the himejoker

“aang—” you gasp, trying to reach back with one trembling hand to press against his chest, to urge him to ease just a little, to give you a moment to catch the breath he keeps stealing. 

but the words fracture the instant his hips smack firmly against your ass again, the wet, rhythmic sound echoing softly in the chamber alongside your broken whimpers. his heavy balls tap against your swollen clit with every deep plunge, sending harsh, electric shocks of pleasure straight through your core—sharp and bright and overwhelming, each impact making your thighs quiver uncontrollably.

he isn’t letting up. 

his thrusts are deep and fast now, not cruel but driven by the same unstoppable force he brings to everything: the way he once glided through air, the way he laughs with his whole body, the way he loves with every piece of his gentle, ancient soul. you feel him everywhere—his thick cock stretching you open, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you with devastating precision, the blunt head kissing so deep it feels like he is touching the very center of your being. 

the pillow beneath your hips keeps you perfectly angled for him, letting him grind and pound in a rhythm that builds like a gathering storm, relentless yet somehow still tender in its intent.

your body is a live wire, sweaty and trembling, walls fluttering desperately around his length as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your belly, threatening to snap. you need a second—just one—to think, to feel, to gather the scattered pieces of yourself through the endless moans and whines spilling from your lips like prayers to the spirits. 

but aang is lost in the moment, chest pressed so heavily to your back that you can feel every rise and fall of his breathing, every low rumble of pleasure vibrating through his ribs into yours. his frame surrounds you completely, strong thighs bracketing yours, hips snapping forward with controlled power that makes your ass ripple with each collision.

“aang,” you try again, voice cracking on a high, needy moan as your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. 

your thighs shake violently, knees digging into the mattress for purchase that keeps slipping away, and then he grinds into you—slow and deliberate this time, circling his hips so the thick base of his cock rubs perfectly against your most sensitive places while his balls press firm and warm against your clit. the sensation pulls a squeak from your throat, sharp and helpless, your fingers clawing at the sheets as pleasure crashes through you in bright, sparkling waves.

he reacts instantly to the sound; aang’s breath hitches beside your ear, warm and ragged, a soft moan of his own betraying how close he is to the edge despite his words. his forehead drops to rest against the back of your neck.

“you can… oh—you can take it,” he pants, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths, his hips never fully stopping but slowing just enough to let the grind linger, drawing out the pleasure until it borders on too much. there is no arrogance in his tone, only pure, reverent belief in you, the same unwavering faith he holds for the balance of the world. 

his hands slide from your hips to wrap around your waist, one arm banding gently but securely beneath your stomach to hold you closer, the other reaching to intertwine his fingers with yours against the mattress. he squeezes softly, grounding you even as he keeps moving—deep, rolling thrusts that make your body jolt and bloom beneath him.

“good girl, just breathe… just take it,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice thick with affection and a hint of playful awe, like he still can’t quite believe he gets to have you like this. “you always can for me…”

his own moan slips out then, low and sweet, vibrating against your skin as your walls clench around him in response. aang shivers above you, his broad chest pressing heavier for a moment as he fights to keep his pace steady, not wanting to overwhelm you completely but unable to stop the natural rhythm his body craves—the same fluid, powerful motion he uses when he bends air, now translated into the intimate dance of loving you. 

he is not rough for roughness’ sake; every thrust carries the lightness of his spirit; the joyful determination to bring harmony, to make you feel cherished even when he is buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him in your soul.

you feel treasured beneath his weight—surrounded, protected, adored in the way only aang can adore: with every fiber of his being, with the ancient wisdom of a thousand lifetimes wrapped in the earnest heart of a man who never wanted to fight but learned to love fiercely anyway. 

the electric shocks to your clit continue with each smack of his hips, building pressure that makes your toes curl and your breath come in short, desperate gasps, but his words wrap around you like a warm breeze, soothing even as they push you higher. sweat drips from his temple onto your shoulder, mixing with yours, and you can feel the faint tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours—his own pleasure mounting, yet he holds back just enough to focus on you.

his free hand drifts up your side, calloused fingertips tracing the curve of your ribs with reverent care, as if mapping the constellations of your body the way he once mapped the stars from appa’s saddle. 

he noses into your hair, inhaling deeply like you are the freshest air he has ever known, and whispers more soft praises against your skin—broken little murmurs of “so good for me,” and “feel so perfect,” and “i’ve got you, just let go when you’re ready.” there is a sweetness in how his voice cracks on the words, the same awkward sincerity he shows when trying to mediate peace talks or when he blushes at compliments, now laid bare in the intimacy of your shared bed.

pleasure coils tighter inside you, a storm gathering under your skin, every deep thrust and teasing grind against your clit pushing you closer to the edge. your moans blend with his, the room filled with the slick sounds of your bodies meeting, the soft creak of the bed, the occasional playful huff of laughter that escapes him when your walls flutter particularly hard around his thick length. 

he reacts to every sound you make—hips stuttering when you whine his name, a bright, boyish grin you can feel against your neck even if you cannot see it, his chest rumbling with quiet joy at being the one to unravel you like this.

you are floating in him, carried on winds only he can command, your body trembling and open and utterly his in this moment. aang holds you through it all—beefy arms wrapped secure, cock buried deep and relentless yet endlessly caring, heart beating strong and steady against your back like a promise that he will always be there to catch you when you fall apart. 

and when the pleasure finally crests, threatening to sweep you under, his voice is there again, soft and encouraging, full of hope and lightness that has guided the world through darkness.

“that’s it… breathe with me… i’m right here with you.”

it’s a sight that makes zuko feel like lead, molten rock that’s set in place and can’t be moved without effort. he feels out of body, watching you swallow — the haze of his own gaze finally clearing enough to see the way your throat bobs and your breathing finally evens. your chest, beneath falling blue and aquamarine robes, heaves at the smokey air down pouring into your lungs and you manicured fingers curl over his knees for steadiness. you stay there, on your own knees,  like a faithful follower of the fire nation despite the colour of your clothes and the power you possess — licking the cum, his cum, from your plush lips like it’s your first taste of heaven, putting on a good show for the man that usually has his wits about him. 

zuko’s soul still struggles to stay put amongst the working muscles of his body.

“that burned, zuko,” you squeal — a childish air about you. your annoyance is by all means faux, your mirthy eyes give you away, but you push your lips into some kind of irresistible pout nonetheless. leaning forward, you nuzzle against his softening bulge, half hard and dripping with opaque white at the tip. bright red, burning, blistering. your finger slides through the slit despite his sensitivity, before you peer up at him expectantly. 

it was hot when he came in your mouth. 

he’s barely recovered, static ringing true in his ears — clear hearing but a distant memory. “sorry, ‘m sorry,” zuko slurs and reaches for you at the same time, an ecstatic drawl extending the space between vowels and consonants. “know it gets hot, c’mere. does it hurt? you okay?”

even while trawling through the mugginess of his own mind — he still finds reason to pamper his princess. keep it gentle. caring. much more merciful than any fire lord before him. without any bother and a testament to his strength, zuko pulls you from your knees over the spread of his thighs, ensuring you stay open. that your barely clothed cunt can ooze directly into his lap from underneath your unnecessary abundance of robes. 

“it hurts,” you stick out your drooly tongue because you know exactly what you’re doing — breasts practically spilling out into his heated face, bright red enough to make the scar match the rest, pink muscle drooly, and your cunt so warm over his growing erection as you lean into him like a trust fall. “kiss it better.” 

demanding. much like the princess of a water tribe.

zuko tilts his head upwards, mouth finding yours as though you’re a magnet pulling him into orbit. like a soothing balm, his tongue rolls over yours in an attempt to heal a burn he knows your bending is more than capable of handling. his large palms, calloused from a lifetime of stoked flames, span up your spine and pull down the mast of your dignity. the furry collar of your robe now at the dimples of your lower back. 

“better?” he sighs into the kiss, breath warm where your noses nudge. “‘m sorry, mouth felt so good. should have pulled out….”

“you don’t mean that,” there’s no rush to your movements despite the feverishness that builds against your bodies, but you’re not undetectable either. the slightest rock to your hips causes a hitch in the firelord’s breathing and a hiccup in the way he clings to your kisses like a life line. he knows,  by the way your fingers dip into a sea of obsidian locks and pulls just enough to make him whimper, that you’re yet to tire and finish with him. “you’re not sorry.” 

an abundance of slick trickles into his lap, a small stream that could soon turn into a rushing river. you grind down against zuko’s cock in circular, sinful motions — enjoying the press of his thick shaft between folds that swell with arousal. the veins that spiral down him pulse against your puffy clit — he’s almost surprised at how much swallowing him down your throat turns you on, the wet pull and push of your sexes against one another echoing across the four walls of his chambers. you lick over rows of perfect teeth and he sucks the drool from your tongue, he’s never been one to waste a good meal.

“i am.”

it’s a quiet, determined statement that tapers into a pathetic whine. a sound too pretty to be kept a secret, which is why you draw back from the sloppy exchange of kisses to watch a flurry of dark hair fall back against the wall behind him — fire sealed eyes rolling away into the shadows to meet the dusk behind his eyelids. 

“then prove it.” you murmur carefully.

like you’ve placed your chess piece dangerously on the board. like you’re daring him. like you’re a little trickster come out to play.

you find your place, face nestled into his neck and curtained by dark hair. zuko is steady, warm, heavy-set and firm beneath you by all physical means — but his restraint is fragile, like it’s something burnt to ashes seconds away from flaking into a gentle summery breeze. surprise unfolds neatly in your lower belly swirled with wanton when his palms splayed against your back turn into a hardened grip at your waist. his eyes remain locked away from the word, his breathing as even as the seas back home in the tropics just before a hurricane, his cock kicking against your syrupy cunt that falls to him in a tune familiar to those fallen victim to a mythical siren. 

the wisps of a soul leaves you this time. 

for similar reasons, for the way zuko grinds up to meet you just at the right time — the blunt tip of his cockhead nuzzled against your clit unlike strangers and more like soulmates. a lock and key that fits just perfectly. your lower lips spread to accommodate the size of his girth, chubby and long enough to keep you satiated. for a princess, your appetite remains largely, inappropriate, improper — not that you’d ever cared for behaving yourself and not that zuko couldn’t handle it. couldn’t handle you. 

the fire lord hauls you back and forth over his lap, fingertips pressed into the fat at your waist — their prints seared earnestly into your skin without fully meaning to. the marks darken, deepen prettily against the tone of your skin once your fluttering hole catches deliciously on his bulbous cockhead — milky against the gooey ring of muscle. zuko doesn’t push, he teases, deciding that he’s spoiled you with so many riches you can at least play nice for once. ask politely. he knows you can.

“does it feel… feel like i’m sorry yet?” midnight hair tickles your cheeks as the side of his head cuddles up against yours — searching for a kiss that he knows will soon come. on instinct to squirm down, try to steal an inch or two like a thief searching for jewels with a blind reach into the dark. zuko doesn’t withdraw, too used to indulging you, one hand moving to grip your falling robes — using it to tug you down into the rhythmic pulse of his dick just begging to breach your silken walls. he’s so hot, yes physically, but the torridness of his shaft against your weeping mound nearly burns you from the inside out. your organs tangle from the salaciousness of it all, the only way to loosen the knot would be to have the firelord dig it out with his cock himself.

you pout into the crease of his neck, lips balmy on his skin. “zuko…”

you clench against the rigid veins decorating him, pulsating with blood rush, carrying lustful hormones straight to his sticky arousal soaked tip. 

“princess…” he matches your warning.

“fine,” you divulge, petulant and petty. “i forgive you. you’re sorry.” 

the fire lord lets his mercy rain down on you, at the end of his own patience, and fills your needy hole with a single — calculated thrust. zuko knows how much you can take and when, you’ve been wet through your clothes from the start and this build up has left you sodden for far too long. once more, his lips find yours like a practised tune, the notes easy to find again, the song of mouths meeting familiar to two. its deeper and full of an unwavering promise of pleasure, the broad stroke of his saliva spewing tongue against yours sends brilliant sparks ( like stones to start a flame ) through your entire being, aiding the lustful lurch in your stomach where zuko practically hits.

skin meets skin, damp with sweat and essence of ruin, there’s so much precum and slick he thinks you might have bended the fluid out of him. “does it still hurt?” he manages to speak, words insistent as he presses them behind your teeth like a secret exchanged between lovers that only meet under moonlight. the rest of him, burly arms and burning limbs, gather you up as if you weigh nothing — holding you inches above his cock as the pace turns febrile and delirious, to be expected of someone who plays with scalding temperatures on a daily basis. 

“mn— n-no!” you babble, hugging his head now, anything you say or do muffled by luscious locks or overlapped with sounds of sex. your ass ripples against the tops of his thighs, your breath mingles like a puff into cold air, foggy, and zuko never stops plunging deep into your silken walls to kiss your cervix, knock at that one spongy spot that has you wailing at a whistle tone only the finest of singers and entertainers can reach. 

“better, see?” zuko hums into your mouth, pouring in praises he can hardly find the brain function to say. it’s shaky but pleased. a short response because he wants to spend more time  drinking in your fractured mewls, the ones that come with the stacks of pressure building within you, cemented into place by powerful bucks of his hips upwards, into that dreamy core of yours. he drops you down a few inches on his girth, yearning for that high pitched little cry you do when you’re close and suddenly those fiery fingertips belonging to him flex against your cute clit. “can you cum like this?”

a meek nod from you, a clench from your creamy cunt. “yes — zuko please!” 

a crack at your bratty resolve, one that dissolves like sand in water. you’re a princess through and through, made to be pampered, easy to break once indulged. at least you’ve said please. your nerve endings are ruined and raw, your stomach muscles taught from attempts at working yourself down to zuko’s base, you quiver with every rise an squeak with every fall, bounced about like a useless little toy on the length of one of the most powerful men in the world all because you asked him to prove it. that he loved you, that he’d never hurt you; even though you’re entirely too aware of the fact. 

you had goaded him into something he’d excel at, something he looks so disastrously handsome at doing. fucking you with mussed black locks that tickle your temperate skin, disheveled red robes that pridefully boast the fire nation emblem as opposed to the delicate water tribe symbols you’ve known since your birth. his chest tinged pink with a blush zuko can never help when he has you like this, dripping into his lap enough to warrant a flood warning and crying his name like its word of worship. a testament to your faith. golden irises warm with tender love, something so soft and valuable that only you are able to set your sights on it.

something once in a lifetime, something rare like an eclipse.  

the thought alone is enough to have you undone. if not for the ravenous circles on your clit and the unrelenting pounding at your abused, flittering entrance. it’s his devotion and dedication for fighting your made up wrong, soothing the burn from the inside out. zuko senses the crescendo of your peak before you can even begin to think of announcing it, lifting you high from his lap when you gush obscenely and cry out to whatever higher power might be watching you make a mess on him right now. your sobs are choked and his groans are loud, whimpery and simpering as your honeyed nectar rolls in warmed waves down his stomach and pelvis. 

“there you go, love,” zuko praises you through your twitches and aftershocks without a second thought — breaching your rippling walls so that they milk a second orgasm out of him, selfishly he may admit. “you’re so pretty, so beautiful. i love you.” he says, apologetic when he doesn’t need to be, when he’s given you the stars and hung them amongst your whitening vision. 

he whimpers whoreishly, filling you to the brim with a frothy layer of his white seed — lining your entrance with a claim you refuse to let leak. you grip him tightly, both with your cunt and your shaky arms locked around his head for stability.

and even after all that, zuko’s shot of cum is just as hot lining your womb as it is landing on your tongue.

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly rasp that's so unlike the cheerful man who plays with lemurs. he’s kissing your jaw, his tongue hot and wet, tracing the line where your skin meets the cold mountain air. "my girl. my perfect, beautiful girl. you’re taking all of it, aren’t you? every bit of me."

he’s sweet with his praise, calling you precious even as he uses his bending to hitch your legs higher, pinning your knees to your chest in a mating press that leaves you completely open to him. his cock is a thick, pulsing intrusion, sliding through the slick remnants of the last two times he’s come inside you.

"i want to see it leak out of you," he whispers, his words turning filthy as he thrusts deeper, hitting that sensitive spot that makes your vision go white. "i want you so full of me that you can't even walk straight. i'm going to put so much in you that your body has no choice but to keep it. you’re going to carry my children, okay? we’re going to bring them back. all of them."

the dirty talk is a shock to your system. this is the boy who blushes at a compliment, yet here he is, describing exactly how he wants to ruin you with a clinical, pervy specificity. he’s using his airbending instinctively now, small puffs of air circulating around your sensitive spots, keeping you in a state of constant, vibrating overstimulation. your clit feels like it’s being buffeted by a storm, and your internal walls are clamping down on him in desperate pulses, trying to find some kind of release that keeps being pushed just out of reach by his tireless pace.

"please... aang... i can't—" you babble, your voice breaking as he hitches your hips even higher. your back is arching off the furs, your fingers clawing at his forearms, where the blue arrows glow. "it's too much... it's too much..."

"it's not too much," he counters, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that pins you in place. "you can take more. i know you can. i want you to feel every inch of me filling you up. i want you to remember this feeling every time you look at the sky. i’m the avatar, right? i’m supposed to restore the air nomads. and i’m starting right here. with you. i’m going to fill you so full of my seed that there won't be room for anything else."

he begins to move faster, the slow, deep grinds giving way to sharp, staccato jacks that make your entire body jolt. he’s being so sweet with his hands, cupping your face, brushing the hair back from your sweaty forehead, yet his lower body is a machine of pure, unadulterated lust. the contrast is dizzying. he’s praising you, calling you his everything, his soulmate, his world, while his hips are delivering a relentless pounding against your pelvic bone.

the overstimulation is peaking. you can feel the pressure building in your lower belly, a tight, coil of heat that’s about to snap. your breath is coming in short, ragged gasps, and the room is starting to spin. the smell of him—that sweet, peachy scent of his skin combined with the raw, salty musk of his sweat—is the only thing keeping you grounded. you’re lost in the rhythm, lost in the sheer, overwhelming presence of him.

"aang, i'm... i'm gonna—"

"go for me," he groans, his own voice hitching as he senses your climax. "let it go. squeeze me. show me how much you want it."

he delivers one final, deep thrust, his cock hitting your cervix with such force that your vision literally flashes white. your cunt clamps down on him like a vice, milk-hot and desperate, and that’s what finally breaks him. aang lets out a string of inaudible words, his back arching as he slams himself into you one last time. you feel the his third release flooding into you, a thick, scalding torrent that feels like it’s filling you to the brim. he pumps into you over and over, his balls drawing up tight against your folds, his entire body shaking with the sheer volume of his climax.

the silence that follows is thick, broken only by the sound of your frantic, synchronised breathing. aang collapses onto your chest, his weight a comforting, crushing blanket. he’s panting, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against your own. you can feel the hot slickness of his cum beginning to overflow, a warm, wet trail sliding down your thighs and onto the blankets.

he stays inside you for a long time, unwilling to break the connection. he’s soft now, but the intimacy of the moment is even more intense than the sex was. he lifts his head, a lopsided, boyish grin returning to his face, though his eyes still hold that dark, lingering hunger. he reaches down, his fingers tracing the wetness between your legs, his touch gentle and possessive.

"i think i did it," he whispers, his voice light but filled with an underlying gravity. "i think i put enough in there to start a whole new generation."

he kisses you then, a soft, lingering press of lips that tastes like salt and peaches. he pulls back just an inch, his eyes sparkling in the dying candlelight as he watches a thick, white glob of his seed leak out of you and onto the dark furs.

"look at that," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "you’re practically wearing me. i told you, i’m not going to be the last airbender for much longer. we’ve got work to do."

You pop your lips off his swollen nipples and halt your sucking for a moment just to look up at his teary-eyed face, admiring the pout he’s got on. “Zuko…” You purr with a slightly raised brow.

He angles his head back down to meet eyes with you, batting those dark pretty lashes at you as if he'd done nothing wrong, “Yes, love?”

“Are you burning through those ropes again?” You ask.

The fire lord shakes his head, “N-No..?”

“Then…" Your gaze narrows at him skeptically, "What’s that smell?”

Before he gathers his thoughts enough to answer you properly, you turn your head to see one of your nightstands on fire.

Damnit. That’s the third one this week!

Luckily enough for the both of you, the flame isn't as large as it'd been previously. Though, as you let your hand halt in jerking your lover off and try to pull away for a moment to go put the fire out, there's a stronger scent of fumes flying into your nose.

This time it's the smell of burning rope.

Followed by which is the sound of something snapping and suddenly—there's a pair of grabby hands meeting your arms and your body is being pushed right over.

A flutter of royal-red and gold fabrics scatter around your frame and drape your sides whilst your attention is redirected upwards. Panting above you is your needy husband Zuko, who's got his brows furrowed slightly and his eyes pleading as they land down on you, "Ignore it," He suggests.

You flash a confused look at him and then playfully swat at his chest, "I can't just ignore it, that's the third one this week!"

He shyly glances off to the side before muttering, "...So?"

"What do you mean so?" You scoff, "We'll have to rebuild the entire bedroom suite at this rate!"

His eyes find yours again and you feel his body coming closer to yours, flinching at the wet swipe of his drooling cockhead over your inner thigh as he adjusts himself. "You're the one who insisted on teasing me."

"You asked me to." You remind him.

"Well,” He frowns a little, “When I told you to use me, I was hoping..."

Your hands reach up to cup his face and pull him down impossibly closer—the warmth of his body enveloping you further. "Hoping what, my lord?" You whisper.

He shoots you a short-lived glare, "What'd I tell you about that?" You give him a cheeky smile and he rolls his eyes at it. "I was hoping you'd use me in here," To add emphasis to his words, his cock comes pressing against the soppy wet-spot in your panties.

"Zuko!" You gasp in surprise, earning a sleazy little smile from him.

Then comes a quick finger to swat that measly fabric out the way, his tip rushing to kiss the saturated lips of your cunt and smear the apart for entry.

Just before he can push into you, "Wait," You huff, "When and how did you break free?"

"Hm?” Zuko raises a brow, “Free of what?" He hums innocently.

Your expression is entirely unconvinced of his innocent act. Deadpanning, "You burned the ropes again, didn't you?"

Another smile paints into his perfect features before he grinds his hips down into yours, throbbing cock sliding ever-so-gracefully into you as if to distract you. Zuko leans down to your ear to whisper, "What ropes?" and you hear some sort of flame crackling in the distance.

He definitely just set something else on fire just from pushing himself into you, but it’s not like he gave you much room to care. Not with the way his dick felt easing your walls open and stretching you out in the same fashion you’d beg him to nearly every other night—if not every single night.

Surely the fire nation would be expecting an heir to the throne any day now. Though, you’re not sure this heir would come about with your bedroom in one piece…

Especially since Zuko has a bad habit of burning things when he cums.

(not proofread btw) || banner art by Rororogi Mogera || tags:

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