are struck at once by how much you don’t want him to go. 

“Wait,” you’ve said, before you know what you’re doing.

He hesitates. “Yes?

…But you also really want that hot water bottle. What a palaver. With deep regret, you suppose it is probably best to sacrifice his presence for a few moments and acquire the bottle, and resume cuddling afterwards. That doesn’t mean you are too keen on it, though. “Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “Just… don’t be too long, okay?”

A stupidly smug smirk crosses his stupidly beautiful face. “Afraid you will miss me so quickly, are you, Sunshine?”

You sigh. “Something like that, I suppose. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Too late. Judging by his facial expression, it has most certainly got to his head, right down to the very atomic structure of his neurones. He’s such a poophead sometimes. 

Casper leans over and presses a brief, tender kiss to your brow. “I will be swift,” he vows, a red flush settling over his cheeks as he turns his face away. With butterflies in your ribcage, you watch him go. 

The few minutes that he’s away seem to drag on forever. You cuddle Azrael as you wait, rocking back and forth on your mattress. This whole situation is still surreal to you, even after a week. The Grim Reaper—the literal Grim Reaper—is in your house for a second time, coddling you for a second time. If you had a nickel for every time you were coddled by the Grim Reaper, you would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. And awesome as hell. This definitely wins you bragging rights over, like, every other human out there. 

After what feels like hours but was probably no longer than a couple minutes, Casper returns with your fuzzy green triceratops hot water bottle in hand.

“A dinosaur?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Well, yeah,” you grumble, “I was obsessed with dinosaurs as a kid. Everyone goes through that phase. And you’re hardly one to talk, Mr Pink Axolotl.” You pat Azrael’s head. “Which is not to insult Azrael, of course. He is immaculate and beautiful.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. But what does that mean you are implying about me…?”

You shrug. “No comment.” Casper shakes his head, sighing, and hands the hot water bottle to you. “Thanks,” you say, pressing it against your midsection. The warmth radiates right through you and you can’t help but sigh out in satisfaction. Casper stands beside the bed, looking a little awkward as it becomes overwhelmingly apparent that his previous efforts were useless. Noticing his hovering, you smile and wave him over. “I have my physical comfort, and now I need my emotional one. C’mere.” With a mischievous wriggle of your fingers, you add, “I’m not done tormenting you yet.”

“That much was obvious,” he responds, shifting back into place behind you on the bed. 

“How so?”

“You are always tormenting me. There is no end to it.” The weariness in his voice is at odds with the way his arms come around your sides to cradle you close. 

You frown. “Damn. If I’m that predictable already, I’m going to have to up my game.”

“Please, for both of our sakes, do not.” You can’t help but chuckle at how pained he sounds. “I shudder to think what that would look like.” 

As you talk, Casper sets his hands lightly upon your waist. His hands are still cold, of course, but now that you have the hot water bottle to balance things out more, it’s not too bad. You assume he’s just going to hold you—which in itself would be more than enough to satisfy you—but after a moment, you feel his fingers begin to press circles into your skin. He must notice the way you suck in a breath, because he clears his throat and says, “I read multiple sources that said massages can help with cramps. Is this…?”

“Okay?” You relax into his touch, smiling to yourself, and say quietly, “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Casper smirks. “Obviously. I am the one doing it, after all.” 

Oh my god, you think, I am in love with a complete idiot. 

“Oh. Wait,” he says. “I almost forgot that I brought this for you, too.” He pulls one arm away from you to reach into his pocket and draws out a little heart-shaped item wrapped in shiny metal foil. One whiff and you know what it is. 

Your heart melts at the sight. “Casper… You’re spoiling me way too much here.”

“There is no need to be so dramatic about it,” he replies as he hands it to you. “It is just chocolate.”

“Even so. You really didn’t have to go to such lengths.” You lift it to your mouth and are about to unwrap it when a thought strikes you, making you hesitate. You lower the chocolate heart and turn to Casper. “Hey, you said you like chocolate, too. How about we share it?”

This suggestion appears to catch him off-guard. “Share it?”

“Yeah, share it. I’ll take one bite, you take another.”

“I…” He flushes again, deeper this time, his mouth open and closing soundlessly and his eyes darting from your hand to the floor. 

You weren’t expecting quite as much buffering as this when you made the suggestion. “…You don’t want to?” you ask, a tad disappointed. “I mean, we don’t have to, of course. I just thought it might be fun.”

“N-no!” he hastens to reply. “No, I… ahem. I would like to, very much. It’s just that…” Casper stares at the chocolate in your hand, his expression torn. Warily, he asks, “Your ‘period’ is not… contagious, is it?”

You’re stunned into silence. Casper stares at you with evident concern. You collapse into another bout of laughter. “No,” you wheeze out. “No, it’s not. Or it shouldn’t be, at least. Who knows, given our soul connection. In any case, you won’t catch it from eating the chocolate.”

He still looks hesitant—no doubt his little joust with a cold yesterday was enough to traumatise him for life—but your reply is reassuring enough for him to assent. “Very well,” he says, still blushing from head to toe. “We can share it.”

“Great. Who’s feeding who?”

Maybe you were wrong about him blushing head-to-toe, because somehow, if possible, he becomes an even deeper shade of red. “F-feeding?” he all but chokes out.

“Well, yeah. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

“…I could not say so even if I wanted to. That would be a lie.” He looks physically pained as he speaks. He is way too cute.

“Exactly. So, once again, who feeds who?”

Silence.

“You want me to feed you, don’t you?” you say knowingly.

“Actually, I was going to…” He clears his throat, eyes darting away. “...Propose the opposite…”

You can’t help the smile which spreads across your face. “You’re so sweet. But I kind of want to feed you, too. Especially because it’s your birthday and all that.”

“We can feed each other?” he suggests. 

You shrug. “Sounds good to me. Open up, Grimmy.”

This seems to shock him. “I’m going first?”

“Well, unless you have any reservations…?”

For the briefest of moments, he seems to hesitate, before he draws up his shoulders and steels himself. Against what, you don’t know. “No. Nevermind. I will do it. Bring it on, mortal.”

The look of determination in his eyes is too funny, and you chuckle as you unwrap the chocolate heart and raise it to Casper’s mouth. His resolve crumbles the moment your little finger brushes by accident against his lower lip. His gaze darts wildly around the room, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin as he takes a tentative bite. With some degree of effort, he swallows, raising his fist in front of his mouth as if that were enough to hide the vibrant colour of his skin.

“Not so bad, is it?” you tease. 

“It was terrible,” he replies quietly. 

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes,” he insists. “Having you so close… I cannot function properly. You do things to me that are… ugh, I cannot even think, much less speak like this.”

Ah, so that’s what he meant. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you grin. “Alright, my turn.”

You pass the remaining half of the chocolate to him. He pinches it carefully between his thumb and index finger, like he is handling some priceless artefact. You wait with a patient smile as he brings it to your lips and pushes it gently between them. The rich, sweet flavour floods your taste buds, but all you can think of is his proximity and the coolness of his fingertips brushing against your lips as you take what’s left of the chocolate into your mouth. Your throat at once grows dry and you struggle to get the bite down. 

So, you fell for exactly the same things that he did. How embarrassing.

A victorious smirk flashes across Casper’s face. “Heh. And you act as though you are less prone to flustering than I.”

“Well, I am, most of the time,” you protest. “It’s just that… well, it’s kind of like we’re kissing.” At the mention of k-word, his cheeks flare red. A realisation dawns upon you. “Wait. That’s why you wanted to go first, isn’t it?”

“...Shut up.”

“Hahaha. Okay, as you wish.”

You sit in silence for a while, content to bask in each other’s wordless presence. Thanks to Casper’s various efforts, your cramps are becoming somewhat manageable, and the warmth of his body against your back and feeling of his arms around you brings you a sense of comfort you cannot put into words. It feels like home—like belonging. Like a safe, secret hiding hole from the world where you could bury yourself if you wished. For a moment you wonder whether you’ve ever been happier. 

Casper’s hair tickles your shoulder as he leans forward and nestles his face in the crook of your neck, close enough that you can feel his lips just barely brushing your skin. Your heart gives a dangerous stutter and heat, not from the water bottle, rushes through you. You expect him to tease you over your reaction—there’s no way he hasn’t noticed your pulse skyrocket—but Casper does not remark on it. Instead, it is a moment until he speaks.  

“I wish,” he says, slowly, carefully, as if voicing a prayer, “that I could take away your pain. It is not fair. You do not deserve to suffer.”

The simplicity of the statement, spoken with such straightforward sincerity, gives you pause. Warm, tender fondness buds inside you for this reaper’s kind heart and, in some ways, his pitiable naivety. “Lots of people don’t deserve to suffer,” you reply in a small voice, “but it happens anyway. It’s just a part of life.”

“It should not be.”

“Maybe not.” You twine your fingers together in front of you and give his hands a light squeeze. “But it is.”

He squeezes back and presses his nose into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Having him so close… you almost can’t believe it. 

“Thank you for coming over, Casper,” you say after a pause, putting your heart into every word. “You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. So, so much—especially considering it’s your birthday and there are definitely better ways of spending it. The cramps still hurt like hell, of course, but having you around makes it more bearable somehow.”

His voice is quiet, words muffled slightly against your skin. “I would always come. For you.”

The fondness from before blossoms and opens up inside you; a flower unfurling its petals, a fuzzy warmth pooling in your stomach. Words well on the tip of your tongue, but you keep them there. There is no need for speech. Not with him. Somehow, you are certain Casper already knows everything you would say and more; because that’s how it is when two people understand each other. 

You understand each other. The notion is consoling; it’s right, somehow. Despite it only being a week since you met—something you are still struggling to wrap your head around—it feels true as you think it. Life is so bizarre in the way that you can spend your whole life surrounded by people and never truly know them, and then one day somebody walks in out of the blue and sees right into the heart of you. 

The silence stretches onwards, enveloping you both in its arms of unspoken reassurance. You could stay like this forever and be perfectly happy. Casper, too, appears to have no intention of moving: he seems content just holding you and pressing the occasional kiss to your nape. You’re struck with the sense that time has ground to a standstill, and that all that matters (or ever has or ever will) is the present moment and the gentle tug of your souls towards one another, railing against separation. It doesn’t feel like so far of a stretch to suppose that, right now, you and him are the only two souls in the world. Oh, and Azrael, of course. Everything else—the pain, the future, responsibilities, the human race—is a pretty illusion trying to distract you from this fact.

Your wandering mind falls back into place when your roaming eyes rest on the clock hanging above your door. It’s been—two hours? 

You take it upon yourself to disturb the quiet. “I hate to be the one to say this, but you probably have to go at some point, don’t you?” Your own voice sounds foreign to you; intrusive, like it shouldn’t be there. “Surely you have reaper work to do.”

“Well, yes, I do,” Casper confesses, “but if you want me here, I can stay.”

“You know what my answer will be, Casper.”

“Do I?” Given the audible smirk in his voice, he absolutely does. He just wants to hear it from you, the smug bastard. 

Still, you decide you’ve caused him enough trouble for a day or two, and so choose to humour him just this once. “I always want you here,” you reply honestly. “But I also don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

“It doesn’t count as trouble if it is for your sake.” He says it with such simple conviction. “Technically, considering my main assignment is still to collect your soul, I am in the process of completing it.”

You place a hand over your heart in mock offence. “Wow. That’s cold. Even colder than your hands, in fact. And here I thought you came because you cared about me, Cas.”

He scowls. “Of course I came here for you. You know that.”

“Yep, I do.” You smile. “I was teasing you.”

Casper clicks his tongue. “You are so incorrigible sometimes.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m incorrigible all of the time, actually,” you rectify, “but you love it, don’t you?”

“...I will not answer that.”

“I’m afraid you already have.”

“I literally have not.”

“In avoiding the question, you literally have.”

“That is quite literally not what ‘literally’ means, sunshine. Do you need me to pull out a dictionary, too?”

“If you’re offering to read it to me, I won’t say no,” you reply with a mischievous wink. “But anyway, I think you just don’t want to admit it.” 

There’s a note of amusement in his response. “Admit what?”

“That you secretly love all of my personality traits with all of your soft, sappy heart.”

You can’t see Casper’s face, but you hear the fond smile leaking into his voice. “There is no secret in it, Sunshine. But yes, I do.”

With that, you soak up the last few precious moments of peace, before—

“Oh, shit.”

“...Casper? All good?”

“This sudden pain… w-what…”

“Ah. You know, I was starting to think that you might not get them, because no uterus and all that, but, uh… at least we’re not short on painkillers?”

“Sunshine… I truly think I am dying here. How can anything be worse than a cold? How?”

You shrug. “Sorry. Welcome to that time of the month, Cas.”

[squibbysquib]

A Little Something More....

Casper 'Grim Reaper' X reader

Words: 485

I'm kind new to writing on here. I spend way too much time reading on here but like, have never actually wrote anything, so please give me some leniency....😓I've been in a lot of fandoms in my time (that makes me sound ancient, I swear I'm not) but I thought that it would finally be fun to put out a little something into some of the fandoms that I like.

I just got into the Date with Death Fandom, but the game is so cute and it made me so happy when playing it that I had to write a little something for it. Mainly because I'm tired of everything being Smut and we deserve something a little cute with our favorite Reaper too.

Also did anyone else pick the hamster? Mine was named George. 🤭

This picks from a little bit of the actual game but then tetters off....

It wasn't that bad of a day really. Nothing spontaneously trying to drop on me from six stories, no fast moving cars to dodge, and not even the elevator malfunctioning. Everything was honestly starting to look up after my favorite little Reaper decided to come by last night. It was honestly really touching that he had brought those flowers, even if he did steal them from a little old lady, but sweet all the same.

As I enter my apartment, my little buddy greets me by happily moving around and wiggling to get attention. After a little bit playing and snuggling with them I head over to my laptop, just to see what Mr. Casper could possibly be up to today, especially because it was the last day and so far he had done nothing to even bother me a little to get my soul.

"Grim?" I sent over the strange messenger app. "You know, you've done a terrible job at trying to get my soul today." Nothing. Not even a little response, even after everything the night before. Maybe he was a little tired from working or maybe he was actually doing something instead of talking to me. But before I could possibly over think anything, I heard a little ding from my laptop.

"Could you open the window again? It's a little cold out here...." I smile, rushing over to the window just like last night. "Grimmy?'

He huffs. "I wish you would stop calling me that." All I can do is giggle at his mock frustration. "Never, where's the fun in that?"

His face shifts to a small smile as a laugh. "Can I come in? Have something for you." I nod enthusiastically, opening the door wider. As he steps into my room, I can't help but fluster a little as he stands in front of me. While I do joke about him being a cutie all the time, it's not a complete lie. He's a very pretty man? Reaper? I don't know, but he is very attractive. However, before I can let my thoughts consume me again, he hands me a box of chocolates. "Oh...Casper..."

"I remember when we were talking about flowers yesterday, that you said you've never gotten chocolates like this from someone, and I wanted to get some for you." His cheeks are lightly sprinkled with pink.

"Casper, you already got me flowers, you didn't have to do this too." I gently run my fingers along the top of the box before looking at him with a genuinely happy smile.

" I wanted to. You deserve this and so much more." My breath hitches, my eyes lightly watering. "My little Reaper..." I put the chocolates down on my desk and wrap my arms around him in a loving hug. "Thank you so, so much."

He hesitantly wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer. "You're welcome my Sunshine."

[tanobatcher]

Those gen nsfw hcs for Rex where you mentioned him folding for Readers dominant side awakened something in me 😭 I'm begging for you to do some sub! Rex headcanons plsplspls 🙏

sub!rex headcanons a/n: tbh i just love the idea of him leading one of the most elite legions in the gar like a boss bitch diva but then letting u walk him like a dog... rex i know what you are...

fem reader warnings: nsfw content

sub!rex who uses his stern "captain" voice as he says, "and who do you think you're talking to like that?" in response to your bossiness, but one look at your raised eyebrows is all it takes for him to fold. he purses his lips shut and ends up doing what you told him to do, so obedient that it would send his 501st brothers into shock. he's such a "yes ma'am" boyfriend in private and wouldn't have it any other way.

sub!rex who gets desperate when you're mad at him. you stand over him with your arms folded, trying to look displeased as he holds your hips to pull you between his legs. his sad, round, brown puppy dog eyes stare up at you, and he kisses your stomach, softly begging, "i'm sorry, baby, tell me how i can make it up to you...talk to me, please..."

sub!rex who lets you touch him wherever and whenever you want, giving you free rein over his body. you slowly rub your hand over his pants, feeling his erection start to rise underneath. his breath hitches in surprise, and he throws his head back against the couch, groaning but not quite telling you what to do—to stop, or keep going, or anything. you massage him gently, playing with him as you please. he gasps your name at his breaking point, and you smile, teasing, "c'mon, rex, ask me nicely..." your soft, sultry voice pushing him closer to the edge, and your touch keeps him there until he shows you the manners you want to see.

sub!rex who loves being dominant in bed and throwing you around to switch positions, but sometimes he just wants you to take control and ride him senseless after he comes back from a long, grueling mission, his mind empty as he exhales everything out in harsh, heavy pants. he's only thinking about the way you squeeze and suck him into your tight body, the warmest, wettest escape he could ask for. he kisses your neck and moans, "need you...oh, fuck..." in a low, whiny voice, his mouth dripping in needy praises instead of the harsh orders he cycles through every day.

sub!rex who didn't know he was into being choked, until you grabbed his neck and kissed him while on top, your soft fingers squeezing him just enough for him to feel a slight pressure as your lips pry his open. he grunts in surprise and tightens his hands around your waist, his callouses digging into your skin so hard that they're sure to leave marks. you moan into his mouth, your tongues sliding in the slow, dirty pace he rolls your hips over his, letting you control the kiss while he controls your movements.

sub!rex who is a giver and actually enjoys getting his head pushed deeper between your legs when he's eating you out (but he will NEVER push your head down if you're giving him head). his lips suck on your clit more ravenously as he feels your desperation in your touch—the way you palm his head and force him down, your legs shaking and spreading apart to beg for more without actually saying it. he licks up the center of pussy with a smug smile, his voice raspy as he murmurs, "that's it, pretty girl, give it to me..." and devours you like you're his last meal, his nose rubbing against your clit from how hungry and furious he buries himself into your pussy.

sub!rex who has cried maybe once or twice during sex...it was a vulnerable moment for him after coming home to you from deployment, and he just missed you so much; all he craved in the moment was to lay you out under him and kiss you slowly, his cock thrusting even slower, feeling every inch of your body take him as you moan and writhe in his arms. he pressed his forehead to yours, and you didn't notice the glassy look in his eyes until you felt the wet streaks on his cheeks. you know how hard it's been for him, and you don't bring it up to embarrass or force him to address it, you simply kiss his salty tears away and tighten your arms around his neck, letting him make sweet, safe love to you.

little bonus note for those who scrolled to the end because i HAVE to talk about this omfg just look at him...i know the context of this scene is technically NOT the time to be thirsting but oh my lord please forgive me. i'm so sorry.

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[tanobatcher]

Hello there! 👋 I had this random idea while reading your Rex headcannons but, how would the clones react if you started crying during sex? Plus I have been OBSESSED with the fact you made Rex a crier. I honestly don't care what clones you mix in there, though I would request having Rex in there because we can't leave out my man 😔🤝.

You really don't have to write this because I understand you might be a bit busy but Imma just leave this here for a future idea! 💗💗

(I lit have to be studying for my finals myself...)

clone characters when you cry during sex (my headcanons) a/n: eekk u highkey read my mind because i actually wrote this after sub!rex but i wasn't sure if y'all fw that so i kept it in the drafts...but then i saw this and had to post...!

afab reader warnings: emotional sex? dick so good u just start crying?

hunter feels a squeeze of panic in his chest as soft, whimpering tears slide down your face like a manifestation of his biggest fear: hurting you. he exhales shakily and slows his hips against yours. his voice is raspy with sex when he whispers, "fuck, i'm sorry," and searches your gaze, worried that this is his doing. he brushes his thumb over your cheeks, murmuring, "just breathe for me, i'm here...you're all right..."

tech thinks that he's done something wrong, slightly out of breath as he asks, "would you like me to stop?" he's unsure what to make of the way your arms tighten around him, but your sobs choke out harder, an emotional contradiction he can only learn from intimacy. he sighs in understanding and kisses your damp cheeks, gently cradling you in his arms as he realizes some solutions are best unspoken.

wrecker can't hide his surprise at the sight of your tears. he furrows his eyebrows in concern and grabs your hips, panting, "baby, what's wrong? is it too much?" you cling to him, staring at him with sad doe eyes that crumble his strength. he shakes his head and crushes you to his chest, smoothing a large, calloused hand down your back as he mumbles, "shh, that's all right...i got you..." kissing your temple softly.

crosshair tenses up as soon as you start crying. his instinct is to run from the emotional weight of the situation, muttering, "fuck—we should stop—" in a tense tone. but his eyes soften when you pull him closer, craving his embrace. he sucks his teeth and ducks his head to kiss your jaw, his face sliding against your damp cheekbones. "you with me?" he asks quietly, trying to figure out how you feel.

echo often gets choked up during intimacy, too. he knows what it's like to feel overwhelmed with everything at once—love, trust, fear, all of it as he gives his body to you. he catches your tears with his thumb, his eyes soft and understanding as he murmurs, "come here..." rolling you over onto your side so he can hold you close, caressing your trembling figure. "you're okay," he whispers, "you're safe here..."

wolffe knows he has a tendency to push you farther than you can handle, so he's convinced he's being too rough when he notices your tears. he clenches his jaw, fisting the sheets underneath your body as he slows himself inside of you, quiet except for his soft groan fanning your lips. he cups the side of your face and tilts your head so that you're looking right at him, a pouty sight that causes him to curse, "fuck," under his breath before he kisses you, murmuring, "where's it hurting?"

fox puts up a heartless front until a single drop of tears threatens to spill down your face. he panics a bit when he sees you start to cry and sniffle under him, muttering, "shit..." because he thinks this is his fault. he doesn't know what to do with such a powerless feeling, but he slowly rolls your body on top of his, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as you carefully rest against his heartbeat.

cody registers your crying and goes into full protective mode, panting as he pauses mid-thrust and grunts, "alright—time out—" he catches his breath, his chest heaving up and down. he tilts his head at you and kisses you softly, murmuring, "something wrong? something i did...?" before he searches your eyes for an answer that might loosen up the tight feeling in his throat, hating to see you like this.

mayday understands when your emotions suddenly get the best of you. he's calm as he wraps his arm around you, enveloping your body in his embrace. he buries his face in your hair and kisses you, his voice deep and grounding when he whispers, "that's alright...let it out..." holding you for as long as you need until he trusts that you're okay again. his touch is warm and patient, never rushing you to be ready.

rex feels his own eyes start to sting, an inevitable consequence of seeing you cry. he wants to be strong for you, so he takes a deep, shaky breath, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours. "don't cry, baby, you're breaking my heart..." he sighs, kissing the line of your tears until he reaches the corner of your lips, where he covers your quiet cries with his own, groaning deeply into your mouth.

fives presses his forehead to yours, his eyebrows furrowed in a mix of pleasure and pain as you squeeze around him, your sobs bleeding into your moans. he kisses your eyelids, fanning your tears with his warm breath. "hey, shh, it's okay—you want me to stop?" he asks hoarsely, nuzzling his nose against yours, patiently giving you his affection as he mumbles, "take your time, baby, i'm not going anywhere..."

kix frowns, his heart clenching at the sound of your soft cries. "oh, baby..." he whispers and kisses your forehead. "what's wrong, my love?" his voice is sweet and soothing, patiently waiting for you to catch your breath as he kisses down your face, his hips pausing altogether. you feel him stop inside of you, a heavy pressure unlike the gentle hesitance in his touch, slowly wiping your tears away.

jesse worries that he got too carried away, his eager attention snapping toward the fact that you look like you're somewhere else, your eyes glossy and distant. he slows down and kisses the tip of your nose before rubbing it with his own. you feel his lashes tickle your skin as he blinks at you, quietly suggesting, "let's take a break, yeah? c'mere, you're shaking," and his arms wrap around you tightly.

hardcase doesn't realize you're crying until he leans down and gives you a sloppy kiss, drawing away in surprise when he feels moisture on his cheeks. his eyes are wide and worried, and he reaches forward with a tentative hand, swiping the tears under your eyelids. "too much?" he asks in a hushed voice, kissing you more gently this time. "you can tell me to stop, alright?" he whispers against your lips.

gregor does a surprised double-take when he catches you crying, his hips stuttering from how startled he is. he stares at you for a second before his hand gingerly reaches for your chin, where he caresses you softly and leans in for a slow, melting kiss. he feels your tears linger on his skin as he pulls away, mumbling, "we'll slow down, yeah? how's that sound?" gently touching the damp spot on your cheek.

howzer feels like you've knocked the wind out of him as he takes in your quiet, struggled sobs. he swallows hard, his body going rigid while you're weak and helpless under him, clawing for him even though he's in your arms. "talk to me, love, i'm here..." he whispers, kissing away your tears, his body slowly falling atop of yours until you're lying side by side, cradling each other to chase away the pain.

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[multi-fandom-imagine]

Daughters First Festival || Zuko ||

A/n: Bless those who worked hard on the movie, FUCK PARAMOUNT FOR BEING GREEDY ASSHOLES. Sidenote: If you are going to watch the leaks then please find away to support only the people that worked hard. They don't deserve any hate....but fuck paramount.

Your daughter’s first memory of the Fire Lord Festival is not the crowds.

It’s not the banners or the drums or the way the palace glows like a living ember once the sun begins to set.

It’s your hand.

Small fingers wrapped around yours, sticky with candied plum syrup, her other hand clutched tightly in her father’s sleeve like she’s afraid he might disappear into the noise if she lets go.

Zuko keeps glancing down at her.

Not in the stiff, ceremonial way he used to glance at crowds, no...this is softer. Quieter. Like he’s counting breaths, grounding himself through the warmth of her grip.

“She’s staring,” he murmurs to you, leaning down just enough that only you can hear. “Is she overwhelmed?”

Your daughter looks up at him at the sound of his voice, eyes wide and bright, cheeks flushed from excitement and heat. She doesn’t say anything—she’s still at the age where words come slowly but she squeezes his sleeve tighter and grins.

You smile. “She’s amazed.”

Zuko exhales. “Okay. Good.”

He says it like he’s passing some invisible test, shoulders less tense.

The Fire Lord Festival has been rebuilt from the ground up, no displays of dominance, no roaring infernos meant to intimidate. Instead, there’s warmth. Lanterns shaped like dancing flames. Street performers bending fire into floating koi and drifting petals. Musicians laughing as they play as others danced.

The people bow when they see Zuko.

Not sharply. Not fearfully like they used too, they all now with gratitude.

Your daughter notices.

She pauses, right in the middle of the walkway, and tilts her head as yet another group lowers themselves respectfully before her father.

She looks up at him, confused.

“Daddy?” she asks, soft and uncertain.

Zuko stops instantly. “Yes?” he answers, kneeling so they’re eye level, completely unconcerned with the fact that he’s halting the Fire Lord procession.

“Why… people do that?”

Your heart tightens.

Zuko doesn’t hesitate. “Because I help take care of them,” he says simply. “And because they’re being polite. But you don’t have to do it back unless you want to.”

She considers this very seriously, cheeks puffed and then she waves.Just a small, enthusiastic wave, fingers wiggling like she’s greeting duck-turtle hatchlings.

The crowd laughs.

Zuko blinks for a moment then laughs too, a quiet, breathless sound that looks like it surprises him every time it happens.

“That works,” he says.

She beams like she’s solved something important.

Aang arrives later, a grin already plastered on his face as he comes gliding down into the festival on a current of air that sends streamers fluttering and children squealing. He lands lightly, already smiling, already barefoot, already radiating a joy that feels impossible to contain.

“Aang,” you greet warmly.

Zuko straightens instinctively but not stiffly. Not like he used to.“Aang,” he says, nodding.

Your daughter stares, wide eyes, head tilted back as she kept her gaze only on him.

Aang crouches immediately, eyes lighting up. “Whoa. You must be the famous one.”

She let's out gasp then presses herself closer to Zuko’s leg, peeking out with curiosity.

“This is my daughter,” Zuko says, pride threading through every word. “And...” He clears his throat. “—this is Aang. The Avatar....My friend

Her eyes widen.“Va-tar,” she repeats carefully.

“That’s me!” Aang grins. “Do you wanna see something cool?”

Zuko glances at you, hesitant. Protective.

You nod. “She’ll be okay.”

Aang lifts his hands slowly, gently, and forms a tiny swirl of air that lifts a single lantern ribbon into a floating loop. It spins lazily, harmless and beautiful.

Your daughter gasps. She reaches out instinctively, fingers brushing the ribbon as it drifts. She then explodes in giggles.

“Again!” she demands, voice full and delighted now.

Zuko watches the whole thing like he’s seeing the world rewritten in front of him.

Aang catches his eye and smiles soft, knowing.

“You’re doing good,” Aang says quietly.

Zuko swallows. Nods once.

As night falls, the lanterns are released.

Your daughter sits on Zuko’s shoulders now, tiny hands tangled in his hair as she points at the sky.

“Fire stars!” she shouts.

“They’re lanterns,” Zuko corrects gently. Then pauses. “But… yeah. Fire stars.”

You stand beside him, your arm around his waist, feeling the steady heat of him beneath your palm—not the wildfire it once was, but a home.

The people cheer as the sky fills with drifting light.

Your daughter claps.

She leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Zuko’s head, entirely unprompted.

Zuko freezes.

You feel him go still beneath your touch.

Then his shoulders shake.

He doesn’t cry. Not exactly.

But his voice is thick when he says, “I’m glad she remembers this.”

You rest your head against his arm. “She will cherish this.”

He looks at you then looks at you. “When I was her age,” he says softly, “my memories were… different.”

You squeeze his hand. "These are hers,” you reply. “Because of you.”

He nods, unable to speak for a moment.

Your daughter yawns, finally, eyelids drooping as the last lanterns fade into the dark.

She curls against his head, half-asleep.“Daddy?” she murmurs.

“Yes,” he answers instantly.

“Fire… pretty.”

He smiles. “Yes,” he says. “It is.”

And for the first time, standing in the heart of the Fire Nation with his family wrapped around him, Zuko believes it, not as a ruler, not as a symbol, but as a father watching his child grow up in a world he helped make kinder.

This is the festival she remembers.Warm hands. Soft light. Laughter.

And a father who never lets go.

[fawnindawn]

scale of attraction.

summary: zuko's straight-forwardness in appreciating the attractive qualities of the lone stranger saved by aang has you curious on whether you could get him to spill on what he thinks of you. (no major movie spoilers)

pairing: firelord! zuko x reader

content: fluff, idiot zuko my love, mutual pining, firelord zuko 😞🙏

"He's very attractive." Zuko admits, eyes unblinking as he stares at the unconscious stranger.

The entire team whips their heads to stare at Zuko in unconcealed shock.

"What?" Zuko mutters, gaze lingering on the surprised expressions casted onto him, before eventually landing on yours. "He is. It's all in the bone structure."

You blink, unable to process his straight-forward words that landed on you like a gut punch. You've never considered it, the fact that Zuko also found others attractive.

It seems like a completely, silly notion now that the thought has verbalised itself in your mind. Of course Zuko would notice if others were considered attractive. Maybe it just never occurred to you in all your years of knowing him—of also finding him—

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away from his prying gaze, confusion alight in his eyes from your taken-aback expression.

If he's unconsciously considered the attractiveness of this stranger... has he ever—no, this should not be your priority. It doesn't matter what he thinks of you, it's not like it would change a thing. He's practically admitted it non-verbally through that monotonous admission of his, that a person's looks is assessed by him in a completely, impersonal standpoint.

Bone structure? You shouldn't be curious. Knowing Zuko, he might accidentally insult your structure if you asked.

The curiosity does not disappear. In fact, it digs deeper and deeper into the crevices of your mind—subconsciously affecting your attitude around Zuko.

It doesn't help that it's painfully obvious that he's noticed your strange behaviour ever since his comment. Once, when his hand had come up to your shoulder to alert you that everyone was boarding the ship—and your entire body jumped in response. Again, when you completely blanked out when he asked if you would like some firecracker buns.

It's not like you wanted to hyper-focus on his observation on purpose. It's just that after years of knowing him and pushing down that sub-concious attraction—of not allowing yourself to even see him as anything more than the Zuko you know, the rebound impact of all your resurfacing emotions combined with his lingering presence is far too much.

Zuko isn't the type to beat around the bush either, one of the rare habits his uncle hasn't passed onto him. In a moment of needed reprieve, your attempt at regaining your composure fails spectacularly when you find yourself in a stand-still, cornered in the back of the ship—one firecracker bun in his hand as an offering.

"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?"

Zuko's gaze is akin to a puppy's, wide-eyed and brows furrowed. Afraid that he's done something wrong, overlooked the choice of his words once again and destroyed the atmosphere without realising.

Straight to the point as ever, you'd appreciate it more if he had given you a few more minutes to come up with a reasonable excuse. Something more plausible than 'Do you find me attractive?', a lingering question that should've remained buried in the soil that you departed from nearly an hour ago.

"Not exactly." Taking the firecracker bun from his hand, the crumbs coat your fingers. You needed something to muffle your words, anything to distract you. It's easier to focus on the lingering spice that melts into your tongue, rather than his unblinking stare.

"So—I did say something." His mouth parts, a slight tilt downward in the corner of his lip. "Or I've made you uncomfortable."

There was no winning with him. Swallowing your last bite, you brush the crumbs against your sleeve, the slouch of your posture a key sign of surrender, your invisible white flag waving at the sight of his increasingly dubious expression.

"The first one." You admit with a sigh. "Earlier—"

He leans in subtly, a habit he does when he's listening attentively, and the luscious wave of his bangs brushes against your knuckles. His amber eyes pierce through you, and the words practically die off your tongue.

Why is he looking at you like that?

It isn't fair that he has such an effect on you. You still remember the old days, when he had a worser temper instead of the softened expression that lingers warmly on you. Plus, that horrible haircut, a singular ponytail with the rest of his hair shaved off forever engrained in your mind. Even recalling the image doesn't help calm your thundering heartbeat when the Zuko in front of you is so—overwhelming.

"You were saying?" He prods gently.

You swallow, averting your gaze. "When you mentioned... about attractiveness. Was that like—a spur of the moment kind of thing, or do you have a first impression for everyone you meet?"

His brows furrow for a moment, before recognition lights his golden gaze. "Ah—that."

"Right, that." You feel the seat warming beneath you in your embarrassment, a hallucination of senses in your sudden need to escape his assessing gaze. He barely even remembers his comment, and here you are, still obsessively prying over it.

"I was only answering Toph's question." He states. "No one was stating the obvious."

"The obvious." You muse. "Do you assess the attractiveness of everyone you meet?"

"I suppose it depends." He mutters, hand rubbing over his chin in consideration. "If it was during a battle, I wouldn't be prioritising on considering the opponent's appearance. As compared to someone knocked out on the ground, it gives me plenty of time."

You barely resist a snort. Only he could treat a topic like a person's attractiveness like one of his battle strategies. "I suppose you didn't have time during our first meeting then."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, both you and Zuko freeze. Your lips clamp shut, an immediate wince shuddering through your frame. Cat's out of the bag, you suppose.

"Never mind." You wave it off, your own laugh echoing much too loudly through your ears. "It wasn't like I was wondering—well, maybe I was. You just sprung it out of nowhere earlier, and I got... curious. You don't have to answer—"

"I did." He cuts you off unceremoniously.

You blink, his vague words echoing in the thin distance between the two of you. "What?"

He swallows, and for once, he's the one flustered in this conversation. "I did notice, during our first meeting."

No way. Your first meeting with Zuko was anything but pretty. You remember being covered in sweat, grime, and ashes coating your clothes as he shot flames at you from his palms. The twisted grimace on his face when you had him writhing under your grip, as he loudly declared his revenge on you, rupturing your eardrums with all his yelling.

"You mean—" You barely resist a grin stretching on your lips. "—when I pinned you down on your airship, and you were spitting death threats into my ear."

"Yes, that." His long locks cover his ears now, but you can bet the rims are reddened from the reminder. "You were formidable."

Formidable. No, that wasn't enough. His sudden focus on the floorboards of his ship made it obvious that he was simplifying his observation.

"I was gaining the winning hand." You state out-right, disbelief coating your tone. "And you had time to notice?"

A restrained sigh escapes Zuko's gritted teeth, already regretting his slip of tongue.

"What of the angle? Does the Fire Lord recall my bone structure during our first battle too, when I pinned you to the floor?" You tease.

He scoffs in a light-hearted manner, shoulder lightly bumping into yours. "It was the first time anyone had pinned me down. I wasn't exactly given another view to look at."

"Was the view bad then?" You prod.

"Not at all." He answers absentmindedly—quickly without hesitation.

Your lips part, speechless. Zuko immediately separates his shoulder from yours, a bashful expression overtaking his features.

"Objectively." He states hurriedly, waving his arms. "I was expecting to find the Avatar at the time, not... you."

The way he says it, the almost breathless note that leaves his lips. You devour it hungrily, now being the one to lean in, prying.

"And how did you find me, Zuko?" You ask earnestly.

He huffs in defeat. His softened gaze finally meets yours again, his eyes roaming over your features, ones that he's familiarised with for years, and yet... it still takes the breath out of him. "...You were the most beautiful person I've ever sparred with."

Oh... wow. You didn't expect that.

"You were threatening to kill me." You recall in disbelief.

"I was multi-tasking." He mutters, ashamed.

Your intended snort escalates into a cackle, unable to contain yourself. "I would have never guessed that from the way you glared at me. So full of shame—and destroyed pride."

"What about you?" He asks in a hurry, though his tone drops towards the end in hesitation—hinting his regret in the wrong change in topic. He grimaces, gaze dropping to his tightened fists over his lap. "...Did you find my scar hideous?"

Surprise colours your features.

Immediately shaking your head, you're at a loss for words on how to convey just how off-course he was on his guess. How could you ever find Zuko hideous? Your heart barely survived your visits to the Fire Nation, not when their own Fire Lord always insisted on attending to your presence personally, even when it arose suspicion of your shared bond with him, to have him so easily distracted when you arrived on his lands.

Even now, he's overwhelming your vision. Healthy muscles that are barely hidden under his clothes, or the hair he's refused to cut ever since his youth that now flows lusciously down his broad back. His amber eyes that glint golden when the sun reflects his irises, and even the conjured image of the way his arms move when he's fire-bending.

He's— "Beautiful."

By the time you realise your second slip of the tongue, Zuko has already blinked once, caught off-guard.

You purse your lips, finding this conversation to be as riveting as it is a weaponised self-attack. "Objectively speaking. You're attractive, Zuko."

"Objectively." He repeats slowly, amused that you're using his own deflecting choice of words.

"Fine, like really attractive." You deadpan. "It's annoying, because I'm supposed to be focused on the mission, and you're just... standing there."

It was the truth. You couldn't be the only one who noticed it. His subtle change in demeanour over the years, how he carried himself into a room now instead of randomly announcing his arrival at the worst timings. Even Sokka noticed.

He snorts, and the sound deflates the tension in your chest. "Funny, I should be saying that about you."

You gasp, expression aghast. "You're joking."

"It is not honourable to lie." He shrugs. "You've always been the most magnetic in my eyes. I can never find myself looking away from you."

You grow quiet, the genuine sincerity in his words leaving you defenseless. Have you been blind all along? Is that why he always sent letters—asking you to visit his nation for purposes other than meetings? Or why he sought for your company constantly during this entire trip, despite it being the first time the entire set of Team Avatar being together in months?

You had been too focused on what was comfortable and familiar, to teasing and prodding, that you never considered this.

"For the record." You whisper, leaning in to truly look at him. "I never found your scar hideous. You were always beautiful to me, Zuko."

He swallows, something intense flickering in his gaze—but too fleeting for you to catch onto it. Maybe it had always been there, when his eyes linger on your form when he accompanied you in his palace gardens, or even back then, when he was a banished prince who sought for you, even with a grimace on his face.

"That haircut when we first met, though?" Your smile breaks out into a toothy grin. "Absolutely hideous."

The softness in his gaze falters, before a groan rumbles past his throat. "Will you ever let that one go?"

"Never."

He lets out a low breath, drained of his energy. "I admitted to finding you attractive, and this is my repayment?"

"Who's finding who attractive?"

Sokka's voice strikes a jump in your shoulders, and Zuko's in an impressive halt, frozen completely after being caught red-handed.

"Ah, between the two of you—" Sokka whistles. "I was wondering who was going to break first. Congrats, love-birds!"

"We're not—" Your voice clashes with Zuko's. "This isn't—"

You sneak a glance to Zuko, and his hand is already covering half of his face, his embarrassment shielded by the shadow of his large palm.

Sokka's confused gaze switches between the two of you, blinking slowly.

"Ah, couple years too early?" Sokka shrugs, before clicking his tongue. "That's rough. I'll check back in with you guys in another time." Making his way back towards the front, he shouts once more to prove his point. "Just don't let me catch you guys making out or anything, I'll need to poke out my eyes for that one!"

"...We better restrain him before he starts blasting it as news to everyone." You groan.

"Agreed." He mutters.

Right as you made your move to leave, Zuko's hand grips yours—stopping you.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, consideration clear in his expression before he decisively leans in. His voice is a warm hush, soft and intimate when he whispers. "For the record." Your own words echo back to your ears in the low hush of his voice. "I wasn't only referring to our first meeting when I said that you're beautiful."

His smile quirks up into something tender, a secret expression reserved only for you. ...At this rate, your curiousity was really going to be the death of you.

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333

a/n: i need to write more firelord zuko stat. he looks so good and still so awkward my childhood crush has been reignited.

[amortoru-deactivated20260523]

`ঔঌ₊⊹ former prude virgin a.k.a. firelord! zuko officially finds out how nice it is to have his wife in cowgirl | 18+

this all started when he met you, his beautiful wife-to-be/now wife.

of course, before he married you, he wasn’t a prude or anything… right?

okay, fine. he was.

zuko hates to admit it but it's true how he was such a prudish virgin before he married you. as soon as he became fire lord, he’d cringe at how the council would suggest marriage for the sole purpose of consummation.

he didn’t see the appeal due to fighting for a great majority of his life. sure, he’d like kids in the future to raise and take care of—maybe one child—but that was it.

but when he finally got betrothed to you, his friend since childhood and a “fine lady of a fine fire nation family” (as said by the council when reviewing bachelorettes/marriage candidates), and mentioned his dilemma to you, you offered to help relieve his views on sex. so you had little sessions before your wedding, specifically on foreplay.

the two of you hadn't done penetrative, saving it for the night of your wedding, but you've taught him an abundance of things: eating a woman out, how to properly receive head, how to finger, et cetera.

until the night of your wedding. and the first position you started with was; the first thing you even did…

“and this… is called cowgirl,” you murmured, pressing down on his lower stomach as you lined his cock to your dripping slit, all ready for him.

when the reception finally ended and the two of you got ready to meet at his chambers, you immediately pounced on him. the both of you agreed that you'd take control, and this position was the easiest for you to do so.

zuko's liked you since forever, but just seeing you in that pretty red lingerie did something to him; that sheer red babydoll slip with gold hardware...he felt like a pervert just wanting to rip it off you like a wrapper covering sweet candy.

he was nervous—a complete opposite of how he’s usually like. the great fire lord? terrified of losing his virginity?

"you keep looking at my breasts, my lord," you teased, tilting your head and bucking your hips as you began grinding on his aching tip.

zuko hissed. “i-i was?"

he mentally cringed. here he was, thinking that after all your lessons on making him more brazen, he'd actually get used to your flirting.

you're such a fucking tease.

"mmhm...you okay?" he breathed out shakily, nodding slowly. "okay, then..."

and the moment you sank down on him, zuko felt a bliss almost comparable to if paradise was a feeling.

and for you? the feeling was mutual.

it's true that zuko was shy and prudish when it came to sex, but that wasn't to say that he didn't have a huge dick. in fact, the day you taught him how to receive head, you had to step out for a moment to regain composure. the guy's dick was fucking huge.

not to mention his cute little attitude made him even more attractive.

you could feel how deep he was in you, how his dick was brushing against your cervix and you weren't even moving.

"'m gonna move, okay?" he nodded, groaning and how deliciously your pussy was squeezing him. you rocked your hips slowly before digging your nails on his shoulders for balance as you bounced yourself on his cock.

zuko’s eyes were on you, stuck on your expression, your breasts, the way your hips connected with his. but really, the moment his eyes laid on that cute little bump forming on your lower tummy, he lost composure.

zuko's hands grabbed at your hips roughly, causing you to gasp and then be slammed on him. "hnghhh—fuck-!"

“zu-zuko—shit—slow d-down!” you cried, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you clung to him tighter, breasts pushed against his lean chest and nails clawing at his skin, drawing blood in their wake. but he didn’t care; your cunt was too good, too intoxicating.

“so fuckin’ tight—shit—” he felt like he was out of his mind, practically rutting into you like he was in heat after getting a taste of pussy for the first time.

zuko grabbed at your ass, his hips beginning to piston into your sopping cunt and feeling your muffled whines against his flushed neck.

were you crying? shit, he was too but you?

if this was how sex was, how this specific position was… he wouldn’t mind doing it forever.

now all zuko can think about at that moment was how he'd love to have you like that any time, anywhere…

clearly, you've taught him well.

.

.

.

i need this man biblically and this is the result. #letsnottalkaboutthefactthiswasdoneinhalfanhourandathought

i really wanna make a fic where he’s like this but i need an excuse to… i’m a proud #loservirgin zuko truther anyways

[fawnindawn]

hair troubles.

summary: firelord zuko's hair is a mess after a mission with team avatar. his disheveled appearance sparks concern—but his refusal for any help reveals that the only person he allows to take care of his hair... is you.

pairing: firelord! zuko x reader

content: his hair is so beautiful and luscious and i just can't, fluff, zuko yearning

"Zuko, your beautiful—lushious hair!" Sokka gasps. "It's a bird's nest!"

Zuko’s hair is in a haphazardly tied bun, barely hanging on through sheer willpower—and his loosened strands are a tangled mess. He runs his hand through his bangs, and his fingers catch onto the knots.

Shrugging, he tugs his hand away from the mess he’s worsened with a singular touch. “I don’t mind it.”

“You could use Katara’s help.” Sokka offers, desperately staring at Zuko’s hair as if it were his own. “She’s good at untangling hair knots, though I can’t guarantee it’ll be painless—”

“No, it’s fine.” Zuko waves it off. “I prefer—”

His voice shuts down immediately, lips clamping into a thin line. That was close, dancing too near to what would certainly be his demise.

Sokka, half-digging at his ear, cocks a brow. “Huh, prefer what? If there’s a particular hairstyle you want, you’ll have to ask nicely.”

“No, I don’t have a style I prefer.” Zuko answers with a deadpan. His words trail off before eventually settling on a semi-truth. “…My hair will be redone once I return to my nation.”

Sokka’s brows furrow together before his lips part. “Ah! How could I forget? The Fire Lord probably has his own team of personal hair stylists.”

Zuko restrains a sigh. He doesn’t let just anyone touch his hair, much less an entire team of strangers. It doesn’t matter if they’re the best in the entire nation, he would not have them, not when he has… you.

He’s gotten used to your delicate touch, braiding intricate braids into his hair—or even a simple bun. The habit of being pulled by the wrist to rest in front of you, your skilled movements undoing your own work once you’re tired of the previous one—brushing your hair comb through his locks before starting on a new pattern.

He misses that. Misses you.

“Something like that.” He settles on instead.

”Man, you’re lucky.” Sokka sighs in discontent. “All I got when I was younger—was a bunch of pulling and tugging into the tightest bun possible.”

Zuko blinks at the information before casting Sokka a side-eye. “And you wanted me to ask Katara for help?”

Sokka grins sheepishly. “I never said it didn’t come without sacrifice.”

If Zuko had known his brief mention of having a hairstylist would backfire on him when his hair becomes a topic of conversation, he would have just kept his mouth shut and dealt with the teasing.

His hair has become an unbearably, obvious distraction by the end of their mission. Every wash during stay-in nights at inns has led to its own self-assured destruction, with each shower complicating the knots, wounding them tighter and tighter till the point of no return.

“Looking at that makes me grateful I don’t have hair.” Aang winces.

“Why?” Toph whips her head around, eyes widening in curiosity. “What does it look like? Describe it to me.”

“A bird’s nest. A genuine nightmare.” Sokka snorts. “You might have to shave it off and start over.”

“We’ll be matching.” Aang grins.

“It’s barely in-tact. Hanging by a literal loose rubber.” Katara sighs, hand reaching out. “Let me fix it.”

“Don’t.” Zuko’s voice breaks out—defensive and panicked, before he can stop it.

Everyone freezes at his sudden outburst.

Katara pauses—retracting her hand, brows pulling together in confusion. “You prefer not being able to see past your bangs?”

Zuko pushes his bangs back, and his fingers catch once more in the knots. “See? It’s perfectly cooperative.”

Sokka scoffs. “Yeah, at least try getting your hands untangled from your hair before convincing us.”

“We’ve almost reached.” Zuko sighs in exasperation. “It’ll be sorted once we’ve landed. I don’t mind the mess, so just—look away if it bothers you.”

“You keep mentioning that.” Sokka mutters, catching onto Zuko’s slither of frustration. “What’s waiting for you back home? A five-star hair stylist to sort out that monstrosity?”

Zuko doesn’t answer, gaze lingering on the map. Anytime now, he estimates they’ll be landing within the hour. He can only hope his impatience isn’t obvious to the others, not when he’s barely restraining the bouncing of his leg in anticipation. Partly from the mess that was his hair, but mostly because he’s itching for your warmth, your hands unravelling his knots, your nails scratching into his scalp as you part his hair into sections.

He misses you… desperately. Time spent away from you, and the constant reminder that he can barely function without you being a part of his daily routine—till the point where he’s forgotten how to take care of his own hair and yet, still automatically refuses to let anyone assist him? Yeah, he’s done for.

“Hey! Earth to Zuko?” Sokka’s hand waves in front of his eyes.

Zuko barely restrains a groan. “What?”

“I was asking if I could get a free, personal booking with your hairstylist—”

“Absolutely not.” Zuko’s gut flares with an irrational temper, something he’s long retired since his youth. Or at least, he had assumed so that this familiar fury had been left behind in the past. Yet, just the thought of you working on anyone else’s hair except for his… leaves a dreaded, sinking feeling in his gut.

“Yikes, possessive much?”

He shrugs noncommittally. Maybe he was being overly protective. His self-control always slipped when it came to you, or the thought of anything endangering the soft, rare intimacy and vulnerability he only shared with you. Your soft hums, your random ramblings as you did his hair—it was all precious to him. He’ll send a talented hairstylist to Sokka if need be, but in regards to you? Is it truly a selfish wish, if he wanted to keep you all to himself?

A large crowd has gathered for Team Avatar, mostly for Aang, who has grown in popularity—especially among children. The cheering, the excitement all falls flat on Zuko’s ears. His gaze fleets over the numerous unfamiliar faces in search of one in particular.

His breath stops when he spots you, waving your hand enthusiastically so you’ll catch his eye. Not that you needed to, how could he not notice you? You’ve been the singular anchor that his thoughts have been warping around throughout the entire mission.

It doesn’t even occur to him that there’s still people around—or that the sight of the Fire Lord running towards a stranger in a crowd is unbecoming. Who cares if they’re staring—or if they notice the absolute unkempt chaos that was his hair.

When you’re within reach, his hands make contact with your waist and he wastes no time pulling you into his embrace.

“Zuko!” You gasp, fingers coming up to caress the loose strands come loose from his loose bun as you hang onto him. “Your hair—it’s a mess!”

He doesn’t care, still gripping you tight in his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s gone this long without you near—that the very sight of you consumed his rationality.

“I couldn’t.” He mutters, burying his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Couldn’t what?” You whisper, fingers resting softly on the nape of his neck, and he sighs at the touch.

“Let others take care of it.” He admits shamefully, twisting his head so you could hear him more clearly. “…That’s your duty.”

Your lips part and close, processing his admission. After a moment, you let out an amused chuckle. “You missed me taking care of your hair?”

“Yeah.” He lets out a breath. “It was driving me crazy.”

“The hair?” You guess.

“Not being able to see you.” He answers honestly. There was more, there always was when it came to you. Still, he was never good with his words, so he’ll have to settle on that.

”You…” You exhale, sounding content as you relaxed in his hold. “I’ve missed you too, Zuko.”

Your admission is a warm, soothing reminder of just how much he cherishes you. Only you could make him feel seen, or have such a strong desire to allow only you to take care of him. He’s meant to be a symbol, a strong leader—but there’s nothing more than he wishes for than to be whisked away to the privacy of his palace gardens, with you alone.

A loud whistle cuts through the roaring of the crowd.

Almost begrudgingly, Zuko lifts his head from the crook of your neck to meet Sokka’s smug expression.

“Sokka.” He warns, sensing mischief before it has even struck.

“What?” Sokka replies. “Just wondering when you’re gonna introduce us to your personal hairstylist.”

“What’s this about being a hairstylist?” You cock a brow.

“He’s twisting my words.” Zuko groans.

“No, I’m not!” Sokka huffs. “You’re the one bragging about having a whole team of hairstylists, even refusing help to fix that disaster messing up your good looks.”

“Bragging?” You muse, much to Zuko’s chagrin. “I’m honoured, but if you’re thinking of a team, then it’s sadly a one man show.”

Sokka grins. “Even more impressive! Could I book your services sometime—”

“No.” Zuko‘s hand out-stretches, tugging you by the waist back to his side. There isn’t a single gap left between you and him, and his gaze narrows. “Her hands are to only touch my hair.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process this rare side of Zuko that you’ve never truly seen before. A slow smile teeters on your lips, a happy satisfaction lingering in your gut as you lean into Zuko’s touch. “Sorry, Sokka. Fire Lord’s orders.”

“Oh man!” Sokka stomps. “I was so close to getting a free service from the Fire Lord’s personal hairstylist. Great going, Zuko.”

“Who said anything about it being free?” You grin innocently.

“Oh…” Sokka scratches at the nape of his neck, chuckling nervously. “Two birds of a feather do truly flock together. The price only the Fire Lord is willing to pay…. Consider my request retracted, M’lady.”

Zuko’s irritation—his desperation wound up in his chest, finally unravels the moment he’s alone with you.

No, it wasn’t just a simple unraveling. He has never felt so unconditionally happy—than in a mundane, normal manner like this. From the moment you’ve dragged him into his bedchambers, snapping the rubber that’s loosely holding onto his bundle of hair and grabbed for your comb and a new set of rubbers, he’s been needlessly pliant and cooperative.

“I appreciate the loyalty sentiment, but you’ve got to bring a comb with you next time, Zuko.” You mutter, lips bitten in concentration as you untangle his knots with your brush.

Zuko half hums in acknowledgment, too caught up in the feeling of your nails unintentionally scratching against his scalp as you re-do his hair. He’s gone so long without these secluded moments in his room, with your thighs over his shoulders as he sits on the floor, your skilled hands combing through his locks.

In the quiet, he feels the weight of all the expectations of being the Fire Lord roll off his shoulders with every brush of your fingers through his hair, and he just becomes… Zuko again.

It’s a peace he’s only had a taste of in the briefest moments of his childhood. Between the terror, the expectations—there was once where his mother used to comb through his hair in a similar fashion, and he would cherish it deeply in his heart.

You tug playfully when you notice he isn’t listening, caught in a daydream, and he whines.

“You listening, Fire Lord?” You tease. “Don’t you know the saying that if you leave your hair this tangled, you’ll lose it all before you’re fifty? That means you won’t be able to ask for my professional help anymore.”

He stiffens at the thought of never having your aid, your presence in his room over mere excuses of touching up his hair. He barely survived these past few weeks, much less forever. “I’ll bring a comb.” He answers obediently.

Humming a sound of approval, you resume your hand work. ”You know..” You murmur, beginning on your first braid. “Now that it’s been mentioned, I did notice that you don’t have a hairstylist.”

He furrows his brows. “Why would I need one?” Not when I have you.

“It’s just that..” You pause, voice softening. “Well, I’m no expert. Only the simple braids and buns, y’know? Even for your coronation as Fire Lord, and your yearly banquets, you called for me to do your hair.”

“…I don’t want anyone else.” He answers truthfully.

Your hand falters over your braid, and he feels you start over as your fingers thread through the top of his scalp. “Even if I put your hair into pigtails?” You tease, but it’s a silent prodding, a test to see how far he’d let you go.

”You can do whatever you wish.” He shrugs. “I have no complaints as long as you’re not providing your assistance… to others.”

“Still sour from that incident earlier, huh?” You snort. “I don’t know. I could charge a high price if I revealed that I’m your only, personal hairstylist.”

His hand catches your fingers right as they moved to begin the second braid. Caressing your hand gently, he slots his fingers between your own and interlocks them. “I won’t allow it.”

“Banning my business before it even starts?” You’re poking fun, but there’s a delight in your tone that tells him you’re enjoying this. “Don’t tell me you’re switching to a dictatorship.”

“I’ll offer you everything I own if it means being the only one who gets to have this. What’s mine is yours.” His voice is brash—quickened in his decisiveness, his other hand tracing the braid you’ve left that brushes past his shoulder. “My hair, my personal quarters, my trust—it’s all given only to you.”

Your lips part, not expecting him to take your words words so seriously. Swallowing your shock, you smile gently as your hand runs through his locks again. “Is that why you’ve been refusing to cut your hair?”

“You—” His ears redden, and he averts his gaze. “You mentioned before that you liked men with long hair.”

You’re silent. For long enough that he’s beginning to writhe slightly under the long minutes of sitting still on the floor. Zuko feels the heat burning at the back of his neck, and he thinks the long distance away from you for these past few weeks has finally run its course and fried his brain completely.

He’s caught up in his shame, his impudence to admit something so embarrassing that he didn’t have time to think of a proper excuse—when he feels your lips peck against the crown of his head.

He blinks once. Did—you just kiss him? If his brain wasn’t fried before, it definitely is now.

“I only mentioned that—” You reveal slowly, head still lowered so he can hear your hushed voice. “—because I like your long hair. Not anyone else’s. I wouldn’t trade this for anything else, so don’t get it confused.”

His heart stutters, quickening in its pace as he processes your words. A small smile spreads over his mouth as he leans further back, letting you do as you pleased. You’re right. He wouldn’t trade this for anything either.

He’d already quietly kept it as a promise that he’ll never cut his hair if it means you’ll stay here with him like this, tying childish braids into his hair that’s unbefitting a Fire Lord. No matter what comments his chamberlain tries to advise him, he’ll never undo them for as long as it’s to your design and liking. He’ll even go as far as to forget how to tie his hair into a minuscule bun if it meant having the excuse to feel your touch. He’s long past the point of rationality, but here in this moment, he finds having you do his hair is all that he needs to feel contentment.

He’s never felt more thankful to outgrow his old haircuts, than he did in this present moment.

likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Up against the Palace Doors. || Zuko ||

Warnings: P in v sex, cream pie, 18+, explicit sexual content, piv sex, use of “cock” and “pussy”, established relationship, married couple, semi-public sex (hallway), slight possessiveness, consensual sex.

The palace halls were quiet.

Too quiet for the way you were behaving.

Soft footsteps echoed faintly against polished stone as you walked beside Zuko, his posture straight, composed a Fire Lord in every sense.

Until you touched him.

It was just a brush of your fingers against his wrist but it made Zuko faltered mid-step.

“…don’t start,” he muttered under his breath, not even looking at you.

You smiled sweetly. “Why what do you mean my Lord?”

He exhaled sharply. “You know exactly what.”

You stepped a little closer, your sleeve brushing his hand again.

Zuko’s jaw tightened.

“We’re in the middle of the palace,” he said, voice low, strained. “There are guards..servants,anyone could—”

“Then be quick,” you whispered, leaning forward. Your robes slipped, Zuko getting a glimpse of your chest.

Thats what did it.

Zuko stopped walking entirely.Then, without warning, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a side corridor, fast, purposeful, heat already radiating off him.

“Zuko—” you laughed softly but your laughter cut off the moment your back hit the heavy wooden doors at the end of the hall.

He caged you in instantly, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your waist hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“You are” he started, voice rough, breath hot against your cheek, “—unbelievable.”

You tilted your chin up, a pleased smile on your face. “And you love me.”

His eyes darkened, a small scoff left his lips as he gave your hip a squeeze. "That’s the problem.”

His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and posessive.

His kiss swallowed every teasing word you had left, his body pressing yours into the doors as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

Your hands slid up his chest, over the layers of his robes, gripping tight.

“Zuko—”

“Quiet,” he breathed against your lips, already tugging at your clothes, hands moving with urgency now. “You’re going to get us caught."

You smirked. “Then make me be quiet.”

He made a low, dangerous sound and before you can even react, he hooked his arm under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly.

Your back pressed harder against the doors, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“Too far,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “You went too far this time.”

"I'm your wife, I'm allowed too..."

His hand slid between your bodies, pushing your skirts up roughly, fingers finding your soaked pussy instantly.

He froze.

Then groaned.

“…you’ve been like this all day?”

Your breath hitched as you adjusted your hip. “Your fault.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as he worked himself free, his cock already hard, already aching.

“Spirits,” he muttered, breath uneven. “You’re going to ruin me.”

You tried to let out another comment until your husband pushed inside you in one deep, sudden thrust.

Your mouth opened but his hand covered it instantly.

“Told you,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Quiet.”

Your moan was muffled against his palm as he filled you completely, his cock stretching you open, heat meeting heat.

Zuko’s control snapped.

He started moving hard, fast thrusts that drove you against the doors with every motion. The wood thudded softly behind you, a dangerous rhythm that made your pulse race.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice rough, strained. “My wife… acting like this in my halls.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you heard him let out a hiss, thrusting deeper.

“You think I won’t take you right here?” he continued, lips brushing your ear. “You think I care if someone hears?”

You shook your head weakly against his hand, heart pounding in his chest.

He groaned.

“Good.”

His pace grew rougher, more desperate, every thrust deeper than the last, your body bouncing slightly with the force of it.

You whimpered against his palm, your pussy tightening around him.

Zuko’s breath broke.“Don’t...” he warned softly, though his hips didn’t slow. “If you do that again—”

You did, another moan muffled by his hand.

He swore under his breath, pressing you harder into the doors. “That’s it,” he growled. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

His hand slipped from your mouth only to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Say my name.”

“Zuko—”

He kissed you hard, swallowing the rest as his thrusts lost rhythm, control slipping entirely.

“Mine,” he murmured against your swollen lips. “You’re mine.”

Your orgasm hit first, sharp, overwhelming as your body tightened around him, while you cried out into his mouth.

Zuko followed seconds later, groaning low as he buried himself deep and came hard, cock pulsing inside you.

He held you there, chest heaving, forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just breathing.

Just recovering.

“…we’re definitely getting caught next time,” he muttered.

You laughed softly. "Worth it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “…completely worth it.”

"Besides...they can't do anything but talk, you are Fire Lord after all."

"True....."

[illumoria]

firelord zuko and his sweet wife ;((

dark red sheets swallowed you and your husband’s body as you slept together. his arms gently encircled your waist, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as per usual. zuko loved having you close like this—just beneath his fingertips. you were soft enough to squeeze and hug and kiss, grounding him even as he slept. your presence allowed him a peaceful rest, your warm body against his own a sensation he stated he couldn’t live without.

he was so quiet when he was in bed with you, sleeping through the night like a baby. at least, that’s what you had thought.

the small jerk of his fingers against your stomach was enough to make you shift, the tips of his fingers tickling you through your night clothes. he was probably just shifting around as well, getting comfortable.

but then his lips pressed themselves directly against your shoulder, his grip around you suddenly growing tighter.

“zuko…” you whined, voice laced with sleep and discomfort. zuko wasn’t one to act erratic as he slept, generally silent and still…but now it seemed a flip had switched.

“sorry..’m sorry. stop..” he whispered against your skin, but he…he didn’t seem as if he was talking to you. more like to…himself? someone else? his mumbled apologies woke you up, but before you even had a chance to turn around, to look at him—you heard him choke out a sob. it was so sudden—so unusual you couldn’t force yourself to move. zuko? crying? it wasn’t something you could proudly say you saw often—or ever.

“don’t g-go, i’m sorry.” he cried, slow tears rolling down his cheeks and gradually soaking your top. you stilled in pure shock for a moment, blinking as if time had stopped.

“zuko?”

he buried his face completely into your neck at the sound of your voice, letting his tears fall without resistance. he gripped onto you for dear life, the heat radiating from his palms out of emotion warming your skin.

you let him cry for a while after the realization set, allowing him quiet time without interruptions to just…get it all out. something you knew deep down he needed.

after a few minutes his breathing finally slowed, his tears subsiding as he held you in his arms. “i’m..i’m sorry.” this time he was talking to you, kissing your neck in apology.

he finally let you turn around to look at him, his cheeks all blotchy and pink from his own body heat, eyes red from crying. he looked so…vulnerable. never in your life had you seen him like this. a bit broken but still so desperate for your touch.

you cupped his cheek, wiping away a stray tear just below his eye. “what happened..?”

he let himself melt into your palm before shamefully replying, eyes fluttering shut to avoid the look he’d thought you’d give him.

“..it’s embarrassing.”

“zuko, it’s me…what’s wrong?” you murmured, gently pressing a kiss to his scar. he physically winced as if it hurt, knowing the pain had long faded, but something in the moment made him extra sensitive.

“it was just a nightmare..they happen sometimes, but they aren’t this bad. not like today.”

“oh, my baby..” you sighed, immediately pulling him in towards your chest. you buried your hands into his hair and he breathed a sigh of relief, his own hands pressing into your back to bring you impossibly closer in response.

“i didn’t mean to wake you this time—“

“why? why didn’t you tell me before?” you kissed his head, slowly stroking his scalp with your nails.

“i didn’t want to be a burden.” he confessed, running his fingers up and down your spine to soothe himself—and you. “i know how i am…i ..i couldn’t do that to you.”

your poor baby. your precious husband couldn’t even get himself to open up to you about something that effected him so much. it was heartbreaking.

“you can speak to me about anything. always. i love you.” you started, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. “i didn’t write my own vows for you to take them as a joke y’know?”

he finally smiled—even if it was just a tiny quirk of his lips—you made it happen. “no..you didn’t.”

“mhm..” you hummed, leaning in ever so slowly before pressing your lips against his own. he moved his mouth back almost instantly, letting out a small noise of defeat when you pulled away.

“we have to get back to bed, zuko. you won’t get up on time tomorrow..” you chuckled, tucking a sliver of hair behind his ear. he looked so beautiful, so peaceful now.

“you’re right, i won’t…but that’s what my dear wife is for.”

illi’s notez; first time writing for atla don’t bully me ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ i haven’t seen the new movie yet either but these leaks made me sooo excited eheheh :333 zuko is literally younger me’s bf and with this fandom revive i had to get tonwritin ;(( im so hypednfornall the new fics other writes r making too omgogmgogm ok let me stop

masterlist

[viejito-at-heart]

everyone tells me that ADHD isn't an excuse for being lazy and that there are people with ADHD who have overcome their symptoms and are successful but every day I drag around an invisible dopplegänger of myself who is horrible and listless and always complains. and he is so heavy. I'm ambitious and I'm passionate but he isn't and the problem is that to get anywhere in life I have to grab him by the leg and pull him along the whole way, kicking and screaming, and sometimes it gets exhausting. sometimes he pulls me down with him. and it gets a bit difficult to explain to people why I'm lying down on the floor in pain when they can't see him.

[justaratinacagexx]

I've never heard ADHD explained this way....but it's such a good depiction of it.

[preyingforsnuff]

I'm not just a monsterfucker I also love them romantically

[justsomeguycore]

knock knock

[dismembered-jackalope]

who's there

[justsomeguycore]

deez

[dismembered-jackalope]

sigh

deez who ?

[justsomeguycore]

deez are the voyages of the starship enterprise

[brilliantpines]

do you guys remember when we used to say oh worm all the time. remember that

[brilliantpines]

is anybody out there

[acakewalkofcrocodiles]

[sometiktoksarevalid]