I was never a zuko fan because I never watched avatar before this but was he always THIS handsome?? AND I WAS MISSING OUT??
YES YOU WERE
LOOK AT THAT SLUTTY MAN BUN
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I was never a zuko fan because I never watched avatar before this but was he always THIS handsome?? AND I WAS MISSING OUT??
YES YOU WERE
LOOK AT THAT SLUTTY MAN BUN

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WE NEED MORE EMPEROR MARK FICS PLEASE
OBSESSED WITH HIS EX-WIFE (2)
warnings: mention of a forced relationship (if you squint hard), mention of pregnancy, mention of Mark being possessive and obsessed, no mention of Liam (did he die?), inappropriate language.
summary: Even after years, Mark can't forget you, he's obsessed — but upon learning something, he'll do anything to get you back.
author's notes: hi everyone, how are you? I hope you're all well! I finally managed to bring you the second part of this fanfic.I really wanted to write a "longer" fanfic, with more chapters, etc., or maybe a "hotter" scene, however, I lacked creativity ;P so I'm bringing you the LAST chapter of this two-part story of "Obsessed with his ex-wife", this chapter isn't anything special compared to the previous one, but I admit I really enjoyed bringing in this interaction between Noah, a fictional character I created who is the son of a reader, and Mark, but don't worry, Noah will be an official character here on the account, I'll bring him in other situations, and I want you to imagine a rebellious and super punk son of... Finally, I hope you enjoy it, and I want to thank everyone for the comments and likes. We already have over 500 likes on the "Obsessed with My Ex-Wife" fanfic alone and that's amazing! Thank you all, I love you all and sorry for the delay! Happy reading and please excuse any mistakes, English is not my first language.
tags: @miiinariiii @kittyfunkopop @miloj @bath1lda
PREVIOUS CHAPTER: CHAPTER 1
❝ MARK FELT AS IF HE WERE FLYING, as if the entire weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders—and he could smile, finally allowing himself to do so.
On the first night he spends with you, he doesn't sleep. Mark doesn't hesitate to watch you all night long, analyzing your breathing and the way your body seems so malleable in his hands. He traces the marks on your neck and inner thighs, which look inviting—the aftermath of hours of wild, brutal, and loving sex.
He would take you to Viltrum, whether you wanted it or not. He would take you back—he wouldn't afford himself the luxury of losing you. Not now. Not after having experienced you again following so much time apart. Mark would show you that he would love you more than anything.
He got up before you, walking through the house, getting to know every corner, before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast in bed for his person. Mark knew he had been too rough with you, barely preparing you for him, but he didn't know how to be gentle after years without touching or experiencing you.
Even though it had been a while since he prepared anything decent or human to eat, he set out to make scrambled eggs and toast, grabbing a juice box from the fridge and pouring it into a glass. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
The Emperor placed everything meticulously on a tray, along with some fruits (your favorites) that he had found. It was an improvised breakfast, yet quite nutritious and certainly delicious. He returned to the bedroom, carrying the tray, his chest bare, his hair slightly messy, wearing nothing but sweatpants.
Mark opened the door gently, pushing it slowly, observing you still lying amidst a tangle of sheets, sleeping drowsily as if you were in a magical dream. He approached with the tray, placing it on the bed beside you. His calloused fingers moved toward your face, slowly brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen over it.
"Good morning, my dear," he began, smiling. "It's time to wake up." His voice came out soft, slightly deep, as he caressed your cheek as if you were a dream, as if at any moment he would wake up alone in his room on Viltrum.
Your eyes blinked, confused and slightly blurry with the haze of sleep, and you yawned softly as you raised your head, seeing him. "M-Mark?" you stammered, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your eyes fixed on the man in front of you, who still wore that foolish smile. "Oh no... Mark, I—" You really tried to speak, but the way he looked at you suddenly shifted into something frightening.
One of his fingers flexed against the tray, and you noticed it cracked under the pressure.
"If you say that we can't be together, I swear I will take you off Earth by force," he said, his gaze cold. "And I swear I will kill that Liam myself, and then I'll bring his mangled body to you."
Your eyes widened, your breathing becoming uneven as you realized Mark was truly serious. "I-It doesn't have to be like this... I—" he interrupted you again.
"Liam Grey, 36 years old, a banker from Chicago... He works at Empire's Golden bank, was married once but divorced five years ago..." His eyes were dangerous. "Anything else, my dear?"
"You're sick," your response was simple—a realization. However, Mark's expression seemed to drain slightly, returning to that same friendly and loving countenance from a few minutes ago.
"Sick for you, my dear... Now eat. We are leaving for Viltrum later today."
3 MONTHS LATER
"Mom, are you okay?" Noah asks after you throw up again. Things aren’t exactly fine ── you and Mark had agreed you’d stay on Earth for a while longer, tying up loose ends.
But in short… you got back together with him.
At first it was hard, the way he imposed it, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Of course you had your own life, your own goals—you couldn’t just abandon everything because Mark was the Emperor.
So you were always on calls, or Mark would show up at any time, any day.
And he wouldn’t leave you alone.
The sex kept getting rougher. He didn’t hold back, and he even found where you kept your birth control, throwing it away at a moment you didn’t even notice.
Still, you were already a grown woman… it probably wouldn’t lead to anything, right?
“I’m fine,” you tell Noah, sitting on the floor beside the toilet. “Must be something I ate.” You take a deep breath, and Noah clicks his forked tongue against the roof of his mouth (something that wouldn’t last a month once his Viltrumite powers fully kicked in).
“You’re saying you’ve been feeling bad for several days because of something you ate?” he asks, arms crossed against the doorframe. “Have you thought about taking a pregnancy test?” Your eyes widen, your hands trembling as you look at your son.
“Noah!” you scold. “I’m not pregnant… it’s just… an upset stomach.”
“An upset stomach that crawled its way to your uterus and went through the whole fertilization process.” You grimace at his words. “An upset stomach calling sperm.”
“Noah!”
“I’m being serious… didn’t you get back with Dad?” he asks, and there’s no point denying it—Mark shows up on Earth at least three times a week. “Unfortunately, I have really good hearing.”
“Noah!”
“It’s not my fault you two are loud even when I’m on the other side of the city,” he says with a sigh. “Just… take the test, okay?” His tone softens, more reassuring now.
“Your father is going to lose his mind…” you mutter, dragging a hand over your face. Noah shrugs as he steps away.
“Lose his mind with happiness… right? But you know that if it’s positive… you’re going to Viltrum.” He starts to leave, then pauses. “I’m going to the pharmacy to buy tests, I’ll be back.”
Noah uses his super speed—something you’re always scolding him for doing inside the house.
A quiet sigh leaves your throat as you stand, cleaning up the remains of your vomiting. Your discomfort is obvious as you leave the bathroom and head to your bedroom.
The bedroom you now share with Mark. The space that used to be entirely yours now has small details that belong to the Emperor: one of his shirts folded, his toothbrush, underwear, or some Viltrum paperwork he forgot.
Your head throbs as you open the door and see Mark there, stepping into the room through the window.
“You’re not a teenager anymore to be sneaking into my house like that,” you sigh, running a hand lightly through your hair.
“I like the feeling of us still being teenagers… when I broke into your house to figure out your real identity,” he chuckles, stepping closer—his presence like that of some mystical god, or simply… an emperor.
You force a small smile, and Mark notices—it’s impossible for him not to. He approaches slowly but firmly.
“Is everything okay?” Mark asks casually, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. You nod, letting out a faint whistle.
“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine, just… nausea,” you admit, and his shoulders tense at your words.
Mark is quick to grab your wrist firmly, pulling you closer. You gasp at the contact—his dominant nature always pushes the limits.
“Nausea?” His brows lift. “You should see a doctor… I’ll take you.”
“No, Mark,” you try to pull away, but his grip on your wrist is unyielding. “I’m fine, I just… need to rest a bit, you know?”
“No,” he says firmly. “These Earth doctors will probably just prescribe some useless medication… on Viltrum we have competent doctors who will fix your problems in—” He stops when Noah appears at the bedroom door, his clothes slightly wrinkled as if he flew back in a hurry.
“Here, Mom,” Noah says, holding out a bag. “I bought every pregnancy test they had.”
Mark’s grip disappears. Both you and Noah look at the Emperor, who stands frozen in the middle of the room—eyes wide, chest rising and falling at an unusual pace.
“Oh, hi, Dad,” Noah says casually. “Didn’t see you there.” You take the bag from his hands. “Well… I think I’ll leave you two alone.” And before you can ask him to stay, he walks off toward his room.
Mark’s next move is abrupt. He shuts the door in an instant, using his speed. You can barely keep up, still holding the bag full of tests.
His hands move possessively to your hips, pulling you closer. His eyes burn—dark, bright, carrying a dangerous smile.
“Pregnant?” he growls. “You’re going to take all of those tests… and if they’re negative, I’ll make sure you get pregnant. Again, and again, and again.”
END.
i’m gooning
do you ever read smut and it’s so good until the author uses “daddy” without warning and it turns you off.

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The Emperor's Favorite. - Chapter 1 - Anonymous - Invincible (Image Comics) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I FOUND IT AND I POSTED IT FOR THOSE WHO COULD NOT FIND IT LIKE ME AND WANNA READ IT
OK SO CAN SOMEONE HELP ME FIND THIS FIC ITS A EMPEROR MARK X READER AND NOT THE VARIANT LIKE I MEAN GROWN UP EMPEROR MARK I rmb The reader was an alien like the viltrumites and I think mark made an alliance with her planet so that's why she's there. And He is no longer with eve and he had Marky with him And Eve is on Earth with Terra. And there's a part where he goes to visit eve and terra with reader It's not a oneshot it has smut. There's a part where him eve and reader has a threesome for those who probably only remember the smut parts. BUT YEA I THINK IT'S ON AO3 TOO BUT HELP ME FIND THIS PLEASE IT WAS SO GOOD. And if you still don't get which mark this one.
HEY SO I NEED A THREESOME WITH ZUKO AND AANG AND I NEED ANOTHER WITH AANG AND KATARA AND I NEED I FOURSOME WITH AANG ZUKO AND KATARA
AANG X F!READER (SMUT)
“Spit in my mouth baby, bring me closer when we fucking”
a/n zuko fic next 😉 ...ALSO be patient its a TEENY TINY BIT long...okeh bebehs? 🥺papa got yall just breathe when he puts it in...LMFAO
i cant think of any starting plots yall send help
-
The argument had been building for days.
Not over anything real—not really. Just the small things. The way he looked at the air nomad girl a second too long. "You're being unreasonable," Aang said. His voice was calm. Too calm. That serenity that made you want to scream.
"I'm being unreasonable? You've been gone for three weeks, Aang. Three weeks. And you come back and the first thing you do is—"
"Is what? Breathe? Exist?"
"Flirt!"
He blinked. Those gray eyes—ancient and young all at once—narrowed slightly. "I wasn't flirting. I was being polite."
"You were being charming. There's a difference."
"You're jealous."
"I'm not—" You stopped. Pressed your hands to your face. "Yes. Okay? Yes, I'm jealous. I'm jealous and I'm angry and I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one who—"
You didn't finish. Couldn't. The words stuck in your throat like thorns.
Aang stood. He was taller now than when you'd first met him—broader, too. The years had carved him into something harder, sharper. The boy with the arrow on his head had become a man. And that man was walking toward you with an expression you couldn't read.
"Who says you're the only one?" he asked quietly.
You looked up at him. Your breath caught.
"What?"
His hand came up. His fingers brushed your cheek. The touch was light—almost hesitant—but his eyes were dark.
"You think I don't feel it?" he said. "You think I don't lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about you?"
"You've never said—"
"I'm saying it now."
He kissed you.
Not gentle. Not tentative. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and demanding, and his hands fisted in your hair. You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his.
You should have pulled away. You were still angry. Still hurt. Still tangled in the sharp edges of the fight you'd been having.
But his tongue slid against yours, and your knees went weak, and your hands fisted in his robes.
"Aang—"
"Shut up."
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His gray eyes were dark, his chest heaving, his lips swollen from your kiss.
"We're not done fighting," you managed.
"Mhm"
"You can't just kiss me and expect—"
"I'm not expecting anything." His hand slid down your back, over the curve of your spine, settling on the swell of your rear. He squeezed. Hard. "I'm taking."
You should have been offended. You should have pushed him away.
Instead, you moaned.
"Mngh…"
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile. Something meaner. Something hungrier.
"That's what I thought."
Two minutes later, you were under him.
He'd lifted you like you weighed nothing—because to him, you probably did—and carried you to the bed. Your back hit the mattress. Your legs parted. His body settled between them, heavy and warm and impossibly solid.
He'd pulled your tunic off somewhere between the door and the bed. Your breasts spilled free—full and round, soft in his hands. He cupped them both, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arched into his touch.
"Look at you," he murmured. "So pretty. So desperate."
"Ngh… Aang…"
"Been waiting for this, haven't you?" His head lowered. His mouth closed around one nipple, and he sucked—hard—and you cried out. "Been so needy while I was gone. Touch yourself, didn't you?"
Your face burned. "I—"
"Didn't you."
"Yes."
He bit down. Gently. Just enough to make you gasp.
"Good girl."
He moved to the other breast. His tongue circled your nipple, then flicked, then sucked. His hand kneaded the soft flesh he'd abandoned, fingers pressing deep, leaving marks.
You were wet. So wet. You could feel it pooling between your thighs, soaking through your pants, and he hadn't even touched you there yet.
"Aang—please—"
"Please what."
"Please touch me—"
"I am touching you."
"Please—"
He pulled back. Looked down at you. His gray eyes were dark, almost black, and his tattoos seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
"Roll over."
You did. Hands and knees. Your rear lifted, presented, and you heard him groan behind you.
"Spirits, you're perfect."
His hands found your hips. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh, and he pulled you back against him. You felt him through his robes—hard, thick, pressing against you.
"Take these off," he said, tugging at your pants. "Now."
You fumbled with the ties, your fingers shaking. He helped—impatient, rough—and then your pants were gone, and you were bare beneath him, and his hand was sliding between your legs.
"So wet," he murmured. "All this for me?"
"Mngh… yes—"
"You're lying. This is from the fight. You get off on fighting with me, don't you?"
"N-no—"
He pushed two fingers inside you. Curled them. You cried out, your arms buckling, your forehead pressing to the mattress.
"Yes," he said. "You do. You like it when I'm mean. When I put you in your place."
"Ngh… ah…"
"Don't you."
"Yes—"
He pulled his fingers out. You heard him undo his robes. Heard the fabric rustle. Felt the bed shift as he moved behind you.
"Look at you," he said. "On your hands and knees. Arching for me like a good little thing."
He pressed against your entrance. Just the head. Just enough to make you whimper.
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please put it in—"
"Beg."
You sobbed. "Please, Aang, please, I need you inside me, please—"
He pushed in.
You screamed.
He was big. So big. Thicker than you remembered, longer, stretching you open until you couldn't breathe. Your nails clawed at the sheets. Your back arched deeper.
"Ah—nnm—too big—"
"You've taken it before."
"Not—ngh—not like this—"
"You've taken it before," he repeated. His voice was steady, almost conversational, even as he buried himself to the hilt. "You can take it again."
He pulled out. Slammed back in.
"Mngh—!"
"You can take it," he said again. "Good girls take what they're given."
"I'm trying—"
"Try harder."
He set a pace. Hard. Deep. Relentless. His hips slapped against your rear, and the sound filled the room—wet and obscene. Your moans were pathetic, high and broken, punctuated by every thrust.
"Ngh… ah… mmph…"
"That's it," he said. "That's my good girl. Taking all of me."
His hand came around your hip. His fingers found your clit—circling, pressing, pushing you toward the edge.
"You're close," he said. "I can feel you squeezing me."
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please let me come—"
"Not yet."
You sobbed. Your body was shaking, trembling, every nerve on fire. He was so deep—deeper than anyone had ever been—and his fingers kept working your clit, and his voice kept washing over you, dark and sweet and cruel.
"You wanted to fight with me," he said. "You wanted to scream at me. Tell me I don't care. Tell me I don't love you."
"I'm sorry—"
"You're not sorry. You're exactly where you want to be."
He slammed into you harder. Your arms gave out. Your chest hit the mattress, your breasts pressed flat, your rear still lifted.
"Arch for me," he said. "Show me how pretty you look when you're being fucked."
You arched. Deeper. Your spine curved, your rear lifted higher, and he groaned.
"Spirits. Look at you."
His hand slid up your back. Pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you down. His other hand gripped your hip, fingers bruising.
"I'm going to fill you up," he said. "Going to put my babies in you. Going to watch you grow round with them."
"Ngh—Aang—"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Being full of me. Walking around with my seed inside you."
"Ah—yes—"
"Say it."
"I want—ah—I want your babies—"
"Say it again."
"I want your babies—please—fill me up—"
He groaned. His hips stuttered. His rhythm broke—just for a moment—and then he was slamming into you again, harder, faster, chasing something.
"You're going to be so pretty," he said. "So round. Everyone will know you're mine."
"I'm yours—"
"Say it."
"I'm yours, Aang—only yours—"
He came.
His body tensed. His fingers dug into your hips. His head fell back, and his tattoos flared—bright blue, blazing, lighting up the room like lightning. He groaned—loud, raw, almost pained—and you felt him spill inside you. Hot. Thick. Filling you the way he'd promised.
You came too. Your body convulsed, clenched, pulled him deeper. Your moans were broken, pathetic, lost in the sheets.
"Aang—Aang—Aang—"
He collapsed over you. His chest pressed to your back. His face buried in your neck. His breath was hot on your skin, and his heart pounded against your spine.
You lay there. Shaking. Sobbing. Full of him.
He pulled out slowly. You whimpered at the loss. He rolled you over, gathered you against his chest, pulled the blanket over your trembling body.
----------------------
BONUS FIC!
The day had been a slow burn.
You'd started it innocently enough—brushing against him in the hallway, your hip bumping his, your hand lingering on his arm a moment too long. Aang had looked at you, curious, but you'd just smiled and walked away.
Then came breakfast. You'd sat across from him, legs crossed, the fabric of your tunic riding high on your thighs. You'd stretched—slow, deliberate—reaching for the teapot, letting the fabric pull tight across your chest. His eyes had dropped. Just for a second. But you'd seen it.
By mid-morning, you were relentless.
You'd found him in the library, reading scrolls, and you'd perched on the edge of his desk. Leaned forward. Let your hair fall across your shoulder. Asked him questions about airbending philosophy in a voice so soft and sweet it made his jaw tighten.
"Aang," you'd said, "what's the most important thing you've learned from the monks?"
He'd looked up at you. His gray eyes were patient, but there was something underneath them now. Something darker.
"Detachment," he'd said.
"Detachment?"
"Letting go of desire." His gaze dropped to your lips. Held. "It's not easy."
You'd smiled. Hopped off the desk. "Good thing I'm not a monk."
You'd walked away, hips swaying, and you'd felt his eyes on you the whole way.
At lunch, you'd fed him fruit.
A piece of mango, held between your fingers, pressed to his lips. He'd opened his mouth—slow, almost reluctant—and let you slide it onto his tongue. His lips had closed around your fingertips. Just for a second. Just enough to make your breath catch.
"Sweet," he'd said.
"The mango?"
"Everything."
You'd pulled your hand back. Smiled. Walked away.
In the afternoon, you'd bathed.
You'd left the door open—just a crack—and you'd hummed while you washed, letting the sound drift through the temple. You'd taken your time. Soaped every inch of your skin. Let the water run over your breasts, down your stomach, between your thighs.
When you'd come out, wrapped in a thin robe, he'd been standing in the hallway.
His arms were crossed. His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark.
"You're doing this on purpose," he'd said.
"Doing what?"
"Torturing me."
You'd blinked. Innocent. Wide-eyed. "I don't know what you mean."
"You know exactly what you mean."
You'd stepped closer. Your chest almost brushed his. Your hand had reached up, touched his cheek.
"I have no idea," you'd whispered, "what you're talking about."
And you'd walked away.
Now it's evening.
The sun has set. The room is dark except for the glow of a single candle. The bed is soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your limbs, and Aang is on top of you.
He's been on top of you for hours.
Or maybe it's been minutes. You can't tell anymore. Time has lost all meaning. There's only him—his weight, his hands, his cock buried inside you, filling you, stretching you, fucking you so deep you can feel him in your throat.
"Look at you," he says.
His voice is soft. Cooing. Sweet in a way that makes your stomach clench.
"Look at you now. After all that teasing."
You try to answer. A moan comes out instead.
"Mmph—"
"That's right." His hips roll. Slow. Deep. "Can't even talk anymore, can you?"
You shake your head. Tears cling to your lashes.
"Poor thing." His hand cups your face. His thumb brushes your cheek. Gentle. Mocking. "You were so confident this morning. So in control."
"Ngh—"
"Grinding on me in the hallway. Feeding me fruit. Leaving the door open while you bathed." He clicks his tongue. "You wanted my attention. Now you have it."
He thrusts deeper. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open.
"Ah—Aang—"
"Shh." His thumb presses to your lower lip. Pushes inside. "No talking. Just feel."
You suck on his thumb. Your tongue swirls around it. His eyes darken.
"Good girl."
He fucks you harder. His hips snap against yours, and the sound fills the room—wet and obscene. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, full and soft, and he watches them. Watches the way they move. Watches the way your nipples pebble in the cool air.
"So pretty," he murmurs. "These pretty tits. Bouncing for me."
"Ah—ngh—"
"You like when I watch, don't you? Like when I stare at your body while I fuck you."
You nod. Desperate. Needy.
"Say it."
"I like—ah—I like when you watch—"
"Louder."
"I like when you watch—"
He slams into you. Your vision goes white.
"Good girl."
His hand slides from your face. Down your body. Over your stomach, your hip, your thigh. He grips your leg, pushes it up, opens you wider.
"Look at you," he says. "So pretty. So desperate. All for me."
"All for you—"
"That's right." He leans down. His mouth hovers over yours. "All for me."
He kisses you.
It's not gentle. It's messy—sloppy, wet, his tongue sliding against yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound.
When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips.
He looks at it. Smiles.
"Open," he says.
You open your mouth.
He lets his drool fall from his lips. Into your mouth. Warm. Wet. Intimate in a way that makes your head spin.
"Swallow."
You swallow.
His hand grips your jaw. His fingers press into your cheeks. His thumb brushes your lower lip.
"Good girl," he says again. "So good for me."
You whimper. Clench around him.
"So needy," he coos. "So desperate for my cock."
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please don't stop—"
"I won't." He thrusts. Slow. Deep. "I'm not going to stop until you can't remember your own name."
You believe him.
His pace quickens. His hips slam against yours, and the bed rattles, and your moans fill the room—loud and lewd and completely uninhibited.
"Aang—Aang—Aang—"
"That's it. Say my name. Let everyone hear who's fucking you."
"Ah—ngh—"
"You're close. I can feel you squeezing me."
"I'm close—"
"Not yet."
He slows. Pulls almost all the way out. You sob.
"Aang—please—"
"Please what."
"Please let me come—"
"Beg."
"I'm begging—"
"Beg like you mean it."
You look up at him. Your eyes are wet. Your lips are swollen. Your chest is heaving.
"Please, Aang. Please let me come. I need it. I need you. Please—"
He pushes back in.
You scream.
"Good girl."
He fucks you harder. Faster. His hand finds your clit, circling, pressing, pushing you toward the edge.
"Look at me," he says.
You look.
His gray eyes are dark. His face is flushed. His lips are parted.
"I love you," he says.
"I love you—ah—I love you—"
"Come for me."
You come.
Your body convulses. Your back arches. Your inner walls clamp down on him, squeezing, pulsing. Your mouth opens in a silent scream. Your eyes roll back.
He watches you. Drinks in every expression, every sound, every tremor.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "So beautiful."
He fucks you through it. Through the spasms and the cries and the way your body clenches around him like it's trying to keep him inside you forever.
"I'm close," he says. "I'm going to fill you up."
"Yes—"
"Say it."
"Fill me up—"
"Say it again."
"Fill me up, Aang—please—"
He groans. His hips stutter. His rhythm breaks.
"Take it," he says. "Take all of it."
----------------
this one was the og draft but wtv....oh and i cant write...gulp forgive me
LIFE CHANGING 🤧
— jealous type
❝baby, i can't hurt you, sure, but I'm the jealous type❞
pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!firebender!reader
synopsis — zuko does not get jealous, in fact he doesn't even know what jealousy means. he just wants sokka to back up a little.
content — fem!reader, mature content (18+), minors dni, alcohol consumption, long fic, very light angst based off the zuko edit, ooc! zuko, not proofread, reader is stated to have three brothers (but doesn't seem to like them), reader is described to be shorter than Zuko, kinda mean!reader, tease!reader, light smut, Zuko and reader are implied to have been dating before even joining the gaang. Takes place 5 years after Atla so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21
author's note — I have not watched the leaks and if I chose to I'll still watch it when it releases to support the animators
The beach is a place she loved dearly. She loved the way the sun kissed her skin, hearing the crash of the waves, the sound of the breeze, seeing her boyfriend shirtless, the way the sand warmed her feet as it shifted beneath her, looking at Zuko’s biceps, and picnics. God she loved picnics, Katara made a mean candied jackfruit pie.
Yes, Ember Island was her favourite way to unwind from saving the world. This had to be one of the best places she’d ever been out of everywhere she’d traveled. It’d just be a lot better if Zuko took his shirt off.
She sat up slightly from where she was laying on the blanket, propping herself up on her elbows, pushing her gold sunshades up onto her head. He was standing near the shoreline with Sokka, chatting solemnly, in his shirt.
Spirits she wished he would take it off.

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NEED THE ZUKO AND AANG FICS NOW AND THERE BETTER BE THREESOME ONES
.✦ ݁˖ 18+, mdni
⋆✴︎˚。 Husband!Zuko who lovesss putting you in a head locking during sex
You were completely, shamelessly addicted to Zuko’s arms.
It wasn’t just that they were big now—thick, powerful, corded with muscle from years of firebending, sword training, and carrying the weight of a nation. It was the way they felt when he used them on you. The sheer strength. The way the veins stood out when he flexed. The way his biceps bulged like warm steel when he wrapped one around your throat and held you exactly where he wanted you.
And nothing compared to doggy style.
Nothing.
Tonight the palace was quiet, the heavy curtains drawn, only the low glow of firelight flickering across Zuko’s bare chest as he stood at the edge of the massive bed. You were already on all fours in the center of it, knees spread, back arched deep, ass up and waiting. Your pussy was dripping down your thighs before he’d even touched you.
Zuko climbed onto the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His big hands gripped your hips first, squeezing the soft flesh, thumbs digging in possessively.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Already soaked for me.”
You pushed back against him, whining. “Zuko… please.”
He leaned over you, chest pressing to your back, and you felt it—the heavy, thick length of his cock sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance. Then his right arm slid around your throat.
Your whole body lit up.
He didn’t choke you. He headlocked you. His massive bicep curled under your chin, the thick muscle pressing firmly against your neck while his forearm locked across your collarbone. His left hand braced on the bed beside your head for leverage. You were completely trapped, caged by his body, his strength, his heat.
And you moaned like you were in heat.
“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, tilting your head back into the crook of his arm. Your pussy clenched hard around nothing.
Zuko chuckled darkly against your ear, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back. “You really are crazy for these arms, aren’t you?”
You nodded frantically, already grinding back against his cock. “I love them. I love when you lock me up like this. Makes me feel so small… so owned.”
His grip tightened just enough to make your head spin in the best way. Then he pushed in.
One long, slow thrust and he buried every thick inch inside you, stretching you open until you felt him in your stomach. The headlock kept you perfectly arched, ass up higher, back bowed deep so he could sink even deeper.
Zuko groaned, low and filthy. “So fucking tight like this.”
He started moving—deep, powerful strokes that made the bed creak. Every time he bottomed out, his hips slapped against your ass, his heavy balls hitting your clit. The bicep around your throat flexed with every thrust, the muscle bulging harder against your skin. You could feel the raw power in it, the way it could crush you if he wanted, but instead it just held you right there for him to fuck.
You were drooling.
Your mouth hung open, eyes rolling back as he pounded into you. Every thrust forced a broken moan out of your throat.
“Harder,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Zuko, baby—please, use me. Fuck me like you own me.”
He snarled and gave you exactly what you wanted.
His pace turned brutal. The wet, obscene sound of his cock slamming into your soaked pussy filled the room. His left hand left the bed and reached underneath you, two thick fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, fast circles.
The headlock never loosened. His bicep stayed locked tight under your jaw, keeping your head pulled back against his shoulder so he could growl filthy praises right against your ear.
“That’s it… take this dick. Such a greedy little thing for me. You love being locked up in my arm while I ruin this pussy, don’t you?”
“Yes—yes, fuck yes—” You were shaking, thighs trembling, pussy fluttering wildly around his thick dick.
He flexed his bicep deliberately, the peak of the muscle pressing harder into the side of your neck. The pressure made everything sharper, hotter. Your vision sparkled at the edges.
“Come for me,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding. “Come while I’ve got you trapped. Let me feel how much you love my arms.”
You shattered.
Your orgasm crashed through you so hard your arms gave out. You would have collapsed face-first into the pillows if Zuko’s headlock hadn’t held you up. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, gushing around his cock as wave after wave rolled through you. You screamed his name, body convulsing, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheeks.
Zuko fucked you straight through it, hips never slowing, growling praises and curses as your walls milked him.
Only when you started to go limp did he loosen the headlock just enough to let you breathe properly. He pulled out, flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, and shoved your knees up to your chest.
Then he slid back inside you in one thrust and started chasing his own release
His arms caged you again—this time both of them, one on each side of your head, biceps flexing as he drove into you hard and deep. You wrapped your legs around his waist and clung to those massive arms, kissing and biting at the thick muscle while he fucked you into the mattress.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest. “Gonna put a baby in you tonight.”
You moaned, nails digging into his biceps. “Yes—please, Zuko. Come inside me. I need it.”
He buried his face in your neck and came with a deep, guttural groan, hips stuttering as he pumped you full, hot and thick. You felt every pulse, every spurt, and you clenched around him like you could keep it all inside.
When he finally collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you with his full weight, his arms still surrounded you—loose now, but protective.
You pressed lazy kisses to his bicep, the one you loved so much, and whispered against his skin, “I’m never getting enough of these arms. Especially when you headlock me like that.”
Zuko laughed breathlessly, rolling to the side and pulling you against his chest. His hand drifted down to rest over your lower belly, thumb stroking gently.
“Good,” he murmured, voice warm and satisfied. “Because I plan on doing that every single night until you’re round with our baby.”
You smiled, already feeling the familiar heat building again as you nuzzled into his chest.
“Promise?”
He flexed his arm around you, letting you feel the hard swell of his bicep one more time.
“Promise.”
dividers - @/cafekitsune
an - Hiiiiii my babies! I’ve missed y’all so much, so sorry for the ghosting! I lowkey couldn’t catch a break (lmao), but I’m back and ready to serve now 𓏲ּ𝄢
on another note just look at this fine man AUGHHH
(that’s dadaman)
zuko having one child is insane i would’ve been pregnant every damn year
#KeepPounding
Someone PLEASE write for adult zuko
he looks too good in the movie
LIKE PLEASE
Memories altered
Aegon the conqueror x reader tw: blood, smut, dark aegon
"Tell me, little dove" Aegon murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the sapphire necklace he'd just fastened around your throat, "do you enjoy watching me suffer?"
The sapphire necklace was the fourteenth gift this moon alone. You'd lost count of how many silken gowns had arrived at your chambers since your arrival, each one more absurdly expensive than the last, the fabrics so fine they felt like water slipping through your fingers.
Aegon's generosity wasn't subtle. Neither were the way his eyes lingered on the curve of your neck when you wore his gifts, or how his thumb always lingered a heartbeat too long when he kissed your hand in court.
Yesterday, he'd sent a pair of slippers embroidered with pearls, and when you'd thanked him with a polite curtsy, he'd leaned in close enough for his breath to ghost over your ear. "Wear them to my chambers tonight" he'd said, as casually as if discussing the weather. You hadn't gone. You never did.
The knock came just past midnight, three sharp raps that made you flinch where you sat by the dying fire. You knew it wasn't the servants for they always announced themselves. The door creaked open before you could answer, and Aegon filled the threshold, his silhouette haloed by torchlight from the corridor. He carried no weapon, but the way his fingers flexed at his sides made your breath hitch. "You didn't come" he said, voice low as embers.
"I never do, Your Grace" you mumbled, scrambling to stand up so quickly the chair legs screeched against stone. The sapphire necklace suddenly felt like a noose. "It is improper." The words tasted like ash, you'd said them too many times before, and they never stuck.
Aegon's laughter was a dark, velvet sound that slithered up your spine. "Improper?" He stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his boot. The latch clicked like a verdict. "You think I give a damn about propriety?" The firelight caught the fevered gleam in his eyes as he crossed the room, his strides measured, predatory. You backed into the hearth, the heat searing through your nightgown.
AMAZING 🤧

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Maegor and Aenys
I CAN'T EXPLAIN THE GENUINE RAGE I FEEL WHEN I SEE LYANNA AND RHAEGAR EDITS. I JUST SAW AN ART EDIT OF WHEN RHAEGAR MADE LYANNA QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY AND THEY ARE PEOPLE IN THE COMMENTS HYPING IT UP. LIKE HE DID NOT DO THAT SHIT INFRONT OF HIS PREGNANT WIFE. AND THEN YOU BROUGHT YOUR MISTRESS (YES MISTRESS HE WAS MARRIED) TO SAFETY IN YOUR WIFE'S HOMETOWN AND LEFT YOU CHILDREN AND WIFE TO BE SLAUGHTERED.....I HATE HATE HATE THEM BOTH SO MUCH DON'T GET ME WRONG I LOVE THE TARGARYENS BUT I AM HAPPY THAT DISGUSTING CREATURE DIED