Thinking about the avengers team after age of ultron. The team that had a screen time of ten seconds together. That team that was lead by Natasha & Steve. The team that had Rhodey, Vision, Sam & Wanda in it.
They deserved a movie. It would have made civil war also a bit more emotional. Because it is easy to over look that these people all worked & lived together. They shared breakfast, watched movies, put bandages on each other after a rough mission, they pranked Steve, shared inside jokes, watched visions awkward flirting, watched the newest bachelor episodes because Nat said so & nobody says anything against it, shared joyful moments, talked about war trauma ect.
It jumps from age of ultron to civil war to quick. It overlooks the dynamic. It over looks the emotional aspect. Marvel should have done better.
patience was worked through simon. etched, carved into every fiber of his being. he was born with it, the rough military work simply engraving it deeper. it came easy to him, he knew the mistakes when it came to rushing, he knew the risks of impatience, disobedience.
yet patience burned away at his nerve endings, sizzling out the tips of his fingers, his toes. he was never patient with you, all hands and teeth. and here he was, fingers wrapped tight around a beer with you in his lap. his poor cock oozing into you, slathering your soft walls disgustingly.
but the most disgusting part. you weren’t even fucking moving, not an inch, he couldn’t even feel your breaths. just your pretty pussy planted onto him, sucking him in and holding there nice and warm. it was so cruel, had his mind dripping in cruel, poised thoughts. knuckles white at the back of your neck, pressing your tears into the couch cushions as his hips fucked… no. no.
his hips bucked just slightly, subconsciously as want, need, began to consume him. and the slight movement had him whimpering out, had his head rolling back against the wooden framing of the couch. if he could just…. just once more.
“simon.” your tone was berating. you couldn’t even bother him a look over your shoulder, just a demand. a demand that had his balls aching, his poor cock thudding inside of you, milking itself dry without even a fucking release.
he breathed slowly, shallowly. before he smiled gently, free hand resting just gently on your thigh. his motive clear as his thick, rough fingers stretched out. his movements were slow, precise, desperate to not distract you, fingers just ever so slightly brushing across the slick nub of your clit.
slap!
“keep tryin’ it ‘nd you’ll be here all week.” you snapped, chin jutting angrily. he was so damn impatient, always expected to get what he wanted the second he wanted it. he needed to learn obedience, to be a good boy. “and i won’t let you fuckin’ cum once.”
he whined, vocal cords going raw as it pitched into a greedy growl. he was panting, so worked up, so needy. he couldn’t help the roll of his hips despite your threatening words, couldn’t help the shudder, the shaky, desperate thrust of his hips as he came.
“m’sorry, mmph… so sorry, love,” he couldn’t even form a sentence, rocking into you as he worked himself through his own pathetic release. you tried shoving him down, but his hips were stronger, glued to your backside as he shook. “just…. i-i had to…. hurt so bad, baby, don’t you understand? needed to cum so b- hah- bad.”
he was babbling, beer spilling onto the couch cushions, release so heavy his thighs pressed together beneath you. his head lolled back, hips stuttering to a slow halt, his tongue drooling out at his bottom lip as he whimpered out low, heavy breaths. he couldn’t get a grip of himself, especially not with the way his cum began to seep out of you, pooling at the base of his cock.
when he finally blinked, fluttering the blurry haze away from his vision, his heart was stopping next. you were glaring back at him, teeth just ever so slightly bared… and god, he fucked up.
Lesson Learned | cw: 18+ mdni, country!simon, cursing, excessive spänkíng, angry sêx, sèx against the wall, dâcryphília, dégrègàtíon, (slight) edging, pet names (lil girl, Lucky, darlin, baby).
Truthfully, he wouldn’tve been so angry if you’d didn’t show up so nonchalant. Gave him that pout you do when you’re upset, and explained why you’d disappeared off the face of the earth for two days without telling him.
Well not disappeared, you’d gone to your side of the family two days ago, it was just supposed to be lunch. But you didn’t do much as call to tell him what was going on, he knew you were a “free spirit.” You needed space to do as you wanted, but this wasn’t fucking city anymore, and Simon was gonna be your husband soon.
You’d showed up to the house in a car, a different outfit on and a couple shopping bags in hand, waved a ‘hi’ like nothing was wrong. He’s waited all fucking day for your ass, was gonna call the police if he hadn’t heard from one of the farm hands hadn’t seen you in town. Simon lazily took a sip of his beer from the rocking chair he sat in.
“The hell ‘ve you been [+]?” His voice barks out, voice booming over the open land.
Your eyebrows furrow at the tone, shrugging, “Was out Riley, I told you.” The other day. In your head.
Wrong fucking answer.
Simon clenched his jaw, another swing of beer down his throat. He stands from the chair, “Have you lost your god damn mind [+]?!”
“I don’t hear from you for whole a day Lucky, a full 24 hours! Not a call, not text, a god damn letter from the sky— do you not know where you’re gonna fucking live in the near future!? We’re in the fuckin back country where anything can happen! ‘Nd then another 24 rolls by and I think you’ve gone ‘nd died! And you show up with not a care in the world?! Use your fuckin brain and communicate where the hell you are!” He yells.
Your mouth opens once, processing everything, then closing, then opening again, looking at him like he’s the god damn idiot. You do a take a look around the nearly empty property, flabbergasted—
“Who the fuck are you talkin to?!”
“[+]—“
“I’m not a little fuckin bitch, I’m my own woman! I do what the fuck I want when the fuck I want! I don’t need your stamp ‘f approval for what the hell I wanna do! Shit, maybe I should get back in the car and go have fun, again!”
“[+],” he drawls deathly low, eyes glaring down at you, “Get on the fuckin porch. Now.”
And suddenly, it’s like your feet are rooted deep in the dirt road, throwing your shopping bags back in the car. You fold your arms over your chest. “No!”
Stubborn little city broad, Simon was gonna sort you all out.
Boots heavy with every step down the porch, he’s quite as a mouse and swift as ever getting over to you and throwing you over his shoulder. You gasp, hitting his back, “Put me down you ass hole! Put me down right now or I swear to God!”
Sure, he puts you down. right in his lap once he got to the top step of the porch, ass up. He used one hands behind your back as you try to wiggle out his grasp, the other yanking your jeans down.
“Count em.” He grumbles.
Before you can even get another word out, there’s a heavy smack! to your ass.
“Riley—“ SMACK!
“Mr. Riley!—“ SMACK!
And you let out a yelp in pain when another ache from his heavy hand lands on you.
“Told ya t’count. That’s three, or should we start from the beginnin?”
You didn’t even bother saying a word, just putting your head down and letting out cry of, ‘four’ when you felt his hand come down once more.
“Such a god damn brat [+], all you had t’do was apologize, but youre a fuckin hardheaded brat.” His teeth clenched, adjusting you after the tenth are so spanking.
“I-“ you hiccup, tears blurring your vision as you grip onto his legs, “I’m not a brat.”
“Bitchin at me when you’re dead fuckin wrong is bein a brat Lucky.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!
“Ya want respect? then use that brain ‘f yers and show me mine. What I say goes, I’m not doin this back ‘nd forth shit over you runnin off when ya want to. I’m your husband. And I don’t mind straighten you out over and over till you fuckin get it, ya hear?”
You let out a sob, nodding your head and clawing at his jeans.
Simon huffs. “Use your fuckin words.”
“Yes sir, mmph- I understand.” You wipe your nose, looking back at the blonde to see if he was done. But his eyes were low, flickering between your tears stained face and yout the wet spot in your underwear. His calloused hand grabs the back of your neck, guiding you off his lap and having you stumbling up the steps to meet his strides like a stray kitten gripped at the neck.
“Come on, ain’t done with you yet.”
The screen door slams behind you once you get inside the house, Simon pushing you into the nearest wall face first. You can feel him panting in your ear, hands sliding down your body after yanking down your pants along with those blue panties he likes to your ankles. Your hands lay flat against the wall trembling all from the burn coming from below.
“Spread ‘em.”
And you do, widening your legs as you tremble.
He cursed, dipping his thumb in your drenched hole, “Shit baby, ya don’t change. Spanked ya fuckin raw ‘nd ya still yearnin’ for it. A little slut for it yeah?”
You get so god damn mouthy, your pussy does too, soaking his fingers as he slots two inside you, working them in and out roughly. You claw at the wall, hips bucking for more movement then he’s giving you. You’re delirious, from the stark difference of Simon giving you the second whooping he’s ever given you to him finger fucking you right in the houses entryway. You don’t even realize your chanting a ‘please, please, please’ as he thrusts fingering inside you.
“Heh- Almost fuckin pathetic how fuckin needy you are right now. Should be greatful your husband is willin t’ help you, take care ‘f ya like ‘m ‘posed to.” He hisses once you clench down on his fingers, pulling his fingers out just as you felt your stomach tightening.
“M-Mr. Riley-“
He lays an Another smack to your ass, laughing at you, “Aht- aht- ahh darlin, that’s where you go it wrong. Why would ya even think ‘f cummin first when this is a punishment?”
You let out another whine, pushing your pump ass against him as he strokes his hardening length. You feel the cockhead push into the globe, Simon smearing his pre-cum. You groan, so desperate, “Please Mr. Riley!”
“Keep it up ‘nd you won’t get shit lil girl.” He grumbles, circling the strawberry tip on your hole. This was already hard enough trying to keep you in check, but edging you was just edging himself— all to have you dumb on his cock.
And that you were, as soon as he slid into your gummy walls. He perfectly stretched you out and filled you to the brim, you could every ridge and bein of his pulsing dick.
“Jesus baby, fuckin chokin me here.” He hisses, his hips pounding into you mercilessly. You trembling in his hold, head thrown back as you moan so loudly you’ll spook the chickens that are just across the yard.
Simon hikes your leg up higher, strokes getting faster, meaner, the loud ‘fwop, fwop’ fwop’ filling your ears everytime he slams back into your oozing hole. His jaw is clenched, seething at how good you feel, “Fuckin pissed me clean off Lucky, was- shit- was worried ‘boutcha ‘nd then you just had to act all big ‘nd bad. Like you run shit.”
Simon tilts your head up, scuffing at your fucked out face, your eyes glazed over as you while you keen his name.
“I bet you ain’t even thinkin, poor thang, been drunk since I been in ‘er.”
“Shit- uugh! Mr. Riley you’re just- it’s so biiiig!” You croon so sweetly. He can’t help the smirk on his pink lips, kissing your shoulder blade.
He lets out a snicker, finding your lips and sloppily kissing you, spitting in your mouth and making sure you swallow it. “ ‘Posed to be a punishment, hckk- but you always get what you want, huh Lucky?” He teases.
You finally catch his ocean blue eyes, your lips purse, looking up at him with those pretty puppy dog eyes, slurring, “No- I- hmm- hngh fu- I’m sorry Mr. Riley. Was wrong. I really am sorrry.”
God damn it, you really are the cutest person on the planet. Simon kisses you again, hitting your g-spot with a thwack that makes you sob.
“Yeah baby, I know. ‘S okay, such a good girl for ‘pologizin.” He coos, kissing you all over.
You can feel it, your orgasm building as he ruts into you wild as ever. You gasp, pushing at his thighs and inching closer to the wall, hardened nipples brushing agasint it, “Wait- wait- it’s- I’ll cum-“
“Nooo, don’t run, fuck darlin, ya can’t run. You g-gotta cum on it.” Simon rasps. He can only push deeper inside you, your face flesh against the wall as you have to take every down right nasty stroke of his cock inside your velvety walls.
“O-oh shit!”
Your orgasm knocks into like a harsh wave, hard and unforgiving. Walls tightening as Simons milky cum paints the inside of you.
“That’s my girl.”
a/n: atp call me “can’t-write-a-simple-Drabble-teddy.” I love plot too much. This request *chefs kiss*
content.ᐟ 18+, fem!reader, munch!toji, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, swearing, pet names (baby, sweet girl), art: @ruu_sugu on x, w.c 750
if toji fushiguro were to die tomorrow, the first thing he would do is give you mind-numbing head.
he's obsessed, maybe it's an unhealthy obsession, but you couldn't care less with the way he eats you out.
its everyday, at this point. the minute he comes home from whatever casino or bar he wastes his time at, his mouth is on you.
he's finding you wherever you are in your shared apartment, and immediately dropping to his knees, spreading your legs with big hands on your thighs.
so, when he finds you curled up on the couch with nothing but one of his comically oversized shirts and black lacy panties, he's striding over to you like a man on a mission. that mission being, getting you to cum on his tongue.
"cmere', baby" he speaks in that low, gravely tone that gets you wetter than you'd like to admit. he snakes his heavy arms around your thighs to pull you to the edge of the couch. "fuckin' missed you..." he's already pressing his nose against your clothed cunt and taking a long, drawn-out sniff. what a pervert, you think, but you can't contain the suprised gasp that escapes your lips at the feeling of his nose pressing right against your sensitive clit.
he huffs a chuckle at that, "jumpy thing, huh?" he teases, nimble fingers working your panties off (the panties he loves so. fucking. much.) and tucks them in his back pocket. you already know what he's going to do with those.
while toji would usually take his time with you, he's simply too pent up to be playing around. he blew his money gambling and he needs a stress-reliever. so it catches you off guard when he immediately dives in.
"t-toji! oh fuck–!" you let out a cry of pure pleasure far too loud for an apartment with thin walls, and clench your legs around his head. your hand flies to his head to tug at the inky black strands.
he's eating like a man starved, eyes closed in focus and tongue fucking in and out of your sopping hole. the noises he's emitting are so obscene, the wet slurp's and moans coming from his pretty lips send even more heat straight to your core.
he licks a stripe up your folds and focuses on your puffy clit, lapping at the nub until you're unable to form a coherent sentence. "ji- oh— ohmygod"
when you think the feeling couldn't get any better (or any more overwhelming), he works two fingers into your velvet heat, scissoring you open and rubbing the pads of his fingers against the gummy bumps of your g-spot. "holyfu- s'good" you're moaning whorishly, back arched and spine aching, practically humping his mouth.
he's got that shit-eating grin plastered on his face, he knows he's got you when you're babbling nonsense.
"all this s'mine" he's muffled by your pussy, but he says it like he's in disbelief, as if you'd ever let anyone touch you. he's just so good, he's ruined you for anyone else.
"y-yeah, all yours— fuck!— m'all yours ji" you manage to moan out some resemblance of a sentence. he presses a reverent kiss to your mound at that, "i know." he strokes your hip tenderly, up and down, with his free hand.
you whine at the lack of his skilled tongue, earning you a look. "y'need to learn a little patience, sweet girl" nevertheless, he dives back down and his lips closed around your clit, he sucks. hard. hard enough to have you throw your head back in ecstasy.
"oh fuuuuck– i'm g-gna cum!" you try to warn him of the orgasm settling low in your tummy, dangerously close, but it all happens so quickly. he hums around your clit, and it immediately sends you over the edge. pleasure shoots through your limbs like fireworks, taking over all of your senses as your vision blurs and your ears ring.
he nearly creams in his pants at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around his digits, and the sight of you with your jaw slack, crying out. all he can hear coming from your lips is toji, toji, toji, and it drives him crazy.
he finger-fucks you through your orgasm and kitten licks your glistening folds until you let the climax subside, a calm settling in your bones.
you gaze down at him with a dazed smile, admiring how love-sick he looks, his pupils blown out and his expression one of pure admiration.
𓆩❤︎𓆪 MDNI. 18+. this came to me in my dream. raw. piv. dírty talk. super short.
“can you learn to fucking knock?”
is probably the most used phrase you have ever since sukuna has become your roommate. honestly, you’re not sure why you agreed to being in one apartment with him.
maybe because you hate dorms.
or maybe because you are trying to save up.
or maybe, just maybe because there’s more to it.
you tilt your head down as you watch sukuna’s cock slowly—inch by inch—enter your cunt. his hands gripped your hips, eyes fixated as his cock fully disappeared inside you causing you two to let out a moan altogether.
your head falls flat on the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. at first, sukuna moved at a slow pace, dragging his cock around the walls of your spongy pussy.
“can you feel that? i’m all the waaaaay—here.” sukuna said, pressing down your lower stomach making you gasp. “oh fuck, my cock is basically up in your cervix—hah!”
sukuna then breaks his slower pace into a much faster and deeper speed. with every thrust, you can feel the tip of his cock hit you deep.
your head tipped back, crying out from the way sukuna pounds inside you like some animal.
“fuck—! ah! ‘kuna! s-slow—ah—down!” you squealed, the pad of his fingers digging on your flesh. the bed post has been hitting the wall in some sort of weird, fast tempo.
“no—i’m gonna fuck you the way i want, ah—” sukuna growled, observing the way your pussy swallows his girthy length. his eyes dragged to your face as you shut your eyes, body twisting from the pleasure.
you are producing a sound mixed with moaning, whimpering, and crying. he can see the flat blob of tears spilling out from your eyes.
“sukuna, you stupid—!” your words were cut off with a gasp as sukuna’s thrust turned into a sharper and harsher rhythm.
it’s like sukuna is knocking.
“oh, yeah—this is what you have been bitching about since you moved in, right?” sukuna said, pulling out almost all of him before bottoming out. “that i don’t know how to knock before entering so i guess i have to—hah—knock on your cervix before filling you up, huh?”
“how rude of me”
your back arched as you feel him make some sort of rhythmic “knocking” deep inside you like he’s pissing you off. “stop squeezing me, i still need to knock—ngh”
white flashes blur your visions, your eyes rolled so far from the overwhelming pleasure.. your toes curl as your body twists around, trying to get away but sukuna’s hands have been nothing but an iron grip.
“there, there. i knocked—mm—now, all of my semen can enter that little womb of yours so you better give them a welcome party, brat.”
Even though you're killing me, I need you like the air that I breathe.
SYNOPSIS. Your husband, Fire Lord Zuko, has a tendency to be somewhat... overbearing. It comes from a place of love, sure, but it doesn't change just how annoying it is. He seems decided on protecting you from an invisible threat, one long lost to the past.
CONTENTS. firelord!zuko x firelady!reader, hurt/comfort, no spoiler of the new movie (i havent watched it lmao, any spoilers are coincidences), iroh wisdom, iroh is the only one with common sense, zuko has childhood trauma (canon), reader gets a small scar, beta read
WC. 5.4k
AUTHOR'S NOTE. heyyy it's been a while, huh. anyways, i had to write something for one of my first fictional crush ever (i had the vision even when he was half bald, 11 yo me knew ball) especially now that he actually has hair, we cheer
Zuko knows first hand what life in the palace is like.
He knows the good, the bad, and the ugly. Especially the ugly.
Walls echoed with taunting whispers and the night was cold, unforgiving. A single misstep was enough to cause the downfall of many. People were always lurking in the shadows, waiting, watching.
There was no such thing as peace, rest. One only had themself and vigilance quickly became their closest friend.
Zuko knew that better than anybody.
Because he had learned it too late.
Years later and he could finally say he was doing better.
He had surrounded himself with people he trusted, people who didn't look at him like a prey, ready to pounce at the first opportunity.
First and foremost, you.
Bringing you to the palace was a decision he was sure to never regret. Yet, a certain unease settled in the pit of his stomach, leaving a bittersweet feeling in his mouth.
He should be happy, he should really. However, the 'what if's and the 'but's that he had pushed to the confines of his mind had a way of coming back.
His best efforts were in vain compared to the way his mind had been tailored, one carefully crafted lie upon another. Although he was doing much better, the memories plagued his every waking moments. After all, just looking in the mirror or touching his face was enough to bring it all to the surface.
So, he dealt with it the only way he knew how.
"Be careful with that, it's hot."
His hands hovered over yours, clearly itching to do it for you, yet holding back to avoid your chastising. A simple look from you told him he would regret not letting you have your independence.
"Yes, Fire Lord Zuko, I am aware fire burns," you deadpanned.
His brows frowned at your words—at the title—, however he didn't move away. His eyes stayed focused on your hands, determined to stop you from coming into harm's way. His concentration would be cute, if only it weren't so patronizing.
You almost sighed, before reminding just who you were with. If Zuko could barely handle you adjusting your position without forcing you to lay down—on the finest bed in the four nations, of course—surely, he would not take kindly to you sighing.
Instead, you focused back your attention to the task at hand, careful not to get hurt, more for your lover's sake than your own. Surely, he would grow out of this awkward phase.
Turned out, he didn't grow out of that phase.
Days flowed into months and his patient hands were still glued to your waist, holding you steady like you'd hold an infant taking its first steps.
Every rock that crossed your path was a threat to your life, every misplaced object an attempt to harm you. And God forbid someone talked to you, they surely had murder on their mind.
You loved him, you truly did. But when each of your comments fell on deaf ears, your patience was thinning by the day. At night, you lay awake, Zuko's arms snugly wrapped around you as you prayed to whatever Spirit could hear; 'Please, get him far away from me.'
The Spirits seemed to have been listening indeed, for just days later, a letter arrived signed by the one and only Avatar. A little adventure on far away lands would surely help him realise the corner he had backed the both of you into. And finally, finally, you'd be able to breathe the fresh air, smell the fl—
"I'm not going."
"What do you mean, you're not going. Of course you are!"
He put down his spoon with a sharp noise before deliberately wiping the corner of his mouth and then placing his napkin back on his lap.
"I mean, I'm not going."
"He's the Avatar!"
He looked unimpressed, his gaze almost insulting in its bluntness, "and I'm the Fire lord. If I say I'm not going, then I'm not going."
"He's your friend. You know, the one who changed your life forever and helped you become who you are?" You were wildly moving your arms around by now, his rejection too frustrating to handle.
"Yes, I know, I was there," he continued, his expression controlled in a way it only was when he grew irritated.
"Why wouldn't you go then? Give me one good reason," you crossed your arms, not willing to let it go despite his clear want for the conversation to end.
"Because I don't want to," his tone was still monotone, emotionless like you'd only heard in council meetings. His obvious refusal to engage in the topic at hand made something boil in you. Or, perhaps, it was already boiling, simmering for months as you had let Zuko indulge in his overly careful fantasy.
"You will tell me why, and you will tell me now. Because I don't want to hear any more about this 'I don't want to' bullshit. I know that's not why, you've left plenty of times before to go be with your friends, so why is it that now you can't," you were fuming by that point, your voice getting louder and louder with every word you spat in his face. "And don't say your duties or…"
me.
The sentence was left hanging in the silence. Neither of you willing to interrupt it.
A beat passed. You searched for Zuko's eyes but they avoided yours, looking down.
Another beat passed. You returned to your food, picking at it without eating a single bite.
"I…," began Zuko, pondering his words carefully. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, smaller. "I don't want to leave you alone. In the palace."
This time, it was your turn to avoid his eyes, your thoughts swirling with his words. You weren't sure what to say. Easing his worries with white lies would hardly help the situation or his unease.
"I won't be alone. Not really," you started. Then, your voice dropped, just a whisper remaining, "not in the way you were."
He didn't say anything, his silence answer enough. Deciding to give him space, you carefully got up, placing your hand on his arm and a kiss on his cheek before leaving. As you reached the door, you turned around one last time. "Please, just think it over. I don't want you to have regrets."
The next morning came slowly. Sleep eluded you.
Zuko was mere centimetres away from you, his everlasting heat warming you despite the distance. You didn't dare move and he didn't either. You weren't sure he was awake. Maybe he was. Like you. Pondering over the question, his sleep far gone. Or maybe he wasn't. Finding rest in the night's arms, away from all the concerns that plagued his everyday life.
You didn't know which option you liked better. Guilt churned at your insides, yet the want for him to be just as bothered as you were still didn't leave you.
When dawn finally came, you didn't wait another second—couldn't—before getting up. As you got ready, you could feel eyes on you. His eyes. You did your best to ignore him, instead focusing on your hair. Your attire. Your face. Anything but him.
Regrets flooded you. Baring his past crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed. He might have stayed silent at the time, however you knew it wasn't the end of that. You felt it. The feeling was uncomfortable, an all-consuming dread that weighed on your shoulders. So you ignored it. Stood up straighter, muscles held tight.
Leaving the room, you didn't turn around. You said nothing. Not this time.
The day passed dreadfully slow. Minutes stretched, never-ending, leaving you with the turmoil of your thoughts.
Perhaps it was better that way. Not seeing him, not feeling his hand on yours, not hearing his voice in your ears. But nothing seemed to keep him out of your mind.
You pondered a lot, maybe too much. You wondered too. About him, about what he was doing, what he was thinking.
The stillness of the garden enveloped you, taking hold of you. It felt suffocating. A silence you had craved, and yet that you now feared.
"How gloomy is the day," a familiar voice broke through. "Isn't it?"
You turned to find Iroh, standing with his usual calm, hands tucked carefully behind him.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?"
He didn't mention the tears in your eyes, nor the shaking of your hands. You were most grateful for his consideration. So, with a small nod, you invited him to join you. His timing seemed intentional, a steady support right when the storm was about to take you under.
Your gaze fell to your lap, your attention far away. The gentle clicking of the tea cup set in front of you suddenly brought you back to the present. You lifted up your eyes, only to find Iroh's own already on you.
He offered you a gentle smile, before drinking his tea. His movements slow and careful, he seemed to simply enjoy the moment, refusing to rush or fill the silence.
His hand came back down as slowly as it had gone up, letting his still steaming cup of tea sit on the small table. "I remember when Zuko was small, he always did his best to protect the ducks in the pond. He wouldn't let anyone get anywhere close."
His gaze was lost far away, and a dry chuckle escaped him at the memory, "it was quite an ironic sight. He, himself, didn't even get close to the ducks. He called them his own, yet…"
The wind picked up again, and a chill crawled up your spine. "But one day, he found them hurt. A nasty burn that traced patterns on the mother's feathers. He was inconsolable, of course."
The story left a bitter taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cup of tea sitting untouched in front of you. Iroh didn't elaborate, as was often the case, yet the meaning seemed clear.
"Lovely tea, isn't it?"
Startled, you looked down at the still steaming liquid swirling around like it somehow could answer for you. "Yes. It is."
For a while, he left you to your thoughts, not oblivious to the predicament you found yourself in. Somehow, he always knew when to give people just enough space to feel free to breathe, yet not too much to feel lost.
You lost track of time quickly, the turmoil of feelings brewing in your heart relentless. Thinking didn't seem to help and the stillness was becoming suffocating. You got up, not saying a word to the man on your right, still happily sipping his tea.
Just as you reached the door, you finally heard the cup being settled on the small table and a voice broke through. "Zuko means well. If nothing else, I hope you'll remember that."
You turned on your heels, intrigued.
"Oh," he sounded surprised, "don't take it the wrong way. I don't mean to pressure you, I'm sure whatever choice you'll come to will be the right one."
Unsure your voice wouldn't betray, you simply turned back around and left.
And if your eyes started to sting, well maybe the wind was too harsh.
Days passed, so slowly you felt like you were watching paint dry.
Zuko was nowhere to be found, you hadn't even had a peek of his red robes. You weren't sure whether to be relieved or antsy, so you lived somewhere in between, always on your toes.
Eventually, it happened. It had to at some point, yet you couldn't help but think that any other time would have been better.
Standing in the middle of the room was your husband, the Fire Lord, in all of his naked glory. Yes, naked. In your defence, he hadn't been to your chambers in days, who could blame you for simply marching in?
Nonetheless, the maids that followed you could probably blame you for bearing witness to the sight. Or perhaps, they should be thankful. It didn't matter. They were quick to drop their baskets and slam the door shut behind them.
"Fire Lady, hi," began Zuko, stuttering like never before.
"Yes, Zuko, hi," you dryly replied.
Silence. God, this was gonna be awkward.
"Hi." Maybe silence really was better.
"Yes, hi," you replied again. "You are aware you already said that part, right?"
That seemed to get him out of his daze, as he finally uttered his first full sentence, "Yes, yes, I meant, how are you? It's been a while."
"Yes, a while indeed. I wonder why." You almost felt bad. Almost.
"Yes, since the fight," he visibly winced at his non-existent smoothness. He stayed silent for a few seconds, seemingly deciding to actually think over his next words, for once. "We… we should talk about that."
With a sigh you agreed, his punishment had gone on long enough. "But, you must be wearing clothes."
He looked down at himself, as if expecting clothes to magically appear, and seemed genuinely surprised when that didn't happen. "Oh, right."
He visibly flushed and you chuckled at the sight. Although you quickly caught yourself when his gaze snapped up to you, just a little too happy to know he made you smile.
He quickly got dressed and you called back in the maids to clean up the baskets they had dropped in their hurry to leave. You asked for tea to be served and settled in the large couch Zuko had installed when you first settled in the Fire Palace.
The man in question awkwardly shuffled to take the spot next to yours. However, your glare quickly redirected him to the seat in front of you. He kept his hands in his lap and, this time, it was his turn to leave his cup of tea alone as you happily sipped your own.
At the very least, it seemed your little speech had done its effect. You were quite pleased at the notion, to say the least.
"I… well, I should say my uncle, actually, helped me realise a few things." Of course Iroh did. It seemed you weren't the only who was granted tea time. "And I should apologize. For overstepping. I've done it a lot, haven't I?"
"That you have," you agreed, yet you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. "I should apologize too, then. I shouldn't have thrown your past in your face, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry."
Zuko stayed silent for a moment, pondering his next words. When he spoke his voice was small, quiet, "You weren't exactly wrong."
He seemed so small now, no longer the impressive Fire Lord, but simply the boy who wanted to be loved. The notion tugged at your heart strings, the sight steering something in you. "It doesn't matter now. You're here with me. And your friends, and all of the new people you've brought into the Palace. You've truly made this place your own."
"I did, didn't I?" he asked, almost in disbelief. The smile growing on his face was small, tentative yet real. "And I have you to thanks for a lot of that. I don't want to lose you. Help me be better, I'll do my best."
He seemed so earnest in winning your trust once more. And everything wasn't magically better, yet it was finally looking up again. That brought a smile to your face, mirroring his own. "Of course I'll help you. I don't want to lose you either."
"You won't. I'll be better." His hand reached across the table to your own, enveloping it in the warmth you missed so much in the last few days.
"Well then, starting now, you have to keep in mind what I tell you. Not just brush it off."
"Yes, ma'am," said Zuko without missing a beat.
Your eyes narrowed. "That means going with the Avatar."
His jaw fell and you could almost hear the complaint sitting at the tip of his tongue. Your gaze sharpened and he didn't dare say more. He clearly didn't agree but knew better than to disagree. Still, just to make sure, you clarified, "so, you're going to write back to him, right?"
This time, his voice was smaller, begrudging, "…yes, ma'am."
"Today."
"…yes."
"Now."
Finally, he took the hint, quickly getting up and scrambling around for some paper and ink.
The problem wasn't exactly solved, yet this step in the right direction brought you so much relief. To see him mirroring your own feelings of want and hope in this marriage made you believe you could do it. Together, as one.
Perhaps you should have expected something to go wrong.
In the face of his childhood memories, years upon years of hardship overcome alone, his good will stood no chance. His promise didn't seem to be at the front of his mind, especially now, his hands hovering once more at your sides.
"Zuko, I'm collecting fruits, I'm not going off to war," you reminded him once more.
He bit his lip, focus still on your movements, "still…"
You climbed back down the ladder only to end up wrapped in his arms. You gave him a little squeeze and moved out of the way to go back inside. His steps followed you, softly rustling the growing grass beneath his feet.
The scene should have felt refreshing, sweet, romantic even. Yet, it was none of those. It only left you suffocated and upset. Zuko wasn't stupid and he certainly wasn't blind, even he could see it written on your face. Yet, his heart told him otherwise.
"The Avatar arrived two days ago already, you shouldn't be making him wait so much."
He stopped in his track as you turned around to face him. You seemed tired. Drained. Yet, he knew it had nothing to do with your sleep. He made sure you slept plenty.
"Aang isn't just the Avatar, he's an old friend. He'll understand."
"Shouldn't you want to see him if he's an old friend? What are you doing in my garden?"
Your garden. Not his. The one he had given you as he place to rest and relax. On your own.
He swallowed whatever he had to say, instead opting for a simple, "yes, I'll go see him then."
As you watched him leave, you couldn't help the anger that started bubbling inside you. The anger you didn't let rise in his presence, the one you kept for yourself.
"I can't believe that idiot! Who does he take me for? A baby? I can collect my own fruits in my own garden, thank you very much," you muttered to yourself as you raised your knife and aggressively slammed it down, the fruit in front of you receiving the worse of your hate. "And look at me now, I'm monologuing like some kind of second rate villain, I didn't sign up for this!"
Little pieces of fruit were left everywhere on the table, becoming smaller and smaller with every sharp cut of your knife. And if you imagined his face on the remaining chunks, well let's just not think about that.
By that point, your knife was being thrown around wildly, your arm only controlled by the rage steadily building in your chest. Before long, it was no longer cutting the soft flesh of the fruit but your own instead. The sharp pain let you drop the blood-stained blade in favour of taking hold of your injured thumb.
The blood was overflowing and you couldn't see anything through the liquid oozing out of the cut. You could however feel the sting and even your own heartbeat as it started to pick up. You rushed to the small fountain resting in the middle of the garden to plunge your thumb in it. The blood left a thick red cloud just below the surface as the cool water lessened the pain.
After most of the blood had washed off, you carefully raised your hand to inspect the wound once more. You winced at the sight, it was not pretty. Part of the nail had been cut off and a chunk of flesh was missing.
That was going to be hard to hide from Zuko's prying eyes.
The thought crossed your mind before you could stop it, and your heart churned at it. Is this truly where your relationship was headed?
Yet, despite the guilt that had made itself at home in your heart, you still bandaged your thumb tightly before slipping on a silk glove. You wiped the blade with careful hands and took a place at the table. Collecting little pieces of the cut-up fruit, you placed them softly on your tongue and savoured the taste of them.
When Zuko came back in, he found you as he had left you. He extended his hand to you and you placed your gloved hand in his.
And when he seemed surprised at the glove, you simply smiled as you explained the wind had picked up in his absence.
Just two days later was the day of the departure.
Zuko's luggage was already waiting for him on Appa's back. It was a small backpack, barely big enough to hold a change of clothes and snack. A small picture of you was tucked in between the fabric. Just the strict minimum for the journey ahead.
Your luggage, on the other hand, came in the form of bags upon bags of 'what if you need this and you don't have it' and 'you love it so much, you should take it'. The packing process had been a long one, you'd had to fight Zuko every step of the way, always negotiating for just one more item.
"Are you sure you have everything you need? Maybe you should take the book you showed me the other day?" came his voice, worried beyond measure.
You raised a brow at that, "the one I already read? And hated?"
"Well, you never know, you might want to read it again to make sure," he said with absolute certainty, like there was no flaw in his logic.
"No, Zuko, I'm not taking it with me," you sighed. "I should be the one asking if you have everything, fussing and worrying over my husband leaving to save the world for the nth time."
"We'll be fine. And you know we can't take too much stuff, Appa does have to carry it all."
"Very well, then I wish you a safe journey. They are waiting for you," you nodded at his friends, already settled on Appa's back.
"I'll be back before you know it. I'll leave you in my uncle's care," he turned around to the man in question. "If I find a single scratch on her skin, you'll pay."
Iroh simply chuckled at the threat, "I'll be sure to bring her back exactly as she was, dear nephew. Now, go, before we all die out here in the sun."
With a final kiss to your cheek, Zuko was gone and relief flooded you.
Guilt too.
Your new-found freedom was very appreciated.
No more 'be careful' and 'I'll do it for you'. You could live like a functional adult. And as much as you loved your husband, you were just a little too happy to have him gone.
Iroh, your new company, was lovely, although the amount of tea the both of you were drinking was obscene to say the least. His cryptic words of wisdom also seemed weird, always just a little too on the spot to be as random as he claimed they were.
Days bled together as you happily lived on, carefree like never before. Seasons changed, the warm weather being replaced with heavy rains and eventually even some snow.
News of Zuko's journey were rare and you could only pray for his well-being wherever he was. Eventually news of return came and you couldn't help but feel like time had gone by so fast.
Perhaps, you should feel bad for that. Guilt had become an old friend. Every time you dared to be happy in your husband's absence, the familiar feeling churned at your insides. You did your best to ignore it, but it never truly went away.
As you were getting ready to leave Iroh's estate in favour for returning to the Fire Palace, your hands picked at the skin of your thumb where a light scar was now visible. It did nothing to calm your heart, neither the excitement nor the guilt went away.
Once the luggage were charged, it was time to go. You turned to Iroh, a warm smile on your lips. Before you could hesitate or regret your choice, you raised your arms to hug him, a stray tear escaping you as you murmured a 'thank you'.
He simply pat you on the back like this came as no surprise and laughed softly. "It was lovely to have you here. Thank you for playing Pai Sho with me."
You laughed as you pulled away, not quite managing to pull your gaze away from him.
"I hope you'll remember that you're my niece as much as Zuko is my nephew."
You nodded, not quite sure what he meant but appreciating it nonetheless. Reluctantly, you finally turned around to leave, a few unshed tears still in your eyes.
The next day, tea time felt empty at the Iroh estate.
The man sat alone, the steam from his tea curling in the air.
No companion to make jokes to, no laughter in answer. No game laid out on the table.
Just silence.
Although it didn't last.
Before Iroh had even finished his first cup of tea, the door was kicked down with a violent throw.
"Uncle," growled the Fire Lord as he entered. "I told you, if I found a single scratch on her, you'd pay."
"And I told you, I'd bring her back exactly how she was."
"You didn't," accused Zuko, his finger pointed right at Iroh.
"I did," answered the older man, still carefully holding his cup of tea and drinking the steaming drink.
"You didn't. She has a scar. On her thumb."
Patiently, as he did everything else, Iroh explained, "she was already injured. It wouldn't have scarred if only she had gotten it treated earlier."
"She wasn't. I would've noticed."
"Would you really?"
Zuko was the one steaming now, his anger boiling up to reach the surface. He was at his breaking point and his uncle was just a little too calm for his liking. "Yes. I would have noticed if my wife was injured, I don't need you to tell me that. So. Explain."
"She wore gloves before you left. How could you have noticed?"
"She likes her silk gloves. What's the issue with that?" answered the Fire Lord without missing a beat.
"In the middle of summer? And I must say, they went horribly with her dress. No colour scheme, no shape. It's a shame, she usually dresses so well."
Zuko was going to kill him, he was sure of it by now. "I don't care about her dress, I care about her scar."
To that, Iroh simply chuckled. "You're quite stubborn."
The Fire Lord was ready to refuse the accusation, but his uncle didn't give him enough time. "Do you see your mother in the Fire Lady?"
"No," he answered without missing a beat.
Iroh looked at him, watched his face fall little by little as the words really sunk in. "Take a seat, my nephew. Perhaps you'd like a cup of tea? We have much to discuss."
It was late into the night when your husband finally came back.
You laid awake in cold sheets, with no one to heat them. You toyed with the skin of your thumb as you so often did, unsure what to think of Zuko's disappearance. Should you be worried? But he was close with his uncle, it wasn't that unusual for him to spend long periods of time with him.
As time went on, sleep claimed you little by little. Eventually, Zuko walked quietly into the room and you barely stirred at the noise.
He settled into bed and two strong arms snaked their ways around your middle to softly tug you into him. His nose nuzzled into your cheek as he had done so many times before, yet the few months apart made the gesture seem unfamiliar.
His lips left a kiss on your jaw and you moved your hand to rest over his. He linked your fingers together but didn't say another word. Just a few minutes later, his breathing softened and you were sure he was asleep.
The next morning felt awkward.
In between your guilt, your excitement, and the time that had passed, your husband had become somewhat of a stranger to you. You weren't sure how to act around him, what to say. He didn't seem to know either, for he said nothing and did little.
Yet, the way he reached for you as you served tea, like he would have done months ago, tugged at your heartstrings. He stopped himself before actually touching you and you weren't sure why. Was it out of consideration for you or because… you'd rather let that thought go unfinished.
You were unsure where you stood with him and the feeling didn't go away in the next day.
The banquet thrown in honour of the Fire Lord's return was grand and kept him far too busy to speak with you. As he sat on the throne, receiving gifts and congratulations, you stood on the balcony, enjoying the fresh air of the evening.
A server came out with a tray of champagne, wordlessly offering you a glass. You took one and downed in one go as soon as he was gone. When another came by, you took a glass once more, the server polite enough to ignore the first empty glass sitting on the edge of the balcony. A third server arrived and a third glass was emptied and made to join the first two.
Eventually, you lost count and simply held on to the railing, watching into the distance.
A cloak suddenly landed on your shoulders. You startled and turned to find your husband, a small smile on his lips.
"You managed to escape the government officials?"
"I did," he nodded. "I wanted to come talk to you the whole time. I'm not even sure what they said."
You should have probably laughed. That was the normal reaction to have. The expected one. Instead a tear escaped you. And another. And suddenly, a lot more than you can count.
"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" The concern in his voice was evident, his hands coming around your shoulders to hold you up as your knees buckle. "Did something happen while I was away? Did… someone—"
"N— no," you hiccuped through your cries. "I'm f-fine."
"Fine is not bursting out crying when I try to make a joke. Not a funny one, but surely not that bad."
The scene became silent once more, your sobs the only thing disturbing the peace around.
Finally, you spoke again, your voice shaky. "I missed you. And I hated you. And I was so scared for you."
"I missed you too." His arms tightened around you. "So much. You have no idea."
Silence.
"I talked with my uncle yesterday. Well, to be more accurate, he told me off. For not keeping my promise to you. For not following through when I said I would. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to do better. But I do now. And I will. So if you'll just give me one more chance."
You pulled away from his chest to look up at him. Something broke in your chest at the sight of his face. The fear, the worry, the doubt, they were all painted clearly on his features. When he spoke again, his voice broke, "please, just don't leave."
That did nothing to stop the tears streaming down your face. "I won't, I swear I won't. I love you so much it hurts. You're such an idiot but you're mine."
"Yours. As long as you'll have me."
oddarling — all rights reserved. do not copy, steal or feed to ai.
Could I please request one with him where the queen is pregnant and she is super horny and Baelor obliges.
HEAVY WITH WANT (+18) — baelor targaryen
gif credits: @gameofthronesdaily
Summary: In the quiet months of your pregnancy, your desire burns hotter than ever. King Baelor Targaryen — ever the devoted husband — is more than happy to ease your aching need, night after night, with patient hands, reverent mouth, and unrelenting stamina.
Additional tags: fem!read; no use of Y/N; pregnancy; +18; MDNI
A/N: i hope you love it, anon! 🩷
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The royal bedchamber smells of cedar, amber, and the faint metallic sweetness that clings to your skin these days.
You’re six moons along — round, heavy, glowing in that way the maesters call “radiant” and you mostly just call inconvenient. Your breasts ache constantly, your hips feel like they’ve been pried wider, and between your thighs there is an almost constant, throbbing heat that no amount of cool cloths or quiet breathing can dull.
Tonight it’s unbearable.
You pace in your thin shift, barefoot on the cool flagstones, until Baelor steps through the door. He’s still in his black-and-red tunic, hair slightly mussed from council, the faint scent of ink and steel clinging to him. The moment he sees your face — flushed, eyes glassy, lower lip caught between your teeth — he knows.
He closes the door. Bolts it without a word.
“My love,” he says, voice already lower, rougher. He crosses the room in four long strides and cups your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “Tell me.”
You don’t bother with pretty words.
“I need you,” you whisper. “Now. Again. I can’t—gods, Baelor, I can’t think of anything else.”
His eyes darken instantly — not with surprise, but with hunger. He’s seen this look on you every night for weeks. He’s learned exactly what your body demands when it’s making his child.
He kisses you once — slow, claiming — then guides you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.
“Lie down,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Let me take care of you.”
You do, easing yourself onto the furs with a small grunt — your belly makes every movement feel monumental now. Baelor kneels between your parted thighs, hands gentle but sure as he lifts the hem of your shift and bunches it above your swollen stomach. The sight of you — round, full, glistening between your legs — makes his breath hitch.
“Gods,” he breathes, reverent. “Look at you.”
He starts slow — always starts slow when you’re like this, because he knows how sensitive everything is. His big hands stroke the taut skin of your belly, thumbs circling your navel, then slide up to cup your breasts. They’re heavier, darker at the tips, and when he brushes his thumbs over your nipples you arch with a sharp cry.
“Sensitive?” he asks, already knowing.
You nod frantically. “Please—”
He lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth — gentle suction at first, then firmer, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you sob. His other hand rolls the neglected peak, tugging lightly, and you’re already rocking your hips, chasing friction that isn’t there yet.
“Baelor—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, switching breasts. “I’ll give you everything you need.”
Only when you’re whimpering, thighs trembling, does he finally move lower.
He spreads your legs wider — careful of your belly — and settles between them. His hands grip your thighs, thumbs parting your folds so he can see how swollen and wet you are.
“Fuck,” he groans, the word torn from him. “So ready for me.”
He doesn’t tease tonight. He lowers his head and licks a long, slow stripe up your slit — tasting how desperate you’ve become — then seals his mouth over your clit and sucks.
You scream.
He eats you like a starving man — tongue lashing, lips sucking, two thick fingers sliding inside you and curling against that spot that makes your vision white. Your hips buck; he pins them with one forearm across your lower belly, holding you still while he devours you.
You come fast — embarrassingly fast — thighs clamping around his head, fingers twisted in his hair, crying his name as your cunt flutters and gushes around his fingers.
He doesn’t stop.
He keeps licking — slower now, lapping up every drop — until you’re shaking, oversensitive, begging.
“Baelor—please—inside—I need you inside—”
He rises immediately, shucking his clothes with rough efficiency. His cock is flushed dark, leaking steadily, veins standing out. He strokes himself once, twice — eyes locked on your swollen, dripping cunt — then notches himself at your entrance.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, voice strained with restraint.
You shake your head. “Never too much. Please.”
He pushes in — slow, careful — stretching you inch by inch. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides deep in one smooth glide. You both groan, him at how tight and hot you feel, you at how perfectly he fills you.
He starts to move — long, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive place inside you. His hands cradle your belly protectively even as his hips snap harder, faster. You can feel him everywhere — the stretch, the pressure, the way his cock nudges against that spot on every stroke.
“Gods—you feel—” he breaks off, voice wrecked. “So good. So fucking good carrying my child and still begging for my cock.”
You sob — half pleasure, half overwhelm. “Harder—please—don’t hold back—”
He doesn’t.
He fucks you with controlled power — deep, relentless, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. One hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, ruthless strokes.
“Come for me,” he growls. “Come on your king’s cock while you carry his heir.”
You shatter — screaming his name, walls clamping down, milking him as you gush around his length. He fucks you through it — hard, possessive — until he buries himself deep and comes with a broken groan, spilling hot and thick inside you.
He stays there — still hard, still pulsing — and lowers himself to kiss you slow and filthy, tasting yourself on his tongue.
When he finally pulls out, he gathers you against his chest — careful of your belly — and strokes your hair.
“Better?” he murmurs, lips against your temple.
You laugh weakly, still trembling. “For now.”
He chuckles — low, dark, satisfied. “Good. Because I’m not finished with you tonight.”
And he proves it — again and again — until the sky outside pales and you’re both boneless, sated, and utterly spent.
