Summary: All of your friends were pursuing or have already found their mate, but you on the other hand weren’t focused nor worrying about that and it made it extra hard for the poor guy who was trying so hard to gain your attention.
The day you walked into Neteyams life he was absolutely taken by you. You were introduced to the Sully family by your mother who was one of the finest weavers in your clan, she had weaved them a baby basket for their newborn Tuk’tirey. You followed her path being one of the best in your age group. Anything you touch was gold.
Although you thought your skills were useless up against your dream of becoming a fierce warrior, the eldest Sully thought otherwise. Over the years of knowing you, he would always come to you if his loincloth had been torn in flight, asking for a new armband, a new vest, or asking you to create decorative tapestry art for his family’s home. (They got sick of him filling up the family’s space with stuff he didn’t need.) With each request, he would bring tools and accessories he found while he was hunting. He would always sit and listen to you sing weaving songs along with your fellow weaving circle. Little did you know, the man was infatuated.
“Sa’nok (mother) I’ll be back, I’m going to collect some trinkets from the forest.” Your mother responded with ‘be careful’ with a kind smile.
You secured your satchel over your shoulder and tucked your knife into its sheath. You swung open the flap of your home to be greeted by and well known face.
“Kaltixì (hello)” you greeted with a smile that he returned even brighter.
“You ready?” You nodded following him to his Ikran, he grabbed your hand helping you on.
“Is that a new top?”
Your cheeks warmed at the thought of him noticing “Yes I finished it yesterday.”
“It is beautiful, the colors of the beads suit you well.”
•••
You two landed gracefully outside the forest. He helped you off and walked alongside you. You excitedly got started, finding trinkets to add to your future crafts. Seeds you can sit out to dry, feathers, multicolored pebbles, and picking a few colorful flowers neatly putting them in your pouch, and even with medicinal herbs that could come in handy.
While you look around you felt a sense of longing, you missed the forest more than anything. It saddened you your clan had to move to high ground in order to be safe now the only way you could get here is by being a passenger on someone else’s Ikran.
“I miss this” you blurted out as you ran your fingers along the beautiful glowing plants.
“As do i” he chimed in.
He watched you for a moment longer than needed, eyes following the way the forest light kissed your skin. Working up the courage to present you with something’s he’s been holding onto. Then he reached into the satchel at his side.
“I made something for you,” Neteyam said quietly.
You turned, surprised, as he held out a woven armband tight, clean craftsmanship, threaded with deep blues and warm golds. His colors.
“For me?” you asked, genuinely shocked.
He nodded, suddenly shy. “For protection. And… so you think of me when you wear it.”
Your smile was instant and sincere as you slid it onto your slender arm. “I will treasure it. Irayo (thanks), Neteyam.” You didn’t notice the way his chest lifted, the way his ears flicked back in satisfaction. In his mind, it was done. You were claimed.
Sadly you weren’t aware of any of it.
•••
Back at the Hallelujah Mountains, the weaving circle buzzed with quiet talk and laughter. You sat cross-legged among your friends, hands moving easily as you reinforced tool wraps and braided cord for hunters.
“You’ve been smiling all day,” Na’vani teased, nudging you. “Something I should know?”
Before you could answer, a shadow fell across your work. “Kaltixì,” came a warm voice.
You looked up to see K’u’thal, spear resting at his side. He was well known through out your clan, talented in many ways especially when it came to hunting. Many women pursued him as a potential mate.
His eyes glanced over your work curious rather than bold. “What are you making?”
You happily explained with a smile, holding up your work, and he smiled softly, impressed. Soon the two of you were talking easily, sharing stories that had Na’vani grinning to herself.
Not far away, Neteyam watched.
His jaw tightened.
•••
A few days later the Tlalim Clan arrived, the rainforest came alive with voices and trade. Everyone and their loved ones were back where they belonged, children running around with toys in the shape of animals mimicking sounds, laughter echoing through the forest, and stories being told about clans you have yet to meet. It felt good.
As you walked around with an unwavering smile on your face, Neteyam found you near the stream.
“Finally I have found you” a smile adorned his face as he pressed a small bundle into your hands, hair beads carved from traded bone and shell.
“I saw them and thought of you,” he said.
Your smile widened and hugged him without thinking. “They are beautiful! Irayo (Thank you).”
He watched you basically float away convinced you finally understood his intentions.
•••
Later, at the communal dinner, Na’vani toyed with your armband, eyes dancing in the firelight. “Let me guess… K’u’thal?”
You laughed softly. “No, Neteyam made this.”
Her smile turned knowing just as K’u’thal appeared at your side, setting a small woven charm into your hands. Before you could protest or even thank him he was gone again, swallowed by the crowd.
Na’vani sighed, shaking her head in amusement. “Eywa help you,” she muttered. “You’re leading on two of the finest warriors our age and don’t even know it.”
Shocked by her statement you barely had time to respond before a hand closed around your wrist.
Neteyam.
He didn’t speak as he guided you away from the fire, past the laughter and music, until the noise dulled and it was just the two of you beneath the glow of the mountains. Only then did he turn to you, jaw tight, eyes burning.
“Why are you accepting gifts from him?” he asked, voice low and strained.
You recoiled slightly, confused and hurt. “What do you mean it’s harmless”
“Harmless? This is far from harmless he knows i am pursuing you as a mate yet he continues to fight for your attention.” Your eyes bulge.
“I- what? I thought you were pursuing Veyt’ari. That is word around the village.”
He scoffed softly, stepping closer causing your heart to beat just a little faster. “I do not want Veyt’ari.” He tilts his head and his voice dropped. “I want you.”
The world went quiet as he leaned in. Your ears perk and tail sway in anticipation.
When he kissed you, it was hesitant at first like he was giving you one last chance to pull away. Instead, you kissed him back, breathless, stunned, hands curling into his chest. The kiss deepened, years of unspoken longing finally breaking free.
When you pulled apart, both of you were flushed, foreheads resting together.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Neteyam smiled, satisfied at last.
“Yes, paskalin… oh.” (Sweet Berry)
•••
Extra
Neteyam didn’t realize how obvious he’d been until Lo’ak wouldn’t stop grinning at him across the fire.
“So,” his brother drawled, pulling meat off his skewer, “all it took was…what? Three years? Four?”
Neteyam shot him a warning look. “quiet.”
Kiri tilted her head, eyes glowing with amusement. “You know, most people say they’re courting someone. They don’t just… silently offer crafts and hope Eywa delivers the message.”
“She thought you were being nice?,” Tuk innocently chimed in, swinging her legs. “That’s kind of sad.”
Neteyam groaned, burying his face in his hands. Embarrassed that even his little sister caught on and she hasn’t even had the mating talk.
“I was clear.”
Lo’ak laughed outright. “Bro you literally watched another guy give her gifts and still said nothing , yeah that’s real clear”
husband and wife, at the pinnacle of their love. on a night filled with wonders, you will know that he sees only you and everything that you are
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, explicit smut: slightly rough & drunken sex, fingering, missionary. you and zayne have a daughter (her name is meirin!)
note:
god what have i written... the anniversary banner pv made me do it T^T anyhow, this is also a direct prequel to angst fic in the name of love :))
“Whoa, so that’s Dr. Zayne and his wife...”
Soft whispers rippled through the crowd the moment you and your husband stepped into the pristine ballroom, all eyes subtly drawn to your arrival.
Tonight, you were accompanying Zayne to Akso Hospital’s anniversary dinner party. His sharp gaze and immaculate three-piece suit made a striking impression. Naturally, you matched his sophistication in every way—your flowing black dress accentuated your figure, while your hair styled into an elegant updo.
A sight for sore eyes, that was what the two of you were.
“Mind your step,” he murmured softly, his voice reassuring as the two of you gracefully ascended the stairs. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice the envious gazes of the ladies fixed on you.
“How does such a perfect couple even exist?”
“She’s so pretty… Of course, Dr. Zayne only wants the best.”
“Oh! And I’ve heard they already have a daughter too!”
A smile curled on your lips, a subtle boost of confidence washing over you as their murmurs reached your ears. You felt giddy too—on most days, you were a hunter in a life-and-death situations, rough and rugged. But tonight, draped in elegance and arm-in-arm with Zayne, you felt like a princess.
“Don’t smile that wide...” he suddenly whispered to your ears, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “You’ll look like Meirin when she’s munching on her cookies.”
You shot him a frown. “Wha?”
“All those praises are going straight to your head.” Even in a prestigious event like this, Zayne couldn’t resist teasing you. “Sooner or later, it’ll get too big for me to handle.”
Fixing him with an unimpressed glare, you deadpanned, “Shush, you!”
When you reached the main hall, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, blending with the elegant music playing in the background. The hospital director, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted you both along with his wife.
"Zayne, thank you for coming," he said, shaking your husband's hand and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. His gaze then turned to you. "Ah, this must be the stellar hunter wife of Dr. Zayne. You look absolutely radiant, madam."
"Ah, please don't call me that..." You mustered your most polished facade, supplying a soft, graceful laugh.
The director's wife grinned and added, "Why didn’t you bring your daughter here? Everyone’s looking forward to finally meet her already."
"She's a handful," Zayne immediately replied with a smile, his tone warm and affectionate. "And she gets fussy when her bedtime nears, so we decided to leave her with my in-laws tonight."
The director let out a hearty guffaw. "No matter how fussy she is, she must be really adorable with a mother this beautiful, eh?"
Throughout the night, it was a compliment you frequently heard. While you were flattered, a thought lingered in the back of your mind—what were your husband's true thoughts about all this attention to you?
Zayne was keenly aware of how captivating you were.
There was a surge of pride whenever he had you on his arm. Just like any man out there, he too wanted to show his hot wife off and flaunt her so everyone could see, as if saying: This is my woman.
But he too knew that it was in a human's nature to covet what they didn't have. And it was rightly proven when he stepped away for just a moment, only to return and find you engaged in conversation with a man.
The hospital director's son, no less.
"Miss, I've heard you're part of the Hunter Association?" he asked you inquisitively. "What a noble profession it is! Keeping all of us here safe on daily basis."
You responded demurely, "And those in Akso do the same, don’t they?"
Your conversation was harmless, and Zayne was a rational man, so he didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just made sure his gaze was on you every so often.
But when the director’s son began persistently offering you drinks, filling your glass time after time, Zayne's patience began to wear thin. The sight of the man’s insistence grated on him, stirring a possessive unease he couldn’t entirely ignore.
. . .
You could’ve sworn your vision swam a little after the third glass of alcohol. The warm buzz coursing through you also made everything seem a little brighter, and left you feeling just slightly off-balance.
"Miss, the white wine here is the best—" the man standing before you declared with a convincing grin, swirling the bottle in front of you. "Don't you want to try some?"
"Ah, no, sir..." you replied with a polite laugh, raising a hand in subtle refusal. "I've already had whiskey and gin just now—"
"Just a little! You really have to try it!"
You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as the alcohol already coursing through your system made your cheeks flush. You didn’t even like alcohol much and only drank socially, but this was the very son of your husband's boss. Refusing outright seemed rude—
“Can you kindly not make her drink too much?”
Or so you thought, until your knight in three-piece suit suddenly stepped in and saved you from your plight.
Zayne’s tone was gentle yet firm, his words striking an authoritative balance. He flashed a placating smile. “My wife doesn’t have a very high tolerance.” Swiftly, he grabbed the glass from your hand and, without missing a beat, downed its contents in one go.
“If you’re looking for a drinking partner, let it be me instead.”
You knew better than anyone that your husband didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol either. Yet, for the next 30 minutes, you watched, equal parts impressed and concerned, as he matched the man drink for drink, deflecting further offers directed your way with a subtle, protective grace. Though Zayne’s words remained measured, you could see the flush creeping up his neck.
And soon, you’d witness just how far his limits had been pushed.
“Zayne! Are you alright?”
Worry laced your voice as you placed both hands on Zayne's cheeks, your brow furrowing in concern. Somehow or another you managed to drag your husband away and led him to the hotel room.
The warmth of his skin was unmistakable, and his face contorted in discomfort as the vertigo hit him full force. “Oh no, what have you done? Why did you even drink that much!?”
“I’m fine,” Zayne grumbled, his voice thick.
“You’re drunk!” You couldn't help but scold him as you started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, trying to help him breathe easier. “You can’t even handle alcohol properly, and yet you’re trying to keep up with him...”
To Zayne, your voice somehow felt comforting. His mind was hazed, but your touch—your hand against his neck—felt like a cool splash of clarity.
His pretty wife... The dizziness was making it hard to stay upright, but the sight of you grounded him, and he instinctively leaned into you—
“Zayne—!”
You barely managed to catch his weight, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. He was so warm against you, his breath uneven, not to mention the slight tremor in his body. "Are you alright?!" you asked in a flurry. "Oh, let me get you some water—"
"You talk too much..." Zayne murmured, his words slurred as everything around him swayed.
Gripping your shoulder to steady himself, his unfocused gaze lingered on you, drawn to the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your neck, and the outline of your cleavage.
How can he have a wife this ravishing and do nothing?
And suddenly, he was sober. Very sober.
Or maybe not. It was simply just him finally giving in to his desires.
In one go, he seized your wrist, yanking you against him with sudden force— and with a quick tilt of your startled, precious face, he devoured your lips in heat.
"—!" It was like a spark igniting, burning through every thought. His mouth was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel the rush of your closeness. His kiss was intoxicating—almost overwhelming—as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to gain better access.
Zayne's hands moved to your back, pulling you into him, so close that the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then those sinful hands wandered to your hips, guiding you toward the desk. With reckless urgency, he swept everything off the surface, sending objects crashing to the floor with a sharp clang and made you sit on it.
"Ah, Zayne, you—!" You accidentally pushed him back, and he growled the moment your lips parted.
"Are you trying... to escape?" His gaze turned dark with lust, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Why? Isn't this exactly how you wanted me to be...?"
In that moment, you gulped as your heart thundered in your chest. What was even happening now? How did it escalate into this?
You stuttered, eyes widened, "Z-Zayne..."
But your husband had shed all traces of his usual composed self. In the haze of his muddled thoughts, he was driven purely by need. He swiftly removed his glasses, tossing them aside without a second thought, and this time—
His lips went straight for your neck, which, unbeknownst to you, had looked so enticing to him all evening.
"Hahh..." His breathy grunts were hot against your skin and his touch no longer gentle but firm and possessive. His mouth moved with a mix of hunger and desperation, and you struggled to contain the moans as his hands slipped inside your dress, and—
A shiver ran down your spine when he spread your legs, and you couldn’t help the titillating gasp that escaped when inserted his two of his fingers in you all at once, edging you.
"Ungh, ngh! Hah—" Your body jerked and you clung to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Zayne wasn't usually this brash, but tonight it was as if a screw had come loose.
"Louder," he commanded in your ear, and your heart pounded at his authoritative voice. He pushed his digits deeper as if punishing you, that you yelped. "Do not hold back."
He lifted you by your waist, effortlessly pressing you against the small table by the window. You were on the 20th floor, the world below far out of sight, but the thought that anyone might catch a glimpse was somehow... thrilling.
"I-I'm close—" you stammered, and the moment you did, your husband vigorously moved his fingers inside your squelching folds, "A-ah!"
The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The way your walls took his fingers alone made your thoughts scatter, and when you came undone on him, you latched onto him, your head resting against his chest as your breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps. "Z-Zayne... please..."
He pulled out his fingers, looked at your cum coating them, and brought them to your lips. You, still trembling, sucked the essence off with teary eyes.
Sweaty, disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks flushed... how he had reduced you into this state was gratifying.
Zayne’s gaze darkened, his breath heavy as he stared down at you. "Are you ready to take me now?"
You nodded.
He gave you a small smirk, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw gently. "Good girl."
He lifted you over to the bed, and you gasped in surprise as he tossed you onto the soft sheets, the motion quick but not unkind. You barely had time to react before his intense gaze locked onto yours, his presence domineering above you.
“Spread your legs.”
Was this man really your husband? Sometimes, you still struggled to reconcile the tender part of him and the man consumed by a unrestrained intensity before you now.
By now you had swallowed all shame and did so. You wanted to look away, but then unable to when the sight before you caught your breath—
All the while, he had his eyes on you. Zayne pulled at his tie with deliberate intent, then he shed his suit pieces, casting them to the floor with a casual abandon, before undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing his bare chest altogether.
Your husband looks so hot. The way he gazed at you throughout it all too...
He glanced at the space between your legs. “Wider.”
You complied, letting your face burn impossibly hotter, anticipating him.
He eased in slowly, starting with just the tip. You whimpered at the intrusion.
"Hurts?" he questioned with a frown.
"No," you refuted quickly, desire too burning in your gaze as you met his eyes. "I can take more."
You arched your back as Zayne sank deeper, his full length filling you. A moan tumbled from your lips as your walls clenched in response, and he pushed himself completely inside you.
"Hah..." You inhaled sharply, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his entire length, and seeing you like that, your husband cradled the side of your face with his palm.
"So beautiful..." Zayne whispered, his glazed gray-hazel eyes fixed on your spent face. His other hand clasped yours, pinning it beside your head. "My wife... is so incredibly beautiful."
It was heart-fluttering to know that your husband found you pretty. Everyone might compliment you the same way, but his were the only one that truly mattered. After seven years of marriage, your heart still skipped a beat every time he held your gaze like this.
Without warning, Zayne started to move his hips. Your moans got louder and unabashed as his movements were slow at first, before he picked up the pace and thrusted in and out of you with fervor.
"Ahhh!" You threw your head back as his thick cock messily dragged itself against your walls. In, out, in out— Stars began to blur your vision, your nails digging into his shoulder as you reached for him.
You could see that excited glint in his eyes, the lust exploding at the sight of you. He watched you intently, savoring the way unbound desire twisted your face, each mewl you made filling the air. Your thoughts turned into puzzle pieces—
Thrust. So full, you are.
Thrust. What if... this time— you become pregnant again?
Thrust. That would be... nice. You can call it “New Years’ baby.”
Everything was incoherent. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, each hit to that one spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you to the brink of tears and screams.
Then, unexpectedly, he reached his climax first. His cum shot through, filling your womb to the brim in spurts after spurts, and you cried, trembling beneath him. Your release followed suit though, and you went limp in the aftermath.
Zayne collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the crook of his neck, his name still falling off your lips as a whisper in his ear, a gentle song laced within moans. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, panting heavily against you.
“I love you.”
The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a tangled web of desire.
The first thing he heard was your whimper.
With a groan, Zayne cracked his eyes open the morning after, instantly recognizing the dull ache in his head—it was a hangover. But before he could press his hands to his temples, his gaze fell on you, curled up in a blanket next to him.
And the whimper came again, and it tugged at something deep inside him.
“What’s... wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice, turning toward you, his hand instinctively reaching for you despite the pounding headache. “Are you alright...?”
You blinked up at him, a flicker of resentment in your gaze, and Zayne gathered you into his arms. The events of last night came back to him in fragments, and realization dawned on him.
“Are you... sore?” he murmured, concern edging his tone.
“I hate you,” you retorted in a scratchy voice, mushing your head in his shoulder. Zayne widened in slight surprise, pulling you closer into his embrace.
“Is that it...? I’m sorry...”
He gently patted your head and back, trying to soothe you. The sight of you—vulnerable and distressed—made his heart tighten with a pang of guilt. Just how rough had he been with you last night?
“There, there, it’ll pass...” he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s normal... because we went longer and more vigorous than usual... Probably just mild irritation in your—”
“Don’t pull medical facts on me,” you muttered sullenly, weakly punching his chest. A smile made its way to his face at your mini attack.
“But it’s true though?”
How endearing. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his heart softening at the sight of you, even in your grumpy state.
And in that moment, Zayne thought, nothing could've possibly ever shatter his world ever again.
"Yes husband?" You stared up at your towering husband who bared his usual frown as he returned your stare.
"Where is my kimono."
"Didn't Uraume give you the clothes I picked out?" You responded innocently before turning around and packing the rest of your beach bag.
Sukuna tsked, "I am not wearing that ridiculous thing."
Sukuna noticed a pause in your movements before you gently set down your sunglasses, not bothering to turn around and face him,
"Ryomen. Put. It. On."
The sound of a low growl came out from him followed by the sound of his footsteps walking over to the large hotel closet.
You finished packing your beach bag and admired yourself in the sheer burgandy beach maxi skirt you wore over a matching bathing suit set.
"Matching couple beach outfits. How much lower can you go woman?" Sukuna mumbled.
You met his glare in the mirror and admired how his abs were on full display through the unbuttoned short sleeve burgundy shirt you picked out for him, his biceps straining the poor fabric at the sleeves. Your attention was then brought to his thigh tattoos that peaked out from under the black swim shorts he wore.
You turned around and looked him up and down once, more giddy than before.
"You look so good Ryo."
"You don't look too repulsive yourself woman." Sukuna said lowly as he pulled you in by the waist with a smug grin on his face. You giggled and grabbed onto his bicep as he leaned in close, "Y'know if you didn't look so damn good, I'd kill you for makin' me wear this shit."
You smiled back up at him as his lips ghosted over yours—
"Master."
Sukuna groaned and shuffled to the hotel door, he opened the door swiftly to reveal Uraume respectfully looking down towards the floor.
"The car is ready."
"MUST YOU INTERRUPT—"
"Thank you Uraume. We'll be out soon." You replied softly, cutting off Sukuna, and shutting the door.
"DID YOU JUST CUT ME OFF WOMA—"
"RYOMEN!— I just want to have a nice and peaceful day at the beach, can't you just do this one simple task for me hm?" Sukuna relaxed a little and looked away after feeling the warmth of your fingers running down his bicep.
"Tch, whatever."
-
The air was warm on your skin as you walked back to the parking lot with Sukuna, he watched as you sat and admired every single fucking flower. Sometimes he wonders how he ended up with someone as pathetic as you.
"RYO LOOK!"
"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU YELLIN'—"
"That flower up there is gorgeous." You pointed high up the tall bush to where a dark red hibiscus was fully bloomed.
"It's just a damn flower."
He didn't understand your odd fascinations with such mundane things. It was just damn flower, what made it so special? Yeah sure it was decent looking, the way the sun hit it made it stand out like no other flower, or the way the petals danced so gracefully in the breeze, he honestly didn't get it.
Sukuna looked down at you as your gaze remained mesmerized on the flower, he let out a sigh and reached up to pick the flower off its stupidly tall bush.
"Ryo what are you—"
"Shuddup 'n stay still." He moved a piece of your hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. You felt his rough fingers brush against your face as he placed the flower behind your ear in an uncharacteristically gentle manner.
You gave your husband a confused look.
"Looks good. Goes with your outfit."
"Mommy look its a princess!" Your attention shifted to a young girl who stood next to you with a look full of fascination.
You stared back at the child with wide eyes before realizing how close the young girl had gotten.
"I like your flower!" The girl replied sweetly.
You smiled down and picked a smaller, similar flower from the bush before bending down to the young girls height, you placed the flower in her ear gently.
"Look now you're a princess too!" The little girl gasped and ran off to her mother happily.
Sukuna watched the interaction from just a few steps behind you. Who would've thought you'd be so good with kids? Of course you fucking were, what couldn't you do, especially after dealing with him all the time. You had the patience of a saint if you were able to put up with his shit. You even had the nerve to give the man attitude and bark orders like he was a damn servant.
You felt Sukunas hardened gaze and met it with an unwary one.
Six years of marriage to Zuko, and still there were mornings where you woke up beside him and stared.
Stared at the long dark lashes brushing his cheeks. Long hair falling gracefully even in his sleep.
At the faded scar that had once frightened an entire nation into silence.
At the way his brow furrowed even in sleep, as if being Fire Lord had taught his body to never truly rest.
And every single time, your chest filled with the same warmth.
Mine.
Not because he was Fire Lord.
Not because he was the hero who ended a century of war.
But because beneath all the titles and ceremony and royal robes, he was just your husband.
Quiet
Gentle
A little awkward.
And so full of love it sometimes startled you.
That love had given you two children.
Two very different, very loud, very exhausting children.
And yet somehow both entirely his.
Your eldest, five year old Iroh Jr., was the living, breathing image of Zuko as a boy.
It was almost absurd.
The same dark hair that never sat flat no matter how many servants tried to tame it.
The same golden eyes.
The same little pout when things didn’t go his way.
Even his anger was familiar quick, fiery, explosive, but gone just as quickly when soothed.
He felt hard
He loved hard
He cried hard
He tried hard
Too hard sometimes.
His firebending was clumsy and sputtering still, little sparks and smoke more often than flame, but he never gave up.
Never.
He would stand in the training yard, fists clenched, face red, lower lip trembling with frustration, trying over and over until his tiny shoulders sagged.
And then he’d look at you.
“Mama… did you see that one? Was that better?”
Your heart melted every time.
Because yes yes, it was.
Even when it wasn’t
Especially when it wasn’t.
He was your little boy.
Your mama’s boy
He still crawled into your lap whenever he got sleepy. Still reached for your hand in hallways. Still buried his face in your neck when he got scared.
How could anyone not drown in loving him?
Then there was Zumi.
Four years old.
Four.
And already everyone in the palace whispered in amused admiration that she had more control over her bending than her older brother.
Her flames came smooth.
Sharp and precise.
Elegant little arcs from tiny fingers. Even the masters laughed in surprise.
“A natural talent.”
“She has Fire Lord precision.”
“Princess Zumi may be a prodigy.”
You smiled politely every time.
But inside?
It irritated you.
Because Zumi knew it.
Oh, she knew it.
That little raised brow. That tiny smug tilt of her mouth.
The way she corrected Iroh Jr. every chance she got.
“No, brother, that is not how you stand.”
“No, brother, Father said breathe first.”
“No, brother, you said that word wrong.”
A little smart mouth in silk robes. Always doing things herself. Always refusing help. Always walking around like she had something to prove.
And maybe if she had been softer or if she had been clingier or even if she had run to you with scraped knees and tears the way Iroh Jr. did.. maybe it would have been easier.
But she didn’t.
Zumi rarely asked for affection.
Rarely cried
Rarely cuddled.
She preferred corners, books, puzzles, and practicing tiny disciplined firebursts until she got them right.
Independent.
Sharp-tongued.
Detached.
You told yourself that was simply her nature.
And when she teased her brother, you scolded her.
When she rolled her eyes, you snapped.
When she stood there staring blankly after being corrected, you assumed she did not care.
So your attention naturally returned to Iroh Jr.
The child who needed you the child who wanted you and the child who loved you loudly.
You never thought much of it.
Not really.
But someone did..
Zuko noticed everything.
Every. Single. Thing.
Because fathers noticed things mothers sometimes missed when mothers were too busy loving and also because Zuko had lived this before.
He would watch from doorways.
From council halls
From the garden
From behind open screens
Silent.
Observing.
Iroh Jr. scrambling into your lap while you laughed and kissed his hair.
Zumi standing a few feet away with her hands behind her back, expression unreadable.
You asking your son ten questions about his day. You asking your daughter one.
You kissing Iroh Jr. goodnight three times because he asked for “one more.” You tucking Zumi in with a distracted “sleep well.”
Small things.
Tiny things.
Harmless things.
But Zuko knew better than anyone.. children were built from tiny things.
Not grand cruelties not dramatic hatred.
Tiny things.
Who got looked at first.
Who got forgiven faster.
Who got held longer.
Sometimes, while watching, his stomach would turn cold.
And suddenly he wasn’t in the palace courtyard anymore.
He was eight years old again.
Standing beside Azula.
Watching his father praise her perfect lightning stance.
Watching himself fail.
Watching his mother rush to him afterward with soft hands and worried eyes.
Watching Azula stand farther away.
Not talking.
Never asking.
Smirking because she had learned early that asking got you nowhere.
His mother loved Azula. He knew she did. But love given unevenly still leaves bruises. Azula had sharpened herself on every bruise until she became a blade.
And Zuko…
Zuko had spent years believing he was simply the easier child to love alwayss the wounded one the needy one. The one who reached.
Azula never reached.
So eventually people stopped extending their hands.
That memory haunted him.
Because now..
now when he looked at Zumi, standing too straight for a toddler, too composed, too proud to cry
he saw a little girl teaching herself not to need.
And that terrified him...
The incident happened on a bright afternoon.
One of those warm palace days where the stone floors held sunlight and children’s laughter echoed through every corridor.
Zuko had been in the garden reviewing reports when he heard giggling from inside.
He smiled automatically.
Your laugh was in there.
Iroh Jr.’s shrieking little laugh too.
He moved closer, unseen through the open carved doors.
He saw you walking out of your chambers.
Saw Iroh Jr. crouched beside the doorway, barely hidden.
The boy jumped.
“RAAAH!”
You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest.
“Oh no! A terrifying dragon!”
Iroh Jr. collapsed into hysterical laughter.
You lunged, tickling him until he squealed and kicked.
Zuko leaned against the pillar, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
This.
This was everything he had wanted when he was a child.
Joy without fear and love without conditions.
Then Iroh Jr. caught his foot in your robe, pitched forward and hit the floor.
The laughter shattered into a cry.
Instantly you dropped down.
“Oh baby oh sweetheart, let me see”
He sobbed over a scraped knee and reddened palms. You scooped him up immediately, kissing tears from his cheeks, blowing over the scratches, murmuring soothing nonsense.
“It’s alright, mama’s got you, mama’s got you…”
Zuko’s smile softened.
He loved you most in moments like these.
Tender.
Instinctive.
Safe.
You carried the boy toward the washroom to clean him up.
And behind the opposite door
small feet shifted.
Zuko’s eyes moved.
Zumi.
She had been watching.
Quiet as always.
Half-hidden.
Studying and learning.
Zuko saw realization light in her face
Oh. 'This is how we play'
Tiny excitement.
Tiny hope.
Before he could speak, she darted out.
You had just adjusted Iroh Jr. higher on your hip when
“RAAH!”
Zumi threw herself at your back (the same way iroh has just done a few minutes ago).
You stumbled, catching yourself. Iroh Jr. wailed louder.
And your reaction came sharp, immediate, stressed.
“Zumi, for goodness’ sake! What are you doing? Iroh is hurt! oh gods…”
Annoyance.
Dismissal.
No laugh.
No tickles.
No playful gasp.
You hurried away with Iroh Jr. in your arms.
Leaving Zumi standing there
Frozen
Zuko felt his heart stop.
Because children understand faster than adults think.
He watched his daughter’s face as the pieces clicked together.
That game was only funny when brother did it.
Brother gets kisses.
Brother gets held.
Brother gets mama.
Her lip trembled.
She blinked hard.
One tear slid down before she angrily wiped it away. Trying to pretend no one saw. Trying to be composed. Trying not to need.
Four years old.
And already trying not to need.
Zuko saw not Zumi.
He saw Azula.
He saw the little girl who had once laughed too loudly and boasted too proudly because pride was easier than asking why no one came after her.
His chest caved in.
Just as Zumi turned toward her room, shoulders stiff, Zuko stepped through the doorway.
“BOO.”
She squeaked and jumped.
His hands were under her arms before she could protest, lifting her high.
She gasped.
“Daddy!”
“Oh? Princess Zumi was scared?” he teased.
“No! I'm not!” she huffed.
He attacked her cheeks with kisses.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until a startled laugh burst out of her.
A real laugh. Loud and bright and childlike.
There it is, he thought desperately.
There’s my little girl.
He held her close, tighter than usual.
And while she buried her face in his shoulder pretending she was too dignified for this, Zuko closed his eyes.
I see you.
Even if others miss it, I see you.
That night, after both children were asleep, Zuko stood outside your shared chamber for a long time.
Long enough that the servants passing pretended not to notice their Fire Lord staring at a door like it was an enemy general.
He dreaded this conversation.
Because he knew you loved your children.
He knew you were not cruel.
And somehow that made it harder.
Cruelty could be fought.
Blindness required tenderness.
He entered.
You were in bed reading.
You smiled softly when you saw him.
“There you are. You look exhausted. Come here, I’ll massage your shoulders.”
His heart twisted.
Gods, he loved you.
This would hurt.
“I’m alright,” he said quietly.
Something in his tone made you set the book aside.
“What is it?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Hands clasped
The unclasped
Clasped again.
For a while he just stared at the floor.
Then he said, “Can we talk about the children?”
You blinked.
“Of course.”
"was zumi picking on iroh again?" You said ready to get up to check the kid's bedroom.
"No no, it's something different" he said quickly
"alright, I'm listening"
He inhaled shakily.
And began with a story.
He told you about being young. About always feeling too much. About failing in front of his father. About his mother pulling him close after every humiliation.
About Azula standing there with that strange little smile. He told you how he used to think Azula didn’t care. That she was simply mean by nature.
Proud.
Cold
sharp.
Self-sufficient.
Until years later he realized children do not become hard for no reason. They become hard because softness goes unanswered.
Your face slowly changed.
Confusion.
Then discomfort.
Then dawning horror.
Zuko’s voice broke.
“Sometimes… I wish my mother had tried harder with Azula.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“She loved us both. I know she did. But she worried about me more. Held me more. Defended me more. And Azula…” he swallowed, “Azula learned that no one was coming when she stood quietly.”
You whispered, “Zuko…”
He looked up at you, eyes glassy.
“When I watch Zumi stand there after you walk away from her ” his breath shuddered, “—I feel like I’m watching ghosts.”
You went still.
Completely still.
He pressed on before courage left him.
“You are an incredible mother,” he said quickly, tears spilling now. “This is not me accusing you. I know how much you love them. I know how much you love our son.”
His voice cracked on our son.
“But Zumi is still a baby too.”
That shattered something in you.
“She doesn’t ask,” you whispered weakly.
Zuko nodded, crying openly now.
“I know.”
His hand found yours.
“That’s exactly why she needs us to offer.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
You remembered every clipped response.
Every impatient sigh.
Every time Zumi stood there expressionless and you assumed she was unaffected.
You remembered her little face that afternoon.
You had not even turned around.
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh my god…”
Tears blurred your sight.
“I didn’t see it.”
“I know,” Zuko whispered.
You covered your mouth with shaking fingers.
“I didn’t see it.”
And that was somehow worse than if you had.
Because neglect born from accident still leaves the same wound.
You began sobbing.
“I love her, I really do.. so much—”
“I know,” Zuko said immediately, crawling onto the bed and gathering you into his arms.
“I know you do.”
You clutched his robe like drowning.
“I failed her.”
“No,” he murmured into your hair, though his own tears soaked your temple. “No. You are seeing her now. That matters.”
He pulled back just enough to cup your face.
“Please,” he whispered, forehead against yours, voice shaking with every ounce of fatherly fear he had carried for months, “I cannot watch one of my children grow up believing they must earn their mother.”
That sentence broke you. Completely.
Because suddenly you saw it all.
Zumi’s independence.
Her sarcasm.
Her perfectionism.
Her refusal to cry.
Not confidence.
Armor. Tiny little armor. And she was only four.
That night neither of you slept much. You lay against Zuko’s chest listening to his heartbeat while guilt hollowed you out.
His fingers stayed threaded in your hair. Protective and steady.
As if he was holding together not just you
but the family he was terrified to lose to old patterns.
In the nursery down the hall, two children slept.
One loved loudly.
One loved quietly.
And tomorrow, you swore to yourself with tears still wet on your cheeks
you would learn how to hear both...
Ok guys, I just took a break from the series to make this. When I thought about this story, I just couldn't wait to write it down.
(And yes, I used a part of atla for the children, where zuko and azula were kids)
I hope it was ok. Let me know if you want me to think about part 2.
-you must leave your husband for a period of time and he is anything but okay with it. aerion the wife lover, he acts like a sad puppy, slightly soft!aerion ᥫ᭡
aerion targaryen knew he wanted you from the moment he first saw you, a certainty as sharp and clear as the valyrian steel of his ancestors. he knew he loved you from the start, a foreign, terrifying feeling that had taken root in the barren soil of his heart. you were so smart, your wit a keen blade that could match his own. you were so kind, your gentleness a balm to a soul that had only known the sting of cruelty. he saw the way you would treat a frightened stable boy with the same patience you showed a spooked horse, and in you, he saw a reflection of the mother he had all but forgotten, a warmth he thought had long since turned to ash.
it was never doubted in the court, not truly, that aerion targaryen loved his wife, even if it was an unfathomable thought to many that he could ever love anyone but himself. his love for you was a possessive, obsessive thing, a sun around which his dark little world orbited.
and then the summons came. a princess’s duty. your presence was required at your homeland for the birth of your cousin’s first child, a journey of months that would take you far from him.
he argued with you the night before you left, his voice a deceptively calm, low murmur that was far more terrifying than any shout. he sat by the hearth, the firelight casting his sharp features in relief, turning his silver hair into a halo of cold fire.
"a princess’s duty," he said, his voice dripping with a quiet contempt. "and what of a wife’s duty? is it not to her husband? to her home?"
"aerion," you said gently.
he did not turn right away. "do not use that tone with me."
your lips twitched. "what tone?"
"the one that means you have already decided to make yourself the reasonable party and me the unreasonable one. your place is here. with me. tell them you are unwell. tell them the journey is too perilous. i will make it true."
you smiled a little at that, though it faded quickly when he finally looked up at you. his expression was composed, but his eyes were not. there was something wounded in them, something stubborn and frustrated and entirely too honest for a man who liked to pretend he was above such things.
the room seemed to shift as you crossed it, the hem of your gown whispering over the floor. when you reached him, you placed a hand lightly against his chest, sitting beside him.
"i have not decided anything," you said. "i am listening." he gave you a look that said he did not believe you, but he did not move away. "i am going because i must. you know that."
"i know," he said, and his voice was lower now, rougher around the edges.
your fingers flexed against his chest. "husband..."
his gaze dropped briefly to your hand, then back to your face. "do not ask me to accept it gracefully."
"i am not asking that."
"good." he let out a slow breath, controlled, measured. "because i cannot."
you studied him, seeing the strain he had been holding back all day. aerion was many things. proud, sharp-tongued, vain in his own way, impossible when he wished to be. he could be cruel with a sentence and tender with a touch, and he often seemed to prefer the first because it was easier to hide behind. but with you there was little use in hiding. not after all this time. not after he had loved you from the moment he first saw you and hated himself a little for how immediate it had been.
his hand lifted as if he meant to touch your face, then stopped halfway, caught between pride and desperation. "i am asking you not to go."
the plea in his voice was quiet enough that anyone else might have missed it. you did not.
he looked down at you, and for a moment the grandness of him slipped away. he was only your husband then, displeased and unguarded and trying, badly, not to show how deeply he hated the thought of waking to an empty bed. "do not tell me you cannot refuse," he said. "i know you can. i am only asking you to reconsider."
you reached up and brushed your thumb over the line of his jaw. "i did reconsider. many times."
"and still you choose to leave."
"because i have a duty."
"i know." the words came sharper now, though not at you. never truly at you. "you have said that already."
in an attempt to ease his growing displeasure, you sit up only to settle on his lap instead, his hand finally settling at your waist. "you will have guards," he said after a moment.
"yes."
"more than enough?"
"yes."
"your rooms will be secure?"
"i am sure they will be."
he frowned. "you are ‘sure’ of many things tonight."
you tilted your head. "would you prefer i lie and tell you nothing can possibly happen to me?"
his eyes narrowed. "i would prefer you remained here."
the words hung there between you and made your heart ache.
so you moved closer still, slipping your arms around his neck before he could stop you. aerion’s hands went lower, gathering you in as if he had not quite decided whether to hold you or keep you from vanishing.
you leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, then the other, slow and deliberate. that earned you the faintest exhale that might have been a laugh if he had allowed himself one. his hands tightened at your back.
"this is not helping your cause," he said.
he looked down at you, and even in the dimness you could see how tired his eyes were. "you think you can soften me with kisses."
"i know i can, my love."
that finally coaxed a real, reluctant curve at his mouth, though it vanished almost as soon as it appeared. he rested his forehead briefly against yours, one hand moving to cradle the back of your head. the gesture was so tender it made your chest tighten.
"i dislike this," he admitted. "i dislike it very much. and i will not be made to enjoy your absence."
"you need not enjoy it."
you smiled and kissed him again, slower this time, until the tension at the corners of his mouth eased. his hands remained firm around you, as if he had decided that if you were to leave, he would at least refuse to stop holding you until the last possible second.
when you pulled back, he was watching you with the same bleak concentration he gave difficult maps and unpleasant letters.
"i will write every day," you told him. "you will know where i am, and that i am safe, and that i am thinking of you."
his expression shifted at that, just slightly. "thinking of me," he repeated, quieter now.
"always."
he did not answer right away. his thumb stroked once over the fabric at your side, a small, absent motion.
you kissed his brow, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth until he finally gave in and turned his head to catch your lips fully, his kiss slow and warm and full of all the things he refused to say plainly. you felt the last of his resistance give way beneath your hands. his arms came around you more tightly, drawing you against him until there was hardly any air left between you.
when he finally pulled back, it was only enough to look at you. you thought, not for the first time, that he looked loveliest when he was trying and failing to stay unmoved by you. you rested your hands against his shoulders. "i will come back."
"and you will write."
"every day." you confirmed again and kissed the side of his throat.
since you’d been gone, he had spent his days trying not to let others see how alone he felt. he was a prince, a dragon, he did not pine.
your absence made him restless in ways that irritated him. he found no patience for courtly nonsense, no interest in idle conversation. his temper shortened, his silences lengthened. where once he might have indulged in sharp remarks for his own amusement, now he simply walked away, leaving words unsaid and people unsettled in his wake.
and always, he returned to your chambers.
to your things.
to the faint, lingering scent of you that clung to the linens and the drape of your gowns. more than once, he found himself standing there with one of them in his hands, the fabric slipping between his fingers as though it might dissolve if he held it too tightly. he would scoff at himself afterward, irritated, but he never stopped.
at night, he slept poorly. sometimes not at all.
he would lie on his back, staring up at the canopy, one arm thrown across the empty space where you should have been. his hand would rest there, palm flat against the mattress, as if he expected to feel warmth that was no longer there. more than once, he caught himself turning his head, half-prepared to speak to you, only to find silence waiting instead.
it made something sharp twist low in his chest.
so he wrote.
his own replies were scrawled, frantic things, the ink pressed too hard into the page, as if force alone could carry his words across the distance between you. the careful composure he showed the rest of the world unraveled in those letters. what remained was raw and unfiltered, a possessive devotion he allowed no one else to see.
wives are not meant to leave their husbands, he wrote. it is an unnatural state of affairs. you promised me daily letters. i have counted the hours between them. do not think i will not notice if you delay. you have made me accustomed to your presence. it was a poor decision on your part, as i now find myself unwilling to return to how things were before you, radiant girl.
another night, another letter, written long past reason:
the bed is too large. i had not noticed before. i do not sleep well in it without you. come back to me as quickly as you are able. i find that i do not enjoy anything half so much in your absence.
there were moments, rare and unguarded, when his writing slowed, when the frantic edge gave way to something reverent.
i read your last letter three times before i allowed myself to answer it. you write as though you are still here with me, and for a moment, i can almost believe it.
ink would blot slightly there, where his hand lingered too long.
you say you think of me. i require no reassurance in that matter. i know you do.
i think of you constantly, my darling wife.
and always, always, he signed them with the same controlled hand he used in court, as if that small piece of composure might anchor everything else unraveling beneath it.
by the time you finally returned, the sea air still clinging to your cloak, he was waiting for you in the courtyard. he had not been patient about it.
there were guards posted at their usual places, the faint hum of voices carrying across the stone, but aerion stood apart from all of it. his hands were clasped behind his back, his posture perfectly straight, his expression carved into something cool and distant. only his eyes betrayed him.
they found you the moment you stepped through the gate.
you barely had time to take in the sight of him before you were moving, gathering your skirts in a way that was hardly proper, your breath catching as you hurried across the courtyard.
"aerion-" you reached him slightly breathless, your hands finding his before he could decide whether to make you wait.
he looked down at your joined hands like he did not trust the reality of it, like you might disappear again if he blinked too quickly. his fingers tightened around yours, firm enough to ground you both.
"you took your time," he said, his voice even, controlled, as though he had not been standing there waiting for far longer than anyone would have imagined.
you smiled despite the way your heart was racing. "and you chose to greet me with a complaint."
his gaze flickered over your face, searching, taking in every detail as if he were cataloging proof that you were whole and real and finally within reach again. "you look well," he said after a moment.
"so do you."
"i do not feel it."
you laughed softly, breathless still, and stepped closer. "then perhaps we should fix that."
his fingers tightened again, just slightly. "not here."
you tilted your head. "then come with me."
he did not argue. he let you pull him, though there was nothing hesitant in the way he followed. if anything, there was a restrained urgency to it, a tension coiled beneath his composure that made your pulse quicken.
the moment you turned into a quieter hall, the noise of the courtyard fading behind you, his hand caught your arm, pulling you back against him with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. his other hand came up to your face, fingers warm against your cheek, and then he was kissing you.
it was everything he had been holding back since the moment you left.
you barely had time to react before he deepened it, his grip tightening at your waist as if to keep you from slipping away again. the taste of him was familiar and overwhelming all at once, the weeks of distance collapsing into nothing under the press of his mouth.
your hands found him just as quickly, sliding up to his shoulders, then into his hair, pulling him closer in answer. the kiss turned breathless, a little desperate, the kind that spoke more clearly than any of his letters ever could.
when he finally broke away, it was only by inches, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath unsteady.
"you said you would write every day," he murmured, his voice low, threaded with something dangerously close to accusation.
"i did."
"you missed one."
your lips parted in surprise, a soft laugh slipping through despite everything. "i did not realize i was being counted so closely."
"i told you i was counting."
you smiled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "it was one day."
"it was an entire day."
you laughed again, softer this time, and leaned in to kiss him once more, slower. "i am here now," you whispered against his mouth.
his eyes closed briefly, just long enough to betray how much that mattered to him.
"you are," he said, quieter now.
his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck. "you are not to leave me like that again."
there was no anger in it, so you softened immediately, your fingers brushing through his hair, smoothing it back where it had come loose. "did you miss me so terribly, my prince?"
"yes, my love." the honesty of it settled between you, warm and heavy and impossible to ignore. your expression gentled, your hand cupping his cheek.
"i missed you too."
he exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing just slightly under your touch. for a moment, he simply looked at you, as if confirming again that you were real, that you had come back, that he did not have to imagine you from ink and parchment anymore.
"do not grow accustomed to leaving me."
you smiled, brushing your lips against his once more. "i think you would follow me next time."
"i would," he said without hesitation. his arms came around you again, drawing you close, not as desperate now, but no less certain. and though he would never admit it aloud in front of anyone else, the tension that had lived in him for weeks finally began, slowly, to ease.
later, after the bath had been drawn and you were soaking in the steaming water, he knelt by the tub, his sleeves rolled up, his hands gently washing your back with a soft cloth. the domesticity of it was so at odds with the man he was, yet it felt more right than anything. you leaned your head back against his shoulder, the water lapping at your skin.
"next time i am called away," you said softly, your voice a murmur in the quiet room, "you will not be alone."
his hand stilled on your back. "what are you saying?"
you turned your head to look at him, your eyes clear and serious in the candlelight. "i am saying i will give you a piece of me that cannot leave. i promise you a babe to be with you. our child."
the world seemed to stop. the air grew thick, charged with a new, potent energy. he stared at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that was almost frightening.
"make good on your word." the words were steady, but the meaning beneath them was a plea. you held his gaze and let your smile turn small and private and infinitely certain.
lol. Just so we’re clear: if you start posting anti-vax shit and how you’re so relieved the CDC is “finally” acknowledging the “link” between autism and vaccines and vaccines and food allergies because RFK says so.
We are no longer friends.
I don’t give a shit that we’ve been mutuals for over 15 years. You cannot have pretended for that long to support me and empathize with my health issues and even agree with my posts about how harmful the anti-vax movement is, then turn around and start posting that exact same ableist rhetoric the instant you’re able to, because it’s been “validated” by the compromised CDC, then send me a message saying you hope I will take the new information gracefully and update my beliefs to align with the truth and then send me increasingly incoherent and volatile messages when I express concern about this sudden view shift, which as it turns out isn’t sudden. You just hid it from me. For the entirety of our friendship.
Turns out we were never friends. Oh well.
Do not attempt to reach out to me again.
Edit:
lol her daughter, who I was also friends with because we worked together in the bakery but who I haven’t spoken to in almost a decade, messaged me on fb to let me know her mother is very publicly crashing out, but also to let me know she went no-contact with her mother two years ago because she found out her mother was giving her toddler ice cubes infused with essential oils, instead of his medication for cystic fibrosis.
pairings: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.
word count: 4.9k.
summary: jacaerys velaryon was no stranger to rhaenyra and daemon's affections, he wondered what it would be like to be intimate with another person. his frustration finally leads into something as the maid comes in with a tray of warm milk.
warning tags: nsfw. cunnilingus. handjob. blowjob. female receiving. male receiving. reader is guiding him, jacaerys is unhinged. porn with plot.
requested: no, i just had a prompt in mind.
naz says: i managed to squeeze out some words after years of being in a slump, lol. please bear with me on this. requests are open!
upon seeing his mother and daemon’s affection with each other, jacaerys grew curious of what it would be like to fully surrender yourself in the hands of someone else; to let go of whatever armor you wore suit, and to bare yourself naked, figuratively and well.. literally, in front of someone else you hold dear.
he only had limited time to think about certain thoughts, for the realm is in havoc and they were caught up in the middle of a conflict within their own house, within their own name. he wanted to do everything in his hands and beyond, for his mother’s throne and birthright, for their family.
jacaerys smothered his hands on his face, growing restless and frustrated over what was happening in the realm, of how rhaenyra was in deep distress. he was in the middle of writing a letter, the raven patiently awaits and perched on the window in his chambers; he once again thinks of what could happen on this evening, or in the following days.
the maid entered his doors, knocking politely on the wooden opening that allows him his own privacy, he looked up and saw you carrying a tray with a pitcher and a glass. “your grace, the queen ordered me to bring you hot milk as she thinks you have been in trouble having sleep.” you were looking down, deeply aware of the differences in your status, knowing better than to meet his gaze.
it was that very reason that you missed the way jacaerys looked at your form, of your smooth skin and the way your hair was held into an updo, emphasizing your bare neck. he heaves a sigh, feeling as if his head was once again getting filled with curiosities and ideas. he had known you, for a while in fact, gracefully doing your duties and making yourself seem smaller—but he never fails to miss you. in each time you walked into a room, clearly oblivious of the set of gazes thrown at your way, you were never unseen, no, not completely.
“stay for a moment.” he uttered when you were placing the tray on top of his table. there was a moment of shock, for you thought jacaerys mostly kept matters to himself. if he is in need of something, surely there would be a better choice than you.
you finished setting the tray on the table, making sure it does not touch the number of blank papers and books, and to ensure it would not fall towards the ground, “yes, your grace?”
he moves his chair away from the table, his body now directed towards you; there was a hint of worry in his face, and you thought it was a desperate moment for him. you allowed yourself to prepare, racking up the knowledge you have over the houses, recounting the events that had happened with regards to the throne; moreover, you allowed yourself in a headspace to feel, if in any case he needs to be consoled.
“what do you know about.. coupling?”
that was something you can never prepare for. The prince, the queen’s first-born, asking about marital duties and in a tone so plain and simple you could not comprehend it as quickly as you could.
there was a puzzled look plastered on your face, alongside a hint of light blush creeping under your skin, “your grace?”
“forget about it. you may go now.” he dismissed, going back into facing the table, picking up his quill as he goes, but not writing anything in the paper.
you got nervous initially, thinking that you have failed to do a simple duty, to answer when a question is asked—it could have been anyone else, but to fail the prince is considerably a grave mistake.
“i only know very little about coupling, your grace. we were taught about it back then, on how to please our husbands in the matters of producing a child.” you answered as quickly as you could, not knowing how to stop now since you fear of disappointing him, yet a new wave of unease just hits you. you were never given a permission to speak, as a matter of fact, you were dismissed. yet here you are.
“must it only be done when producing an heir? is that only the purpose of it?” he looks up from his table and continued where the question was left off, whatever it was that he was trying to write is completely forgotten now.
“i do not think so, your grace. my mother said it could also be done if you want to please your husband, if you want to pleasure them.” you scrambled to look at anywhere else but him. there was a small fidget from you as you play with your fingers, finding anything else in his chambers to look at instead of feeling the weight of his stare.
“must it always be between husband and a wife?” he spoke again in the gentlest of tone, not breaking his gaze on you and plainly seeing the tensed expression you have.
you wondered how and why he had led to think of these matters, you wanted to ask what prompted him to think of it, and how or when he started getting ideas.
“not entirely, your grace. the women in whore houses—”
“i was not talking about the ladies in those places. can it be done with a friend? or.. a maid?” he contemplated on the last question before saying it, as he himself was feeling anxious as well, careful not to make you feel any sort of discomfort.
“i.. i believe so.” the question hung in the air for some moment before you understood that it was your turn to answer, “if both persons allow it, your grace, i deem it should be possible.”
jacaerys stood up from his seat, almost a bit too hasty, that the wooden leg of the chair made a sound as it scratched against the ground when he made a move, he walks towards you, dangerously close, up until his breath fans over your face, “would you..”
you swallowed, hard, the proximity of your bodies and how the distance could almost come to a close in a mere second would have sent you fainting, but you stood still, a little voice in your head whispers just how much of this you can take some more. you couldn’t deny it, not anymore, how warm the room suddenly got and how he could easily send a shiver down your spine, and the worst of it all, he looked unaware of it, or he did know, except he didn’t let himself care.
the prince’s hand makes its way to your face, gently cupping your cheek with his warmth, his thumb softly brushing over your bottom lip and you parted it, almost out of instinct, almost naturally, as if this whole ordeal is something that occurs very commonly; he felt right, he felt safe. your mind lingered over past memories for a minute, how this certain boy captivated you since you got into dragonstone, since the moment your own house swore allegiance and loyalty to the one and only heir to the iron throne, queen rhaenyra. he stood quietly by her side back then, unassuming in the background while daemon talks, you briefly locked gazes and you saw comfort; you had known of what was happening, and how hell will break loose any second, between the queen and her half-brother—even more aware of the number of hours that jacaerys spends in solitude, an unexplored abyss deep within him, seen through the lenses of his eyes, and you felt an inexplicable urge to take care of him in little ways, like bringing milk into his chambers and masking it under the guise of being the queen’s orders.
a soft exhale escaped your lips and you looked up at him, at his pair of eyes that looked lonely when he thinks no one else is looking, at the same pair of eyes that burns in fury to defend his mother’s name—at the same pair of eyes that has been darkened by something else at the moment, something primal and all-consuming.
“would you allow me to learn of it?”
it was a simple question, not even uttered in a sense of giving an order or a command, he was asking you. the mere fact that he has asked a woman with a name who is not entirely known anywhere to bed him, when he could have done it with anyone else, with someone who is like him, someone with a name, someone who has the honor, someone who has the pride. yet when he placed his hand to caress your side, and his thumb rubbed on your lip, propping it open, all your worries seemed to evaporate and you were left with an empty state of mind.
you willed yourself near him, crashing your lips to his in a split second; your once-shy arms seemed to have a mind on its own and wrapped itself to him, as if you needed to grasp but careful enough not to make it hurt, as if you needed him to anchor you before you fall into the deep end.
the shared kiss was passionate and intense, a certain matter of thirst needed to be quenched and it could only be done with this. you were never letting go no matter how sloppy it has gotten, jacaerys’ inexperience was noticeable at first but he has always been good at following orders and you knew he was always quick at learning things. he opened his mouth to gasp any amount of air and you took the liberty for yourself to slip your tongue inside, and he made a sound, almost a whine and you thanked yourself you were not too lost in the moment to register the kind of noises he makes. you explored within, willingly and messily; and you felt his hand encircling on your lower back now, hugging you even tighter, pressing his body further into you.
then you pulled away.
“is this your first time, your grace?” you struggled to breathe for air, wiping the side of your mouth with the back of your hand. he could only nod, a light shade of pink crept its way into his cheeks as he looks away, similarly catching his breath after the steamy exchange.
you pushed him towards his chair, propping him downwards until he’s fully seated; he looked baffled, crossing his eyebrows in the process but obliged without questions.
“it would be my honor to teach you a few things, your grace.” there was a hint of pride in you now, jacaerys was always following orders, whether it’s from rhaenyra, daemon or rhaenys, he would be following regardless. his utmost compliance boosted a certain confidence in you, the idea of having him on his knees, the absolute fact that the queen’s first-born son is right at your mercy.
it was deep in the night when you hand-delivered the milk, yet you worry that someone might come in and push past the doors, so you wasted no more time, for you did not know if something as completely bizarre and euphoric, such as this, could ever happen again. You kneeled towards him, never tearing your gaze away, he straightened himself on the chair, his arms already prepared to stop you from kneeling but you ignored him and placed both palms against his lap, applying enough pressure as it trails upward, a small grin paints itself onto your face upon seeing just how clueless he gets at every movement demonstrated.
you started pulling on the strings of his garments, the dent on his clothes is almost impossible to ignore, even more so now that it has created a wet patch. once done, you urged him to raise himself from the chair to pull the linen downward, freeing his hard cock in the process and throwing away his clothes elsewhere. you took a quick observation, for someone who has not experience anything thus far, he appeared clean, the hair just below his abdomen was trimmed and its tip glistens with wetness, already leaking as it stands upright.
“i-is it bad?” he asks, keeping a tight grip on the chair’s arms with both hands, not knowing where else he could hold onto.
“you are perfect, your grace.” you smiled at him, genuine and pure, in hopes of smoothing away his worries and to only think of the pleasures that will come along.
“jace. please. please call me jace.” he uttered in a small voice, his breathing growing heavier now, and beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“as you wish, jace.” you held onto his shaft, earning a loud gasp from him as he jerked from his seat, “since we are asking nicely, jace, please let me know if you feel good, what does not, then you can learn from that.” the hold on his cock has been gentle at first, slowly increasing in pressure and pace as you make a suggestion. jace nodded eagerly, not quite bothered by his labored breaths now as he struggles to maintain a stable composure.
you guessed that he was sensitive, and you wanted to see how much more you could make a mess out of him in this regard; so you started pumping, stroking his cock languidly but careful not to touch the leaking tip. your other hand tries to calm him down by placing it on top of his lap, the tensed muscles lets you know he’s far from being relaxed, and you revel in it anyway.
“that’s good..” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leans back on the chair, one would think he’s slowly getting used to it, yet his hands that are getting almost too pale from strongly gripping on the chair’s arms says otherwise.
you hummed, prideful to yourself with just how easy the words seem to flow out of him, and the other matter that it is so impossibly easy to please the man; you would think that he could already come undone just with your hands alone—and you can’t have that. not yet.
while his eyes remained closed, and his face contorted with both pleasure and bliss, you took the time to bring your mouth towards his cock, surrounding the tip with warmth. as expected, both of his eyes shot open in a flash, looking straight at you now while your tongue licks at his skin, the immediate hint of the salty taste enveloping your tongue and you pushed forward into his shaft, taking more of him into your mouth.
he groaned, naturally so, as one of his hand found its way on your head, placing it idly on top, not guiding, not commanding; his other hand kept its place on the arm of the chair, still holding onto it like his life depended on it, “gods.. that’s.. that’s good.” you feel him slightly thrusting to follow the rhythm you have set whilst sucking his cock, your head continuously bobbing as you take his length, fighting the urge to gag and choke as you try to take all of him right down on your throat.
“hold on a moment, please.. please slow down.” he spoke softly, almost coming out as a whisper and he genuinely wanted to push you off, yet his hands does not carry a weight on it as he holds your shoulders; he could only place it there, putting his luck to the old gods and the new, hoping they would grant his wishes.
“slow down, please, please..” it sounded somewhere in between a cry for help and a plea, he suddenly did not know how to sit properly, where to put his hands; you maintained your pace, not minding the way he practically begs for you to slow down and to stop. you wanted to push him closer to the end, eager to let the ropes snap, determined to bring him to the best of days. with both pace and intensity, you kept on attempting to swallow him whole, one of your hands then moved to cup his balls, fondling over on the soft sack and providing a sudden massage over the smooth area.
jace was never known for being mean, nor vulgar in any time of the day. he was careful, composed and most of the time, in control; though he usually grows angry and frustrated but he would always craft his words politely. that is why there is a genuine shock when you heard him mutter a string of profanities, multiple curses flew off from his mouth as he holds your head lower and more into his cock; gods be damned if he knew how to speak this way in so long, yet in another note, it does make sense, this man was around daemon for half of his life. He would naturally pick up a thing or two.
“move, please, stay back, i am about to—” he did not get to finish his sentence when you felt a spurt of liquid shooting into your mouth, painting the inside of your cheek with his load and he did release quite a lot. you swallowed, gratefully and obediently, shooting him a look in the process and carefully examining his face; jace is properly drenched in sweat, his pupils blown out as he recovers from his climax, eyes dilated and filled with awe and satisfaction. you contemplated how he was just airing out vulgarities a second ago and shifting into a polite beg of moving your head away.
his face reddens, “i-i’m sorry.. i did not mean to—”
you chuckled, “pay no mind, your grace. i wanted to taste you.” and only then did his face relaxed, slowly forming a smile as he pulls you closer up until you straddled on his lap. he kisses you deeply, with an ample amount of hunger, still, and you returned the favor in the same intensity. you wrapped your arms around his neck and ruffled on his hair while he attempts to slip his tongue inside your mouth; quietly and adorably mimicking your previous actions.
then you felt as if you were floating, jacaerys lifted you from his lap and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, not breaking the kiss despite the jolt of surprise. he carries you to the table, the hot milk long forgotten now, the ink on the quill has all dried up. jace placed you gently on top of the wooden table, finally breaking the kiss as he looks downward, his pair of hands snaking on both of your legs, caressing the soft skin and leisurely making its way up.
“can i taste you too?”
you were rendered stunned, and it was your turn to be baffled now. the women who surrounded you before only given most of their thoughts and wisdom in terms of pleasing men—not receiving them. you looked away, expectant to see some answers or excuses to politely decline it, you did not know how it would feel, while it is true you have touched yourself beneath the sheets just before slumber, it would be an entirely different feeling to have someone else’s tongue.
“i—i do not know, jace. i have no knowledge of sorts when it comes to giving pleasure to a woman.” you cracked, finally, taking an ounce of shame as you respond in complete honesty.
jace’s grin grew bigger at that, “let me, please. teach me how, please, let me know how to please you.” he was already lowering himself, meekly keeping his gaze on your eyes, as he holds the hem of your dress, raising it until it sits on your abdomen, he deliberately removed your garments as you laid there, nervous and unmoving, your arms kept to yourself in fear of knocking over materials placed on top of his table, alongside you, that you presumed he deemed precious.
he carefully spread your legs wider, opening a pathway for him to thread on; jace stared at your cunt, examining it like the scales of the dragons. there was a genuine curiosity in his expression, his eyes filled with wonder; he willed his thumb to brush over it and you exclaimed, jolting at his warmth making contact on your pussy. he figured it was a sound out of pleasure, and drove him to do it again and again, until he pressed his thumb deeper, only to have it completely covered with slick.
“and this is..?” he wondered, prompting a question as he pause from scanning. he played with the wetness he gathered from your cunt, placing his index against his thumb to feel its slippery texture.
“arousal.. jace. it is a clear sign of arousal.” you answered, propping your elbows against the table to get a clearer sight of him in between your legs.
“are you aroused?” he had a genuine look of curiosity written all over his face, and you almost sneered at him, as if you had not been aroused since he walked towards you a couple of moments ago, as if seeing his face twist in fits of pleasure and experiencing climax has not made you squeeze your legs harder to feel an ounce of friction.
“very, your grace.” you simply answered, a gush of cold wind from his open window brushes lightly on your skin, bringing a handful of shivers on your bare cunt. jace was still very much captivated with your slick on his finger, he then brings it into his mouth, sucking on his thumb and letting the taste sit on his tongue before grinning to himself.
he wordlessly leans in closer to your cunt, wrapping his arms on each of your leg as he spreads it wider, allowing himself to have more room as he goes in to taste more of you. you shook at the sudden feel of his tongue rubbing on your clit, eliciting a soft moan, which caused you to place your hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds as a result, careful not to let the knights outside the chambers to hear what was supposedly the prince only drinking his serving of milk.
“do not shy yourself away from me.” he halted when he caught glimpse of what you were doing, you glanced at him, at his wet lips, a mix of his own saliva and your arousal, and it was more than enough to cause your head to blank out.
“the guards, your grace—”
“it would be a favor for them, i had imagined they would be delighted hearing something completely different from council debating over the realm’s conflicts.” jace dismissed your worries, though not fully convinced, you moved your hand away from your mouth as he resumed his own business.
it was all over the place, his tongue knows no bounds and directions of any sort, he was lapping like a madman, making it certain that every skin is marked with him. Jace being completely new to this kind of experience is rather adorable, at the start, but now you were feeling so incredibly and undeniably aroused that you just wanted to reach the high you’ve been wanting to achieve; with that in mind, you grabbed the prince’s hair, patches of his brown strands caught in between each finger and you simply yanked him in, pulling him further into you up until you felt his tongue closer to your sensitive nub, with just enough pressure. the way you moaned louder at that sensation did not escape jace’s ears, he wanted to please you more, wanted to see you pleasured real good, like how you did him on the chair.
the man raised his head lightly, getting another good look at your face before his index and middle fingers traced the lining of your cunt, spreading it open for him to access to; he did not know you were close, painfully unaware of the coiling tension inside your abdomen, he glances the way your nails were digging on his wooden table and a small smile curls up on his lips, as he knows he will be seeing the scratches one of these days while he works—and he will be left with a sweet memory. he did not know you needed a release, not yet, yet he licked on the newfound territory as if he belonged there, as if he knew exactly which places to give pressure on, and you were very clearly losing your mind; his warm and wet tongue was way beyond satisfactory, and you did not know you were pulling him rougher by his hair.
jace winces in pain, yet he paid no mind. he couldn’t get enough of you, of how you taste like; he had a previous thought that men who goes out to seek women in whorehouses were simply wasting time—and now that he had a taste of what pure bliss felt like, he knew he would not be stopping any time soon. You have opened the door to a whole new world for him, and it was more than enough to keep his frustration and rage at bay.
your toes curled at every time he hits a certain area in your cunt, at every moment he tenses his tongue and abuses your pussy with its tip; the growing release in your abdomen was all familiar, and you thought you’d be so, so close in a few—until he changed his attack. he had switched to sucking on it now, you didn’t know if it was a skill taught to him by someone else, or he was mirroring the way you sucked his cock earlier, or if he was trying something else—whatever it was, it simply reeled you closer to the edge, as he seemed to know where exactly to suck on, that little bead you have felt on your fingertips whenever you touch yourself.
you were close to screaming now, unable to contain your voice and unable to keep it in a very low volume, you kept his head close to where you want him, and he has been playing with you by both licking and sucking. “gods.. y-yes, right there!” you demanded, and jace found it amusing that you seem to have lost the initial modesty you have had before he spreads you open.
in seconds, you convulsed, violently shaking against the table, lightly raising your hips in the process as you see white; jace tried to hold you down, a wave of shock washing over him as he wonders what had occured; but he does know you have been wetter now, and another distinct taste fell on his tongue. he stood, “are you alright?”
a nod was the only thing you could do, smiling to yourself as you reached your climax once again. it was a completely different feeling to it, and you cannot tell yet if it was better than your own fingers, but you haven’t really trembled anywhere near that intensity, no matter how much you jog up your memory.
you got up, raising yourself from laying down and met his lips, there was a different taste on his lips, and you figured it must have come from you—considering how he was practically eating you just moments ago.
“was i good?”
you giggled now, fixing your clothes as you realize what just happened with the two of you, inside his chambers, a soft hint of pink pooled on your cheeks, “you must have sucked all life out of me, gods.” you stared at him, rubbing a thumb over his chin to clean off remnants of your release and he tilted his head lower, meeting your thumb and he had started to suck on it, not wanting to waste a single drop of what you just gave him.
there was a hint of tenderness in his gaze, almost too soft, and for some reason, this had changed the way you viewed him; on every glance, on every gazes met, on every halls where you could pass him by—you’d be forever reminded of his lips, his grip on your thighs, his pair of lustful and hungry eyes, his tongue on your cunt, and his cum that is a mix of sweet and salty.
“your grace, queen rhaenyra summons you.”
you were quick to move, jumping from the table and immediately tended to your appearance, there is a little discomfort of a warm, and sticky feeling trickling down on your thighs but you ignored it—walking out of his chamber is a top priority. he did the exact same thing, getting into the garments you previously discarded, he worried that your scent may have permanently marked him, especially his mouth, and he was already thinking of other ways to speak with his mother, in such a way that she does not get a single waft of your scent.
“i shall have my hot milk again on the morrow, bring it around the exact moment as you did on this evening.” he was back to this usual composed demeanor, as the guards opened his doors for him; you bowed your head slightly, silently praying the knights did not hear any sound from you.
“as you wish, your grace.” you carried the tray once again, the milk still and untouched, it has been long since it got cold and you reminded yourself it will be the same on the next morrow.
Ooooh this is such a fun one. I have been meaning to read some Mafia AU. I have found some below but have not read them. Let me know what yall think!
Mob Boss/Mafia
🏒 Anything For My Princess | 4.0k
Mafia Boss Ilya x Princess Shane | Series
🏒 i'll bark like a dog (and chase like a hound) | 7.3k
2 times people were surprised to see shane walking the mafia boss ilya rozanov like a dog, and the 1 time someone knew all along
🏒 thinking about you (craving us) | 8.4k
shane accidentally 'kidnaps' mafia boss ilya. chaos ensues
🏒 mafi[oh]so in love with you | 11.8k
the Mafia AU in which Ilya owns the Russian mafia in America and Shane still plays hockey, but with a mob-boss mother
🏒 professional heartbreaker | 14.9k
Out of all Ilya’s terrible vices, repeatedly hiring the same escort might be the stupidest one he’s ever picked up
🏒 Milk and Honey | 15.9k
Someone's killing powerful Alphas in the Boston underworld in strange and untraceable ways, and it's giving Ilya, next head of the Rozanov family, a fucking headache.
🏒 The Application | 29.5k
Shane desperately needs a job and applies to be a House Omega, not realizing it is for a member of the Russian mob
🏒 Compromised | 30.5k
As Ilya is tasked with uncovering all Shane's and his organization's secrets, he has to fight to keep his relationship - and his betrayal - from being revealed - or risk losing the best thing that ever happened to him.
🏒 Of Hospitals, Heartaches, and Heathens | 39.1k
The one where Ilya's the heir to a mafia syndicate, Shane really needs to get some sleep, and Hayden is not allowed to share his hats. There's passive-aggressive caretaking, more secrets than necessary, and bickering that can be heard through the walls
🏒 In You, I Find Me | 57.2k
Ilya set the glass down to the side of him on the black leather cushion and rose from his seat, unfolding gracefully until he was towering over Shane with cool indifference. He bent slightly, leaned in close enough to Shane’s face that he could smell the vodka the Russian man had been drinking, then said easily, “I think I will keep you, actually"
🏒 Bad Things (With You) | WIP
Shane is an accountant for the Mafia and does a routine audit. Nothing is routine for Ilya Rozanov
🏒 The Sickness You Foster (Your Favourite Addiction) | WIP
Shane Hollander is twenty-three, a student at McGill University's prestigious Physical Therapy program, and a part-time employee at a local, run-of-the-mill coffee shop. After a supposed one-night stand throws him completely off-balance, he finds himself drifting unwittingly towards a man who just might be the literal death of him
🏒 Night Shift | 191k
Shane Hollander is just trying to survive NYU biochemistry, hockey practice, and the graveyard shift at 7-Eleven. He's too exhausted to notice that his new regular customer is Russian mafia, or that Ilya's interest in him goes beyond terrible coffee and cookies.
Update: this fic has been flagged by an anon 🚩🤖
🏒 The Chips Are Set to Fall | WIP
At the 2017 All Star Weekend, Ilya takes fate into his own hands to produce at least one out MLH player by the end of the season. Thus begins his part-time side hustle as community organizer, mastermind, and Commander-in-Chief of the Gay Hockey Army.
🏒 If You Drink My Pain, You Can Swallow My Pride | WIP
🚨 After a hit gone wrong, Shane must pay for killing Alexei Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov, heir to the Rozanov empire, has a plan for the man.
🏒 My Little Minx | WIP
Shane is a med student working at a club & Ilya is Bratva.
🏒 Gimme Kiss, Gimme Cuddles, Gimme All Of You | WIP
the one where organized crime boss Ilya meets hockey-playing uni student Shane and big feelings and kinky shenanigans unfold
Make sure to check out other fic rec request here -> Requested Lists
Check out other AU -> Age Gap AU | Arranged Marriage | BDSM/TPE AU | College AU | Co Workers AU | Dystopian AU | Escort AU | Fake/Pretend Relationship | Famous/Non Famous | Historical AU | Medical Professional AU | Mob Boss/Mafia AU | Sugar Daddy AU | Trans AU
