#atla ff

[zaerilyn]

SUBLIMATION, guide on how to piss off a fire lord in 10 sec ♡

18+ MDNI, adult!zuko, established relationship, possessive & fiercely jealous!zuko, petty!zuko, touch-starved, spanking / light discipline, overstimulation, mirror sex, size kink, heavy fingering / clit stimulation, creampie, dom!zuko.

❝ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥? 𝘰𝘩, 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.ᐟ ❞ 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

The royal dining room smelled like braised komodo turkey, warm spices, and impending chaos. That last ingredient was entirely Sokka’s fault.

He had arrived two days ago under the very reasonable pretense of a “diplomatic visit” which everyone in the palace understood to mean he had eaten all the sea prunes in the South Pole and needed a change of scenery. He had immediately made himself at home in the most aggressively Sokka way possible—reorganizing the palace kitchen’s meat storage, loudly critiquing the royal chefs’ spice choices, and staging what he called a “cultural exchange” that mostly involved teaching three Imperial Guards how to play Pai Sho wrong.

Zuko was handling it with the strained, tight-jawed dignity of a man who genuinely loved his brother-in-arms and also, genuinely, desperately wished he would go home.

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life.

“The problem,” Sokka announced, gesturing with his chopsticks at nobody in particular, “is that Fire Nation desserts don’t hit right. Too much spice. Not enough—I don’t know—comfort.”

“They’re not supposed to be comfortable,” Zuko said flatly, not looking up from his bowl. “They’re supposed to be refined.”

“Refined.” Sokka repeated it like a curse word. He looked at you across the wide lacquered table. “Y/N, back me up. You’ve eaten in the North. You know what a good dessert tastes like.”

“I’m staying out of this,” you said serenely, pouring yourself a cup of jasmine tea.

“Smart woman.” Zuko reached for his own tea.

“Traitor,” Sokka said to you, but his tone was fond. He jabbed his chopsticks toward the small porcelain dish near the center of the table. It was a delicate Fire Nation layered cake, dark red bean paste between thin sheets of honey sponge, dusted with powdered cinnamon. “I’ll admit, though. That thing looks dangerous. In a good way.”

“It’s yuèbing-style,” you said, leaning forward slightly to inspect it. “Fire Nation adaptation. They bake it with dragon fruit reduction instead of lotus paste.”

Sokka’s eyes lit up with the specific enthusiasm he reserved for food and battle strategy. “Okay. Okay, that sounds incredible, actually—”

“It is,” you confirmed. You picked up a small serving spoon, cut a neat portion, and held it out. Not toward Sokka, but toward the man sitting directly to your left.

Zuko stiffened.

It was a nearly imperceptible thing. A millimeter of tension across his broad shoulders, a slight sharpening of his gaze as it dropped to the spoon now hovering in the space between you. The cake sat there, perfectly portioned, an earnest little offering from his fiancée.

He looked at it. He looked at Sokka, who was watching the exchange with the focused, calculating attention of a man who had once tracked a sea serpent across open water for three days on a bet.

Zuko looked back at the spoon.

“I have my own utensils,” he said.

You blinked. “I know. I’m offering you mine.”

“I can feed myself.”

“Zuko—”

“I’m twenty-eight years old.”

The silence that followed was exquisite. You held his gaze for one long beat. He held it back, expression perfectly composed, jaw set at the precise angle you had privately catalogued as his I am the Fire Lord and I am not flustered, what are you talking about, I am completely fine angle.

You lowered the spoon.

Across the table, Sokka made a sound that wasn’t quite a cough and wasn’t quite a laugh, but existed somewhere in the loaded territory between them. You caught his eye.

Something passed between you. It was wordless, instantaneous, and absolutely damning. It was the specific telepathy that develops between two people who both find the same man endearing in his mortifying stubbornness.

You looked back down at the spoon in your hand. Then, with the serene composure of someone who had absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever, you turned slightly in your seat and extended the spoon across the table toward Sokka instead.

“Sokka,” you said pleasantly. “Do you want to try it?”

Sokka’s expression went from conspiratorial delight to the studied, innocent blankness of a seasoned chaos agent. He straightened in his seat. He placed a solemn hand over his heart.

“I,” he said gravely, “would be honored.”

He leaned forward. He accepted the spoon. He closed his eyes as he tasted it with the theatrical reverence of a man experiencing a religious event, and then he let out a low, appreciative groan that was at least forty percent louder than necessary.

“Oh,” Sokka breathed. “Oh, that’s—Y/N. Y/N, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Isn’t it?” you agreed warmly.

“I might have to move into the Fire Nation palace permanently.”

“We have a lovely east wing.”

“Perfect. I’ll take it.”

The temperature in the dining room had been climbing for approximately twelve seconds. You felt it before you looked. It was the specific, simmering heat that radiated off Zuko when his composure was being tested. The barely-leashed inner fire usually only made itself known when he was in the middle of a council session gone wrong, or when his fiancée had just deliberately fed another man dessert right in front of him.

Zuko was staring at Sokka with an expression so flat and so incinerating it could have stripped paint from the walls.

Sokka, to his eternal credit, met that stare with the breezy, untroubled grin of a man who had survived a war and therefore had genuinely recalibrated his fear threshold. He set the spoon down on the table between you with a small, precise click.

“I mean,” Sokka said, in the tone of someone making a completely reasonable observation, “you did turn it down.”

You pressed your lips together very hard.

“You specifically said,” you added, with perfect innocence, “that you could feed yourself.”

Zuko turned to look at you. The flat expression had not moved. If anything, it had intensified. His golden eyes tracked from your face to the spoon to Sokka’s deeply satisfied expression and back to your face again, and you watched the precise moment he decided he was not going to dignify this with a response.

He reached across the table. He picked up the spoon. He cut himself a portion of the cake with the silent, deliberate calm of a man who was certainly not bothered. He ate it. He set the spoon down.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Just fine?” Sokka asked.

“It’s cake, Sokka.”

“Y/N said it was incredible—”

“The conversation,” Zuko said, with a finality that had once ended full council meetings, “is over.”

You and Sokka thought it was funny.

Well. Your little prank is not so funny now.

Because right now, you are in the Fire Lord’s private chambers, stripped bare and face-down across his lap with the heavy silk sheets bunched uselessly beneath your palms, rapidly revising your opinion of the entire spoon incident.

He had been very calm about it. That was the most unnerving part. No raised voice, no dramatic declaration. Just the quiet deliberate efficiency of a man with a point to make and absolutely no intention of rushing. He walked you through the mahogany doors, turned the lock, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and looked at you. That was all it took. One look, and here you were: draped across his lap as his large calloused hand rested light and warm at the small of your back, the blistering heat of his thighs radiating straight through your bare skin, the horrible charged anticipation of waiting.

“You thought that was funny,” he said. Not a question. His voice was low, that gravelly unhurried register that did something catastrophic to your better judgment.

“A little,” you admitted, into the sheets.

His hand lifted. It came down with a sharp deliberate crack across the curve of your backside, and the sound that tore out of you was not dignified in any conceivable way.

“Zuko—”

“A little.” He repeated it perfectly even. His palm smoothed immediately over the sting, the scorching heat of his hand pressing into the bloom of warmth he had left behind. Your whole body clenched involuntarily at the contrast, the sharp bite of it dissolving almost instantly into a spreading maddening heat that pooled low and heavy in your core. “We’ll revisit that.”

He did it again. And again. Slow and measured, with that ruthless patience he applied to absolutely everything—council sessions, fire katas, and the systematic dismantling of your composure. Each strike was followed by the same soothing pass of his palm, his thumb tracing the flushed curve of your skin almost tenderly, and the combination of it was genuinely unhinged. Your fingers twisted into the silk. Your hips rolled without your permission. You heard the low dark exhale that came from him in response.

That was the thing about him. Zuko’s jealousy was a quiet, suffocating weight. He operated with the exact same obsessive, single-minded intensity that had once driven him across the globe for three years. Now, all of that relentless focus was trapped inside this room, directed entirely at stripping away your composure until you remembered exactly who claimed you.

You supposed that’s just how Fire Lord Zuko is. The jealous type.

By the time he finally stilled his hand, your skin was flushed a vivid burning pink, radiating its own warmth, every trace of your natural waterbender’s cold chased clean out of you. Your breathing was a wreck. The sheets beneath your palms were damp from the faint frost that had spiked off your overwhelmed skin and melted instantly against the furnace heat of his thighs.

“There,” Zuko murmured, his hand resting warm and still against your lower back. His voice had dropped into something quieter. Not soft exactly, but settled. Certain. “There you are.”

What came after was not gentle, and it was not quick.

He put you on all fours. His hands were sure and unhurried as he arranged you exactly where he wanted you, and the first stroke of his cock splitting you open dragged a completely ruined sound out of your throat that you felt no shame about whatsoever. He was thick and devastating at this angle, every thrust bottoming out so deep you felt it behind your navel, his hips snapping into the still-flushed spanked curve of your ass with a sharp filthy sound that filled the entire chamber. His long dark hair had come loose from its tie and fell around his face as he leaned over you, the ends brushing your spine, and even half-wrecked as you were the sight of him in your peripheral vision made it worse—that sharp jaw locked tight, those golden eyes dark with focus, the broad scarred expanse of his chest sheened faintly with exertion, lean muscle shifting with every drive of his hips.

He fucked you thoroughly. Properly. Deep hard strokes at a pace that left you completely incoherent, your arms trembling, your face pressing into the pillow as your own voice became entirely unrecognizable to you. Tears tracked silently down your cheeks, the bright overwhelmed kind that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the total dissolution of every last piece of your composure. You came with a broken sob muffled into the silk, clenching hard around him, and he followed close after with a low wrecked groan pressed between your shoulder blades, his hands gripping your hips so tight you’d feel it tomorrow.

For a moment, you both just breathed.

Then he drew you up.

He positioned you with those large certain hands, your back against his chest, his legs bracketing yours, the scorching wall of him solid at your spine. You were facing the mirror at the foot of the bed. You understood immediately, completely, why it was where it was.

You looked absolutely catastrophic. Your hair was a total wreck, dark strands plastered to your flushed tear-damp cheeks. Your lips were swollen. Your eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, the look of someone who had been thoroughly taken apart and hadn’t been put back together yet. Your cool skin was flushed with heat and steaming faintly where it pressed against the blistering heat of his chest, the fire-and-ice contrast rendered almost obscene in the amber glow of the hearth.

And then there was Zuko behind you, which was a genuinely unfair thing to have to look at in this particular state. His dark hair was fully loose now, falling in thick dishevelled waves past his jaw and brushing his scarred collarbone. His chest was bare, broad and heavily muscled with the lean hard lines of a man who had trained every day of his life, old battle scars mapping his torso in silver and pale gold. His jaw was tight, a muscle feathering in his scarred cheek. His golden eyes burned steady in the low firelight, fixed entirely on you. He looked like something forged from fire and focused want. You looked like you’d been hit by a wave and hadn’t surfaced yet.

The contrast was genuinely criminal.

His chin hooked over your shoulder. His golden eyes found yours in the glass and held.

“Don’t look away, princess,” he said quietly.

His hand slid down your stomach.

You were already so sensitized that when his fingers found your clit, your whole body jolted on pure reflex. His other arm banded across your ribs immediately, dragging you back flush against him, keeping you exactly and inescapably in place.

“Zuko—” His name fractured in your throat. “I can’t, I’m already—”

“I know,” he said. He didn’t stop.

His fingers worked your clit in tight relentless circles, the direct pressure against something so oversensitized from everything before that every stroke felt like too much and not enough at the same time. His other hand slid up to cup your left breast, squeezing the soft weight of it before his fingers found your nipple and pinched, sharp enough to make you gasp and clench and dig your nails into his forearm hard enough to leave marks.

“Look at the mirror,” he said against your ear.

You looked. You wished briefly that you hadn’t. Your face was a complete disaster, mouth open, eyes wet, cheeks scarlet, expression stripped down to pure sensation with nothing held back at all. The image of you coming apart while he remained so devastatingly composed behind you, his dark eyes tracking your every reaction with that consuming focused attention, was enough to make your thighs shake all over again.

His fingers tightened on your nipple, a rolling pinch that sent a sharp spike straight down to your already screaming clit. Then the hand at your core shifted, two fingers curling inside you while his thumb flicked directly over your swollen bud, and you actually sobbed. Loud and undignified and completely beyond caring.

“Still think it was funny?” he murmured against your ear, low and dark and almost conversational. His fingers never lost their rhythm for a single second.

You opened your mouth. You were going to say a little. You had fully intended to say a little, purely on principle, right up until his thumb pressed down firm and his fingers curled deeper and his other hand delivered one sharp stinging flick directly to your clit. Your entire spine arced off his chest.

What came out instead was his name. Just his name, over and over, increasingly incoherent.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, low and rough against your temple.

The orgasm hit so hard your vision went white at the edges, your whole body shaking, thighs clamping shut around his hand. His arm was the only thing keeping you from sliding completely off the mattress. He worked you through every convulsing shuddering second of it without mercy, fingers pumping steadily through the clench of your walls, thumb drawing slow circles over your hypersensitive clit until the sounds you were making were mostly just breath and the occasional broken fragment of please.

He finally, mercifully, stilled.

The room was very quiet. The hearth crackled. Your chest heaved. His chin was still hooked over your shoulder and in the mirror his expression had shifted into something quieter. Still dark, still certain, but underneath it the faintest trace of the thing he could never quite say out loud in dining rooms and corridors. The thing that only ever came out like this.

A thin curl of steam rose where your sweat-damp skin pressed against the furnace of his chest. The hearth fire guttered once, sympathetically.

He lowered you both down onto the mattress slowly, tucking you against his chest the same way he always did, with that quiet absolute possessiveness, like the decision had been made a long time ago and he had no interest in revisiting it. His hand settled heavy and warm at the curve of your waist. His thumb began its slow idle circle.

You lay there completely and entirely destroyed, listening to his heartbeat gradually decelerate against your cheek. The burn of him had faded from overwhelming to something grounding, a steady bone-deep warmth seeping into places the cold had lived for years.

“For the record,” you said, into the quiet.

“Mm.”

“You could have just eaten the cake.”

A beat. Then, low and dry, his voice rumbling against your cheek. “I’m aware of that.”

“Would have been easier.”

“I said I’m aware, princess.”

You smiled against his skin. “I’m just saying. For future reference. If I offer you a spoon—”

“I’ll take the spoon.”

“Good.”

“Don’t test me again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, partially lying as you pressed a soft kiss to the scar over his eye.

prologue ⧽ read more

this is actually a bonus chapter from the main ‘sublimation’ universe ;)

[chaichai-draws]

Sometimes a family is a put out Earth Kingdom Captain and his three teenaged bullies

Go Team Steam! I’m running out of chapters in @lovelyelbowleech ‘s fic War Crimes…

[iamfina5]

Hidden Amongst the Dragons

Summary:

Love and loyalty are often at odds in a world at war. For Sokka, there was never a choice to be made.

Sokka meets his soulmate just as he throws himself into the fray of the Hundred Year War at the side of his sister and Avatar Aang. Devastated to find his other half on the side of the Fire Nation, he stands steadfast in opposition to their tyrannical rule, even when he finds himself behind enemy lines.

Book Three: Love Amongst the Dragons

First Prev

Sokka spends his sixteenth birthday imprisoned in one of the many lavish rooms in the earth king’s besieged palace. He is pretty sure that the room in which he has been living for the past few days used to belong to a woman considering all of the dresses that line the closet. All of the occupants of the palace had been forcibly evicted when Ba Sing Se had fallen to Zuko and Azula. The Dai Li had torn down long stretches of the city’s outer wall, allowing Fire Nation troops to pour into the city. From what Sokka has learned by listening to the idle gossip of the remaining palace servants, there has been pushback from the citizens, but only in the Lower Ring. The Middle Ring had surrendered quietly, and there are plenty of recreant aristocrats in the Upper Ring already cozying up to Azula and other high-ranking Fire Nation officials.

The whole situation makes his blood boil. He cannot believe a city as great and well-armored as Ba Sing Se fell to three teenagers who had decided to infiltrate it on a whim. What’s worse is that they had impersonated the Kyoshi Warriors to do it, which means that Suki and her comrades are probably locked up in some spirits-forsaken prison in the Fire Nation.

Sokka’s other friends are surely suffering, as well. While Toph had managed to rescue the earth king and his pet bear from Ty Lee and Mai, he cannot imagine they are experiencing any sort of good luck given what had happened in the catacombs.

Aang had died, and the reincarnation cycle along with him.

Lying slumped on his borrowed bed with tears blurring his vision, Sokka wonders where his sister had chosen to bury the last avatar. Had she returned to Chameleon Bay and done a sea burial? Did she prepare an Air Nomad funeral? What was an Air Nomad funeral even like, he ponders. Aang had promised to tell them when they were old and gray and the information would have actually been appropriate to know.

He is pulled away from his thoughts when the rap of someone’s knuckles sounds at the door. Rolling his eyes, he stays put.

Every morning and night for the last three days, Zuko has come by in an attempt to coax Sokka out of his room. For whatever reason, Zuko keeps inviting him to breakfast and dinner with his sister and her friends, but Sokka has rebuffed him every single time. Zuko always sounds like a kicked seal-puppy whenever Sokka tells him to go away through the door, though why he thinks that Sokka would like to share a meal with his captors and someone who murdered his friend is beyond him.

This morning, he doesn’t even bother to respond, hoping that Zuko will take the hint without them having to engage in conversation. Unluckily for him, Zuko also tries something new this morning: he comes into Sokka’s room without permission.

Immediately, Sokka jumps up from the bed, taking up a defensive stance. Logically, he knows that Zuko is not going to attack him, but he reasons that he feels assaulted by Zuko’s mere presence. Glaring at Zuko, he takes in his current state of dress, so different from what it had been a few days ago. When before he had donned a somewhat grungy, brown and yellow smock, now he wears the finery of a prince. The clothing is superior even to that which he had worn in exile, which had mostly consisted of worn battle armor. Now, his robes are made of silk, colored in burgundy and mahogany. The ensemble is lined with various gold designs in the shapes of flames. To top it off, his boots are particularly baroque. The toes are pointed upwards, and gold runs all the way from his ankles to his knees.

“Look,” Zuko starts before Sokka can think of anything to say. His head is half-bowed as he speaks, as though he knows he is not in Sokka’s good graces.  “I know you’re mad at me and you don’t want to talk right now—”

“No shit,” Sokka barks, cutting him off. “Why wouldn’t I be mad at someone who betrayed me so they could help their insane sister kill my friend, who was the last hope for the world!”

Taking the bait, Zuko responds to Sokka rather than proceeding with whatever he had come into the room to say. “I didn’t know Azula was going to do that, okay?”

Crossing his arms, Sokka yells, incredulous, “You didn’t know?”

Clenching his fists in typical-Zuko fashion, Zuko grits his teeth and mutters, “No. I only ever wanted to capture the avatar—”

“Well, what the fuck did you think was going to happen after that,” Sokka exclaims, reaching his boiling point. “Did you really think your dad was just going to indefinitely imprison the avatar?” Brow raised, he pretends to wait for Zuko’s answer to his rhetorical question. When no such answer comes, Zuko’s gaze pinned to the floor, he proceeds, “No! He was always going to kill him.”

Blowing out a rough breath, he concedes, “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, but—”

“But what,” Sokka shouts, ferociously cutting Zuko off. He is panting—having been exerted by their argument—and glaring at him hard, as though daring him to say something more about Aang.

“Look,” Zuko says again, starting over from when he had come through the door. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I only came in here because I wanted to tell you that we’re leaving today.”

“Great,” Sokka replies, feeling genuinely pleased, though he maintains the fury in his tone. “Bye, see you never.”

Frustration rippling across his face, Zuko amends, “No, I mean, we’re leaving today.”

Like a bucket of ice, the meaning of Zuko’s words crashes over him, and Sokka starts waving his arms to convey his objection. “No, no way. I am not going to the Fire Nation.”

Zuko takes a step closer to him. “Sokka, come on. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Keep Reading

[koiotic]

For writing prompts maybe iroh finding out about zukki?

Yeah this response is like a month late but what are you going to do about it?

•••

In his defence, he hadn’t been aware it was a secret. Zuko may be an expert at stealth, but that certainly did not extend to his relationships. Iroh had seen the way he looked at Sokka and Suki, heard the way he talked to and about them - with poorly veiled adoration and excitement that filled him with joy to see his nephew so happy. The other two weren’t exactly masters of deception either, so he had genuinely thought it was common knowledge.

He’d known about Zuko and Sokka since the comet. They had both been nervous and distracted, but he’d noticed the looks and fleeting touches they had shared. Sokka had grabbed Zuko’s hands to talk to him at one point, both leaning in close for a quiet conversation. It was decidedly intimate, but soft and gentle in a way he rarely saw from Zuko.

Sokka and Suki were obviously a unit, and that had only briefly confused him before he figured out the dynamic. They were light and loving, and clearly adored each other. They were the epitome of young love, and realising that it extended to include Zuko too filled him with warmth.

He hadn’t noticed the depth of Zuko and Suki’s connection until recently, assuming that they were both involved with Sokka independently. But he had found them curled up asleep together one night while Sokka was away, peaceful and happy wrapped up in each other on the floor in Zuko’s rooms at the palace. Judging by their position, it looked like an abandoned attempt to get Zuko away from paperwork and to move to the bedroom to sleep.

The three apparently hadn’t been fooling anyone else, either. Toph has often come to their weekly tea sessions complaining about ‘gross sappy idiots’, and it didn’t take much effort to read between the lines. Katara has been overheard loudly bemoaning her ‘idiotic hopeless romantic brother’ spending all his time ‘carving stupid turtleducks and fans’ for his ‘even stupider partners’. Even Aang admitted getting sick of listening to endless drafts of poems and critiquing artwork.

The only ones who didn’t seem to have such complaints were Sokka, Suki and Zuko. They were far busier talking about their own lives, and unspecified romantic partner(s).

“Yes, uncle, I’m dating... a person. One person. Who is... not here right now. They’re, um, in the Earth kingdom. By the way, have you seen Suki’s new fans? She and Sokka designed them, they’re amazing. The fans! That they designed. Not Sokka and Suki. Not that Sokka and Suki aren’t amazing! They are - they’re amazing. Just not like that!”

What a mystery.

“Well this is certainly unexpected,” he lied through his teeth.

Zuko groaned. “How long have you known?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know you were hiding it from people.”

“Right,” Zuko sighed, “we’re really bad at this, aren’t we?”

“Nephew, love is a true and powerful emotion that many struggle to conceal, and-“

Zuko levelled him a glare.

Iroh sighed. “Yes, you’re really bad at hiding it.”

[erza-haninozuka]

Better Than That

Characters: Zuko x Female Reader

Words: 1,127

Warnings: Mentions of a toxic relationship, fluff

A/N: Today’s fic is brought to you by a song I find lyrically beautiful. At first I wasn’t super sure on how to approach this on if I wanted it focused on Zuko or reader more. But this is how it all turned out so I do hope you enjoy it! 

Everyone was sitting around in Iroh’s tea shop, enjoying the downtime and some of the best tea they ever had. 

You and Katara were chatting and laughing, making Zuko’s heart melt at the sight of your smile. He was ready to come over and steal you away for a moment, but froze as fear took hold and kept him at bay. Instead, he returned his focus back onto the papers before him and Aang as they brainstormed some ideas for Republic City. 

You glanced over, noticing Zuko burying himself into his work again, forcing himself to focus instead of taking a moment to relax like the rest of you were. 

“Always working, that’s my nephew for you,” Iroh chuckled as he set your tea down. 

You smiled gently, “Yes but he needs to pull himself away for just a moment.” You rose up and approached the table.

Zuko was aware of your presence before you spoke, “I’ve got work to do Y/N. This is extremely important.” 

“And so is relaxing.” 

He didn’t respond, heart falling at the sound of your sigh as you walked off realizing you wouldn’t win. He glanced up in time to catch you sitting back down, making him regret the worry that filled your expression.

But he just couldn’t do it. Not after everything he went through with Mai. 

It took him so long to realize she was toxic for him, and even if he knew you so well, that fear still plagued his heart. 

He turned his attention back to the papers, but his mind wouldn’t let him focus. He read over the papers what felt like ten times but his mind still couldn’t process it. He sighed, reading again to try to understand it, lost to the world around him as everyone else continued doing their own things.

He was so lost in trying to work he didn’t notice you, Toph, and Katara leave. He didn’t even hear Sokka say he was going to do some shopping. 

Aang basked in the silence that filled the shop now that the girls and Sokka were gone. 

Iroh gently set a cup next to Zuko, being able to pull him from his tiring focus. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” Aang said simply. 

He sighed, “I’m sorry okay!?”

Iroh frowned, “You have no need to feel sorry but it’s clear something is troubling your mind. You can tell us.” 

Zuko leaned back, “I know, Uncle. But it’s nothing that can be helped. I refuse to be burned again.” 

Aang frowned, him and Iroh sharing confused looks and shrugs before looking back to the Fire Lord for some further explanation. 

“It’s Y/N. I know how I feel about her but every time I try to make a move or open my mouth to tell her I just remember everything Mai did. I can’t go through that again. I can’t be used again or for my needs to be ignored. I can’t be with her but I don’t want her with anyone else and it’s so frustrating!” He quickly pushed away from the table, the chair scraping the floor as he sprung to his feet, pacing and pulling at his hair in a confused fury. 

The two men watched him in surprise, not expecting him to fold as easily as he did. 

“I can’t have my heart broken again. I know I have a nation to think about, I will need an heir but the one person I would want by my side- I can’t!” His eyes began to water up as his voice dared to break, “I just can’t do it. I’m scared.” 

Iroh walked over, placing his hands onto Zuko’s shoulders to stop his pacing. “It is okay to be afraid. Fear can help us accomplish many things, but sometimes it’s the leap that scares us most. You cannot continue to worry about all these what if’s, Zuko. Because then time will fly you by and you will have regrets. It’s better to face this fear and tell her how you feel.” 

“Your uncle is right. You need to be honest with her but most importantly yourself.” 

“I know you’re scared with everything Mai did, but Y/N is nothing like her,” Iroh reminded him. “You can’t compare her or the experiences you will face to your previous relationship because not only is she different, but your experiences will be too.” 

Zuko gulped thickly, letting their words stew as he looked outside into the streets of Ba Sing Se. 

“You should tell her when she returns.” 

“What!? I don’t even know what or how to say it.” 

“Tell her from your heart,” Iroh said simply as he sat down. 

“Right…” 

In a few hours you returned to the tea shop and Zuko was a nervous wreck as he had been mentally preparing to tell you. 

Just as you all greeted them, he was up and quickly dragging you outside. 

“Wait, Zuko what’re you doing?” You frowned as he kept walking, “Zuko you’re squeezing my hand tightly!” 

He stopped and immediately let go, apologizing before turning to face you, “Look I like you okay?” 

“I mean I’d hope so? I helped you guys during Sozin’s comet and we’re friends. Be pretty weird if you didn’t.” 

“No, that’s not what I mean. Why am I so bad at this,” he mumbled the last bit to himself before taking a deep breath, steadying his beating heart. But his nerves got the best of him as he opened his mouth again. “Mai wasn’t right for me but you are. You would be a great Fire Lady and I want you by my side.” 

You giggled, making his face fall as panic began to set in, but you cupped his face and gently kissed him. 

Zuko slowly melted in your hands and against your lips, practically chasing yours when you pulled away to speak, “I know you have a future to think about but let’s not try to jump the gun just yet okay? Let’s just start out as boyfriend and girlfriend and enjoy some time together before we worry about something more serious okay?” 

“I can do that.” He kissed you again, this time putting all of his feelings into the tender, gentle kiss as he pulled you tight against him. 

You smiled into the kiss, practically turning into putty from the warmth of his hands on the small of your back. 

He frowned when you began laughing, “I do something funny again?” 

“A little. You could face a dragon but you couldn’t admit that you like me?” 

Zuko chuckled and rested his forehead onto your shoulder, “That’s supposed to be a secret.” 

“And it will remain that way but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to stop teasing you.” 

[eria-404-fluff-not-found]

I---

Did a thing. Might have forgotten several times halfway through how lighting works but it turned out well.

Read The Way of the Sword on Ao3 now!

[zaerilyn]

SUBLIMATION, 升华.

18+ MDNI, fire lord!zuko x fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, waterbender!reader, dancer!reader, assassin/target dynamic, touch starvation, eventual smut, emotional dependency, trauma & insomnia, unstable bending, slow burn, manipulation, secret identity, heavy angst, canon-typical violence, post-war atla, adult gaang.

✦ DESCRIPTION

Fire and ice were never meant to touch. They were never meant to need each other, either.

But when a runaway waterbender infiltrates the royal palace to assassinate a notoriously untouchable Fire Lord, you quickly discovers that your freezing hands are the only thing keeping him sane. Seducing the enemy was step one. Not falling for him was step two.

You're about to fail both.

✦ PROLOGUE

The Summer Solstice festival was, in Fire Lord Zuko's professional opinion, entirely too hot.

Sitting on the raised dais at the head of the grand courtyard, Zuko suppressed a weary sigh. It had been over a decade since the Hundred Year War ended, a decade of rebuilding a broken nation alongside the Avatar, a decade of dodging assassination attempts, and enduring endless council meetings. Now pushing thirty, his adolescent anger issues had long since mellowed into a calculated, lethal calm, but the lingering trauma still manifested in other ways. Namely, a crippling insomnia. His inner fire was a constant, overactive coil of stress, leaving his bending unstable and humming erratically just beneath his skin. He was exhausted, perpetually overheated, and deeply, painfully touch-starved. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a messy half-bun, a few stray strands sticking to his damp forehead in the suffocating Caldera heat.

But a grown man—and a Fire Lord at that—didn't get to complain about the heat, so he kept his jaw locked, his golden eyes scanning the courtyard with practiced indifference. To him, this was just another performance for another festival; nothing new, nothing special, just another mundane obligation tying him to his throne. He honestly wished he could just abandon the festivities and nurse his infuriating headache in the dark quiet of his chambers.

He was half-tempted to do exactly that.

That was, until the heavy, rhythmic pounding of the drums echoed off the stone walls, and you stepped into the center of the mosaic floor.

Zuko's posture immediately stiffened.

Even through the sheer, crimson silk of your dancer's veil, he recognized you. You were the girl he had collided with in the royal wing two days ago. The girl with the unnaturally frigid skin who had offered the most chaotic, clumsy bow in Fire Nation history.

Honor. That was the ridiculous fake name you had panicked and given him.

The drums picked up speed, and you moved. Your attire was a calculated weapon. You wore a deep crimson, sharply cropped silk top heavily embroidered with gold coins and jewels, designed to push up and accentuate your cleavage while leaving your toned stomach and torso entirely bare. Matching crimson armbands hugged your biceps, and a low-slung, heavily beaded belt rested right on your hips. It cascaded with delicate gold coins that chimed softly in rhythm with the drums, sitting just above a flowing, sheer crimson skirt that caught the torchlight with every sultry step.

This entire performance was a gilded snare. The rumors painted the Fire Lord as a brooding, isolated phantom, surrounded by an impenetrable royal guard. Bewitching him was your only guaranteed ticket into his inner circle. Once you had his favor, slipping into the private archives to unearth his darkest secrets would be effortless. Step one was simply forcing him to look at you.

The bait was already taken. While the rest of the troupe executed the traditional fire dance with sharp strikes and aggressive footwork, you let your waterbending instincts bleed through the choreography. Every motion was dangerously fluid. You moved with the heavy, seamless grace of a river tide, your hips rolling and dipping in a hypnotic rhythm that made the sheer crimson silk of your skirt cling tight to the curve of your thighs.

Zuko swallowed hard, his throat suddenly bone-dry.

The oppressive heat of the torches surrounding the courtyard was suffocating, but as you spun, something impossible happened. A faint, glittering mist began to radiate from your bare skin, catching the torchlight like diamond dust. It was microscopic, invisible to the untrained eye, but Zuko felt it. A phantom breeze of pure, biting cold swept over the dais, cutting through the heavy Caldera heat directly to where he sat.

Zuko inhaled sharply, his golden eyes tracking the arch of your spine as you leaned back into a deep, sweeping motion, implicitly offering yourself to his gaze. The cold air you were throwing off wasn't just refreshing; it was an instant, miraculous balm to his erratic inner flame. The simmering, unstable heat that usually kept him awake for days on end immediately began to settle, drawn out by the sheer, magnetic pull of your frigid aura. It was like a drug to his overworked, feverish system.

And then, his traitorous body decided to completely betray him.

A heavy, pooling warmth settled low in his gut, a stark contrast to the icy mist brushing his skin. Zuko shifted in his heavy ceremonial robes, his pulse hammering as he realized exactly what was happening.

No, he thought, panic spiking in his chest. No, no, absolutely not.

He was the Fire Lord. He had survived his father's Agni Kai. He had survived the Boiling Rock. He had spent the last fifteen years turning his nation around. And right now, sitting in front of his entire court, he was getting hard. Over a dancer.

Zuko immediately brought a large, calloused hand up to his face, resting his elbow heavily on the armrest of his throne. He pressed his palm over his mouth, dragging his long fingers down to cover the lower half of his face, desperately trying to conceal the sudden, sharp intake of his breath and the frantic clenching of his jaw. Through the cage of his fingers, his golden eyes were blown wide, tracking your every deliberate sway with a dark, starving intensity.

He squeezed his eyes shut behind his hand, mentally begging his pulse to slow down. Think of something else. Think of the Earth Kingdom trade tariffs. Think of Sokka eating sea prunes with his mouth open. He opened his eyes, and you did a slow, mesmerizing body roll that sent a fresh wave of freezing, soothing mist straight toward him. Zuko dug his free hand into the armrest of his throne, suppressing a low groan against his palm.

He had spent the darkest, most traumatic years of his adolescence chasing the Avatar across the globe, screaming to the heavens about finding his honor. And now, as a grown man, he was pitching a tent in the middle of a sacred festival because a gorgeous, suspiciously cold girl literally named Honor was shaking her hips in his courtyard.

The universe was definitely laughing at him. If Sokka ever found out about this, Zuko was going to throw himself into the volcano.

READ MORE ON WATTPAD

[erza-haninozuka]

Relaxation

Characters: Sokka x Zuko

Words: 970

Warnings: Marijuana usage, smut

A/N: This fic was inspired by a song about drugs/alcohol. And to be honest, this fic totally went in a different direction than I was expecting. XD 

Music softly played from the record player, filling the entire basement with the sounds of the music. 

Sokka was hunched over the table, focused as he attentively filled and rolled the blunt, his boyfriend’s eyes watching as he licked the paper and sealing it off. 

Sokka blushed a bit and handed Zuko the blunt, “I’ll let you start it.” 

Zuko chuckled lowly and took the blunt, igniting the paper and the contents inside just the way he needed to before taking two drags. He closed his eyes as he exhaled, ready for the feeling to hit him as he passed it to Sokka. 

Instead of grabbing it from him, Sokka gently pushed his hand back towards him, “Babe that’s yours.” 

Zuko blinked, sitting up a bit more as he stared at him, “What?” 

“Yeah,” he reiterated as he sat back. “I made it for you since you’ve been so stressed with finals. Just need to relax.” 

“Alright.” He took a few more drags, melting back into the couch, letting the calming music wash over him. 

Just as he was halfway through, Sokka finally took the blunt from him, taking a few hits. 

Zuko snickered, “I thought it was mine?” 

“Hey, it was calling my name!” 

Sokka received an eye roll in return as he took a few more hits before passing it back. 

In a matter of moments the blunt was finished off and the roach was snuffed out to be used later as the men relaxed into the couch. 

White noise filled the room before finally stopped as the arm of the record player moved back to its resting point.

“Thank you for this, I really needed it.” 

“But wait there’s more.” Sokka got up and changed the record around before coming back to the couch, pulling Zuko into his arms. 

He melted into his boyfriend’s hold, enjoying the closeness and hearing the sound of his heart beating. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” 

“Accidentally knocking me down,” Sokka laughed. “But it’s okay, you redeemed yourself.” He placed a gentle kiss to his lips before smothering his face with kisses, paying a little more attention to his scar. 

Zuko hummed and chuckled, “Are you seriously not satisfied right now? Do you need me too?” 

He hummed, “I wouldn’t protest that, but right now I just wanna lay here with you in my arms and then get some food soon.” 

He nodded and nuzzled into him, taking in his scent as he relaxed even further. 

Sokka gently massaged his scalp, listening to his calming breaths. “I love you so much, Zuko.” 

“I love you too Sokka.” Zuko adjusted and kissed him gently, cupping his face. 

Sokka hummed softly. 

“My turn to help you relax.” 

Before Sokka could question what he meant, Zuko was already kissing his neck and grinding into Sokka. 

He moaned lowly, shivering when Zuko had popped his shirt open, a button flying across the room. 

“Katara can sew that back on later,” he said before traveling down, flicking his tongue over his pert nipples. 

Sokka gasped, face beginning to redden. “What if your--” 

“He’s not home.” Zuko then gently bit the bud, using his free hand to pinch his other nipple. Once he was satisfied he traveled even lower, kissing hips and smirking when he felt Sokka’s member twitching underneath his shorts. He carefully yanked them down and underneath his ass, seeing the wet mark on his boxers and smirking, “Already dripping for me?” 

Sokka’s face darkened even more from his blush, “Yes, Sir.” 

Zuko palmed at him and gave him another kiss before pulling his boxers down. He gently stroked him before licking the underside of his cock, tongue tracing his vein. 

Sokka sucked in a breath, watching Zuko’s tongue flick over his slit and collecting his precum, humming happily at the taste. 

Slowly Zuko took him into his mouth, cheeks hollowing around him as he began to bob along his length at a relaxing speed. He hummed around him as Sokka’s head fell back with a low moan.

Sokka bucked his hips, ready to plow into his boyfriend’s mouth, but Zuko’s hands quickly pinned him down. He whined in protest as Zuko pulled away. 

“You are going to let me please you, understood? I will quicken up the pace as I please.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Zuko smirked and took him back into his mouth, sucking hard and bobbing quicker than he did before as he reached up and rolled Sokka’s nipples in between his finger and thumb.

Sokka shouted out in pleasure, making Zuko moan around him.

However the man soon whined as Zuko again pulled away.

Zuko’s hands traveled down as he gently spread him open, his tongue now attacking his puckered hole, gently diving in. 

“Suck them,” he ordered as he gently placed his fingers in Sokka’s mouth. 

Sokka obeyed, groaning as Zuko got back to pleasuring him. 

Once Zuko’s fingers were wet enough he pulled them out and gently lined them up. He carefully pushed them in, groaning, “Fuck you’re so tight.” 

Sokka whimpered gently, “Zuko please…” 

He hummed and began to suck him off again as he thrust his fingers into him in perfect sync. Sokka’s moans filled the room, drowning out the music. 

“Fuck, Zuko I’m gonna cum!” 

Zuko moaned around him, pushing his fingers even deeper and brushing Sokka’s sweet spot. With a few more pumps of his finger’s Sokka’s hot seed was spilling out into his mouth.

“Oh god Zuko!” 

He hummed and swallowed around him, collecting each drop his boyfriend offered him before pulling away and kissing him. 

Sokka cupped his face, moaning at the taste of himself on Zuko’s lips, “I need you to properly fill me up.” 

Zuko smirked, “Give it a few minutes then I’ll fill up the way you need me to, Baby.”