A Likes You

Qifrey, in all his charm and grandeur he presents to his family of apprentices and friends, shudders and flinches at your touch. Who moves away from you when you shuffle next to him and recoils as though you've wounded him when you go to touch him. Do not take this for fear or disgust, however, as he seems to be a glutton for suffering. He will recoil but just as quickly chase your affection. Your quickly withdrawing is one he will jump at to grab and hold, your shocked expression smoothed over with a hand to the cheek or a forehead touch.

Olruggio, on the other hand leans into touch. Completely melts onto you should you fiddle with his clothes or tassel; finding ways to lean along your shoulders and dip his head in the curve of your neck to simply breathe you in. He tries his best to act unaffected and uncaring, but the moment you are out of his sight he can't help but fiddle and flutter about with utter worry; laying upon his pillows and hammock and dreaming of you, you, and you. He is, and perhaps always should be known as not Olruggio of the Torch, but the bearded puppy in the way he tails you like a duckling.

Luluci is perhaps a special case in that her affection, though hard earned, is perhaps the calmest of these bunch. A soft squeeze of the shoulder when passing by or smile when you happen to make eye contact. This affection and care is not in the absence or excess of affection, but rather a completely different form altogether formed through loyalty and trust. Her affection is certainly hard earned, but her reliance on your presence is one most needed.

Utowin, on the other hand, can only ever be described as a nuisance. His affection is one not commonly sought after, but when it is obtained and mutual he can flip from arrogant man child to loyal caretaker. His care is not in his untruthful words and fake bravado but rather the meals he keeps warm when you arrive home despite his schedule. Random gifts and treats left in your bags and pockets when you aren't looking soon become a commonality with this man but never approach him about it or else he'll fluster and blunder.

In honor of his anime debut gaslighting us for good.

Tense

Qifrey x reader

cw: slightly suggestive? imo it's pretty tame

AN: writing this as chill as possible as if I wasn't begging my mutual to write this scenario 🤞 @omniprescent

The stories about Brimhats were always the same: dangerous, deceptive, consumed by forbidden magic and darker paths.

Olruggio x reader

cw: none

AN: I haven't been seeing a lot of Olruggio fics and since the anime came out a few days ago I wanted to do him a bit of justice 🖤💙

The workshop was quieter than usual tonight, the kind of quiet that felt like it was holding its breath rather than resting. The lamps burned low, their golden light pooling over scattered papers and half-finished diagrams, and the faint scent of ink and parchment hung in the air. You sat near the long wooden table, carefully tracing over a circle you’d already redrawn three times, trying to steady your hand—but your focus kept drifting, pulled instead toward the soft, rhythmic sound of someone turning pages behind you.

Olruggio had been there for hours.

You shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, your hand pressed against your chest as another wave of pressure built beneath your palm.

"She still won't take it?" Zuko's voice came from the doorway, concern in his tone.

You shook your head, frustration and discomfort in your expression. "She turns away every time. I don't know what's changed. Yesterday she was fine, and now..." You winced as you adjusted your position, the movement sending a sharp ache through your breasts.

Izumi had been fussy all day, refusing to nurse despite your repeated attempts. The wet nurse had suggested she might be teething early, or perhaps going through one of those inexplicable phases that babies sometimes experienced. Whatever the reason, the result was the same—your breasts had grown increasingly swollen and heavy throughout the day, filled with milk that had nowhere to go.

Zuko crossed the room, his footsteps quiet on the polished floor. He knelt before you, golden eyes searching your face. "How bad is it?"

"It hurts," you admitted, your voice tight. "They're so full, Zuko. I've tried releasing some manually, but it's not enough. The pressure just keeps building."

His gaze dropped to your chest, and even through the fabric of your robe, he could see the difference. Your breasts were noticeably larger, swollen and round, straining against the silk. Small damp spots had begun to appear where milk had started to leak through despite your best efforts to contain it.

"Let me see," he said softly, his hands moving to the tie of your robe.

You hesitated only a moment before nodding, allowing him to part the fabric. You took off your breast bindings hours ago when they'd become too tight, and now your breasts were fully exposed to his view—heavy and engorged, the skin stretched tight and shining in the lamplight. Your nipples were darker than usual, prominent and already glistening with beads of milk that had begun to leak unbidden.

Zuko's breath caught audibly. "Spirits," he murmured, his voice dropping low. "You're so swollen."

"I know," you whispered, embarrassment heating your cheeks even as another droplet of milk formed at your nipple and traced a slow path down the curve of your breast. "I look ridiculous."

"No." His contradiction was immediate. His hands came up to hover near your breasts, not quite touching. "You look incredible. May I?"

You nodded, and his warm palms cupped you gently, his touch was gentle as though afraid of hurting you. Even that contact made you gasp—your breasts were so sensitive, every nerve ending heightened by the engorgement.

"They're so warm," Zuko observed, his thumbs brushing carefully along the undersides. "And heavy. This must be painful."

"It is," you confirmed, biting your lip as his exploration sent confusing signals through your body—discomfort from the pressure, but also something else, something that made heat pool low in your belly despite the ache.

Zuko was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on your chest, watching as another bead of milk formed and began to drip. Then he looked up at you, and there was something dark and hungry in his gaze that made your breath hitch.

"I could help," he said, his voice rough. "If you'd let me."

You understood immediately what he was suggesting, and your heart began to pound. "Zuko..."

"The wet nurse said Izumi might not nurse for days," he continued, his hands still cradling your breasts with exquisite gentleness. "You can't stay like this. Manual expression isn't working well enough. But I could..." He swallowed hard, his pupils dilating. "I could drink from you. Relieve the pressure."

The suggestion sent a bolt of arousal straight through you, unexpected and intense. You'd never considered such a thing, but now that he'd said it, the image filled your mind—Zuko's mouth on your breast, his lips sealed around your nipple, drawing out the milk that made you ache.

"Would you want to?" you asked breathlessly.

His answer was to lean forward and drag his tongue slowly up the trail of milk on your breast, collecting the droplets. His eyes fluttered closed and he made a low sound of appreciation. "You taste sweet," he murmured against your skin. "Like honey and cream."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your body trembling. "Please zu..," you whispered, no longer sure if you were begging for relief from the physical discomfort or from the sudden, desperate need that had ignited in your core.

Zuko shifted closer, positioning himself between your thighs as you sat on the edge of the bed. His hands cupped your right breast, lifting it slightly, and then his mouth closed over your nipple.

The sensation was overwhelming. His lips formed a seal, warm and soft, and then he began to suck—gently at first, then with increasing pressure. The milk let down immediately, flowing into his mouth in a warm rush that made you cry out. The relief was immediate and intense, the pressure easing as he drank, but it was accompanied by a pleasure so acute it bordered on pain.

"Oh, agni," you gasped, your head falling back as Zuko nursed from you. His tongue worked against your nipple, encouraging the flow, while his hand kneaded the swollen flesh gently, helping to express the milk. You could hear him swallowing, could feel the pull of his mouth with every draw, and it was the most erotic thing you'd ever experienced.

He drank deeply, his eyes closed in concentration and pleasure. One of his hands remained on your breast, massaging carefully, while the other slid up your thigh, pushing your robe further open. You were already wet, arousal slicking your inner thighs, and when his fingers found your center, you moaned aloud.

Zuko pulled back just long enough to murmur, "You're soaked," before returning his mouth to your breast. His fingers stroked through your folds, teasing, while he continued to nurse. The dual sensations—his mouth drawing milk from your breast and his fingers working between your legs—had you trembling and gasping within seconds.

Your breast was beginning to soften slightly, the terrible tightness easing, but you were still so full. Zuko seemed to sense this, and he shifted his attention to your other breast, his mouth closing over that nipple with the same hungry devotion. The milk flowed just as readily, and you whimpered as the relief-pleasure washed through you again.

"So good," Zuko murmured between draws, his voice muffled against your flesh. "You taste so good, and you're giving me so much."

His fingers found your clit, circling it with practiced skill, and you bucked against his hand. The combination of sensations was driving you toward climax with startling speed—the relief of your breasts being emptied, the eroticism of your husband drinking from you, the skilled touch of his fingers on your most sensitive places.

"Zuko," you panted, your fingers tightening in his hair. "I'm gonna—oh, please—"

He increased the pressure of his sucking, his hand kneading your breast more firmly to encourage the milk flow, while his fingers worked faster between your legs. The pleasure built and built, tension coiling tighter in your core, until finally it snapped.

You came with a sharp cry, your body convulsing as waves of ecstasy rolled through you. Your breast leaked more heavily as you climaxed, milk flowing freely into Zuko's eager mouth, and he groaned against you, the vibration adding to your pleasure. He didn't stop nursing, didn't stop touching you, drawing out your orgasm until you were shaking and oversensitive.

When you finally came down, gasping and trembling, Zuko released your nipple with a soft pop. His lips were wet with your milk, his eyes dark with lust. "Better?" he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded weakly, looking down at your breasts. They were noticeably smaller now, though still fuller than normal. The terrible tightness had eased considerably, leaving only a pleasant heaviness. "Much better," you breathed. "But you're not finished, are you?"

His smile was predatory. "Not even close."

He stood, and you could see the prominent bulge in his pants, evidence of his arousal. He'd been hard since he first started nursing from you, and now he was clearly aching for relief of his own.

"Lie back," he commanded softly, and you obeyed, scooting further onto the bed and reclining against the pillows. Your robe fell completely open, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze.

Zuko stripped quickly, his movements economical and efficient, revealing the lean, scarred body you knew so well. His cock stood proud and hard, the tip already glistening with precum. He climbed onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs, and leaned down to capture your mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue—the sweet, creamy flavor of your milk—and it made you moan into his mouth.

"I wanna be inside you," he murmured against your lips, "while I drink more. Can i…?"

"Yes," you gasped, already aching to be filled. "Please, Zuko."

He positioned himself at your entrance, and you were so wet that he slid in easily despite his considerable size. You both groaned at the sensation—the stretch and fullness, the slick heat, the perfect fit of your bodies. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, and then he lowered his head to your breast once more.

The sensation of being filled by his cock while he nursed from you was indescribable. Every pull of his mouth seemed to echo in your core, tightening around him, while every thrust drove him deeper. Your breasts were still producing milk readily, and Zuko drank greedily, alternating between them, his hands roaming your body possessively.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured between draws, his hips maintaining the steady pace. "So full and soft and perfect. I could drink from you for hours."

"Zuko," you whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders. The pleasure was building again, faster this time, your body still sensitive from your first orgasm. "Harder, please."

He complied immediately, his thrusts becoming more forceful, driving deeper. His mouth worked at your breast with matching intensity, sucking hard enough that you knew you'd have marks tomorrow—not enough to bruise.. The thought made you clench around him, and he groaned.

"So tight," he panted, releasing your nipple to kiss and lick at the curve of your breast, following the trails of milk that had escaped. "Squeezing me so perfectly. Are you gonna cumagain? Gonna cum on my cock while I drink from these beautiful breasts hm?"

"Y-yes!," you gasped, your nails digging into his back. "Yes, I'm close, so close—"

His hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit again, and that was all it took. You shattered, crying out his name as your second orgasm crashed over you. Your inner walls clamped down on him rhythmically, and you felt a fresh surge of milk let down, flowing freely as your body convulsed in pleasure.

Zuko captured your nipple again, drinking deeply as you came, and the sensation prolonged your climax until you were sobbing with the intensity of it. His thrusts became erratic, and then he was following you over the edge, burying himself deep as he found his own release. You felt him pulse inside you, filling you with his seed, while his mouth continued to draw from your breast in long, satisfied pulls.

He collapsed against you carefully, mindful of your still-tender breasts, his softening cock still inside you. For long moments, you both simply breathed, hearts pounding in sync, bodies slick with sweat and milk.

Finally, Zuko lifted his head, pressing a tender kiss to your breast before meeting your eyes. "How do you feel?" he asked softly.

You took inventory of your body. Your breasts were much softer now, the painful engorgement relieved, though they still held milk. Your body was pleasantly sore, satisfied in a way that made you feel boneless and content. "Perfect," you murmured, running your fingers through his hair. "Absolutely perfect."

He smiled, that rare, genuine smile that he reserved only for you and Izumi. "Good." He pressed a kiss to your lips, sweet and lingering. "Though you know this might become a regular thing if Izumi continues to refuse."

A shiver of anticipation ran through you at the thought. "I think I could live with that."

"Mmm." He nuzzled against your neck, his hand coming up to cup your breast again, thumb brushing over your nipple almost absently. "We should probably clean up. You're covered in milk."

You laughed softly. "So are you."

"I know." His voice was smug, satisfied. "I can still taste you."

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you made no move to get up, content to lie there with your husband's weight pressing you into the mattress, his hand gentle on your breast, his seed slowly leaking from your body. There would be time to clean up later. For now, you simply wanted to savor this moment—the intimacy, the pleasure, the deep connection that bound you together.

Outside, the sun had fully set, and the palace was quiet. Somewhere in the nursery, Izumi slept peacefully, unaware of the gift her refusal to nurse had given her parents. And in the Fire Lord's chambers, you and Zuko held each other close, already anticipating the next time your breasts would swell with milk and he would relieve you with his mouth and hands and body.

It was, you reflected drowsily as Zuko's breathing evened out against your neck, a very satisfactory solution to the problem.

The next morning, you woke to the familiar pressure building in your breasts again. Izumi had still refused to nurse at her dawn feeding, and the wet nurse had reported that she seemed perfectly content with a bottle instead.

Zuko stirred beside you, his hand immediately finding your breast, testing its fullness. His eyes opened, meeting yours, and a slow smile curved his lips.

"Again?" he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

You nodded, already feeling the ache, the need. "Again."

He wasted no time, pushing you gently onto your back and settling between your thighs. This time there was no hesitation, no tentative exploration. He knew exactly what you both needed, and he took your nipple into his mouth with confident hunger.

The milk flowed readily, and you gasped as the pleasure washed through you once more. Zuko's hand slipped between your legs, finding you already wet and ready, and he groaned against your breast.

"Every morning," he murmured, his fingers sliding inside you while he continued to nurse. "I wanna wake up like this every morning, drinking from you, making you cum."

"Yes," you whimpered, already close to climax. "Yes, Zuko, please—"

He brought you to orgasm twice before he was satisfied that your breasts were sufficiently relieved, and then he made love to you slowly, thoroughly, until you were both sated and trembling. Afterward, as you lay tangled together in the rumpled sheets, you couldn't help but laugh softly.

"What?" Zuko asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I was so worried when Izumi stopped nursing," you admitted. "I thought it was a problem.."

"Now it isn’t," he finished, his hand cupping your breast. "I intend to enjoy it thoroughly for as long as it lasts."

You smiled, turning to kiss him properly. "I love you."

ok so trick question but I don't think it would be fucking. I think things would culminate into a nice, slow kiss that builds from there. Maybe when he's praying for you with his big hands on your face, with your head pressed to his and your mouth so, so close. He doesn't mean to actually do it, but he leans in and kisses you, nice and sweet.

And by that point, it's like a wildfire spreading through his veins that he can't control. He just wants to kiss and kiss and kiss you. To be on you, in you. It's been so long that just letting himself think about it makes him feel dizzy. If his thoughts are an inferno, his actions are a slow boil. Laying you back on the couch in the rectory, kissing along your throat, knowing he should stop. But your pretty church dress hikes up around your hips, and he can see a wet spot in your panties and he's craving you like he hasn't craved in years.

He has to taste you, because this is the last time, and he swears to god this will never ever happen again. And you taste divine, like the sweetest honey on his tongue, and your moans are like angels singing in his ears. Each lap of his tongue over your overheated, slick cunt is like worship at your altar.

He makes you come, dripping onto his tongue, and he still can't stop. The taste of you is so sweet, and he wants to remember it forever. He wants to die still tasting you on the back of his tongue. But you pull at his hair, and you want more. He feels it, he knows what you want. What he wants. He thinks that if this is a test, it's a pretty fucking cruel one.

But he sinks into you. Tight, wet, hot heat swallowing him up. And, Jesus, he'd forgotten how good it could feel. The ecstasy of bodies joining how god intended, bodies made specifically for this very purpose. And he kisses you, because it feels right and it muffles his soft, prayerful cries of your name.