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authors note: a lil end of year horny one shot lol, enjoy 😉
One thing you’ve come to learn about being with Joel Miller is that he does not bluff. If you mess with him, expect to receive it back ten fold. He is the living embodiment of “fuck around and find out”. The only thing equal to his commitment is your insatiable curiosity.
An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.
It’s a game you both play. You want to find out what he’s capable of so you toy with him. To dive deeper into that darkness inside of him. And you make sure he knows it. If you push him, you want to know how hard he’ll push back.
And you might’ve… maybe… perhaps… pushed him a little too far this time.
Last night, Joel was out on a night shift at the outskirts of Jackson. Leaving you by yourself at home. Being on rotation yourself, you know it’s usually a long and quiet assignment with maybe an occasional infected stumbling too close to town. Basically, uneventful.
So, you thought it would be nice to call him on his walkie-talkie late at night and keep him company. And maybe the conversation skewed a little spicier than normal. Words became moans, hands traveled south. Aaaand maybe you made yourself come after he explicitly told you not to without him. Effectively leaving him hanging as you fell asleep peacefully.
When you woke up, the memory of last night flooded in and a wide sleepy grin spread across your face. Today is one of those rare occasions where you didn’t have any assignments and no patrol today. So, you slept in. Something you haven’t been able to do for weeks.
Surprisingly though, Joel hasn’t been back at the house yet. It’s already past 9am and the night shift usually comes back into town around 6am. Maybe you did push it too far and he’s pissed. In that case, maybe it’s a good idea to let him cool off for a bit.
There are a couple things you wanted to get done today. Best not to waste a day like this. After throwing on some cargo pants and a tank top, and grabbing one of the grocery baskets from the kitchen, you head out to town.
The early autumn breeze is cool and welcome after this particularly brutal summer. And some of your favorite foods are coming into season. You spend a lot more time than intended trading and talking with people in town. When winter hits and the snow starts piling up, it’s usually a struggle for the town until the snow melts. So you enjoy these small comforts while you can.
On your way back with a basket full of groceries, walking down the street is the patrol group from last night getting off their shift. Minus Joel. But amongst the group is Tommy. He glances your way and spots you across the street from within the crowd and waves at you. You wave back and walk over to greet him. Maybe he knows where Joel is.
“We missed you this time around,” he jokes with you. Taking the strap of his rifle off his torso.
“I’d say I’d feel guilty but honestly sleeping in this morning was fan-fucking-tastic,” you tell him with a laugh. “You guys are coming back late. Anything happen?”
“Nah, nothing major. There was a meeting afterwards about prepping for winter, that’s all.”
“Oh, so Joel was there too?”
Tommy’s smile weakens a bit, and his eyes slightly glance around him. Almost as if he’s found himself walking on eggshells. He takes the clip off his rifle and unloads the bullets to store in his bag. Probably just giving his hands something to do.
“Yeah, he was there,” he says plainly. There’s no other explanation that comes after, just a couple beats of silence. Making you suspicious.
“Is he ok,” you prod.
“Yeah yeah yeah, he’s… fine, I guess.”
You guess?
…Ok?
After another moment of awkward silence, you’re about to give him a courteous smile and a “see ya later”. But before you do, Tommy glances back at you.
“Hey can I-“ He pauses for a beat and you raise your eyebrows at him , waiting for him to continue. But he shakes his head and returns to his task. “Actually, never mind.”
“Tommy, you’re looking at me all weird,” you tease him with a smirk. “Spit it out.”
“I was gonna ask you about something but I don’t think it’s any of my business to be honest.”
Well, this oughta be good…
Placing a hand on your hip, you give him a raised brow. Signaling to him that you’re waiting for an explanation here. He notices and swallows hard. Looking around one final time before leaning in and lowering his voice.
“Don’t tell him I asked this, ‘Kay?”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” you say with a mischievous smile.
“Did,” he pauses again. “Did you and Joel have like… a fight or somethin’?”
You raise a suspicious brow at his question but it still makes you chuckle under your breath.
“A fight?”
“For some reason, when he came back from patrol this morning, he seemed… pissed.”
“Pissed is pretty much his natural state, Tommy. You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”
“Well, it was dialed to a hundred this morning,” he explains. “He came back to the base with this look on his face like he was ‘bout ready to kill anyone in his path. He unloaded all his guns like he had something against ‘em. He was boiling through the whole damn meeting. And he completely forgot about the stable duty he volunteered for afterwards. Which prompted a really interesting tantrum. It’s been weird. You know anything ‘bout that?”
You bite back your smile. But inside, you’re so fucking pleased with yourself. Knowing you got that menacing, stone-hearted, guard dog of a man so sexually frustrated that he’s been walking around town pissed all morning just warms your heart.
“Uh, nope. Can’t say I do.”
“Well, he should be home by now. Just be careful he doesn’t bite your head off at the door when you get back.”
I hope he bites something…
“Thanks for the warning,” you tell him, all too giddy to find out what’s waiting for you.
Walking up the steps of the porch, you find Joel’s boots and backpack sitting on the floor beside the door. A flare of excitement and nervousness shoots up your body. Before you twist the door handle, you take a deep breath and compose yourself.
“I’m home~,” you greet as you open the door. “Joel?”
There’s silence in the house. You look around and wait for a response but it doesn’t come. Maybe he’s taking a shower or something. Shrugging it off, you sit on the entryway bench and kick off your boots. You take the basket to the kitchen sink and begin washing some of the fruits and veggies you got this morning.
“That wasn’t nice.” Joel’s voice carries from across the room, making chills run up your spine.
You’re in for it. You know it. You played with fire, and now your skin buzzes in anticipation. Waiting for the consequences. You bite your lip to hold back your smile, knowing if he sees it it’ll only piss him off more. But against your better judgment, you peek at him over your shoulder anyway.
He stands at the entryway of the kitchen with his hands on his hips. His salt and pepper hair is damp and messy like he just came out of the shower and quickly ran a towel through it. No shirt, just a clean pair of jeans as he stands there. Bare chested and puffed with fury.
“I’m waiting,” he growls.
“For what? A cookie,” you ask with sweet sarcasm.
He breathes a heavy exhale through his nose, seething across the room. The hands on his hips almost twitching with anger.
“Apologize,” he says sternly.
“Me? What did I do?”
“You know what.”
Drying off your hands with a kitchen towel, you turn around to face him completely. Leaning back with your hands resting gracefully on the counter. His eyes pierce you like arrows and it’s honestly such a turn on when he gets like this. You always get a deep satisfaction knowing that only you can get him like this with just a few choice words.
“I have no clue what you mean,” you purr. “In fact, I think I’ve been very sweet with you.”
“Don’t get cute with me,” he snaps back. “I’ve had all morning to think of what to do with you and I don’t wanna hear any arguments. You get your ass upstairs, take off your clothes, and get in that fucking bed. Now.”
A cocktail of emotions rush through your bloodstream. Excitement, arousal, fear, and a little anger. You’ve always been quick to snap back whenever someone raises their voice at you or bosses you around. But that’s with normal people. And Joel is not a normal person.
Knowing this doesn’t stop you from facing that danger, though. He might not be playing around, but the game never really stops for you. So, like you always do, you keep pushing. Testing the walls of his limits. So you answer him wearing that wicked little smile of yours.
“I don't know where you got it that you can boss a woman around like that, Joel. You know better than that.”
“I won’t ask again, little girl.”
Here it comes. Your final push.
“Or what?”
Those two simple words make him snap. His heavy footfalls close in on you, and suddenly his hand takes hold of your hip. Whipping you around so he can rush you. Lifting you up, he throws you over his shoulder. The air leaves your lungs in a yelp as you dangle behind him like a child getting disciplined. Making your blood boil as you bang your fists against his back.
“What the fuck, Joel?! What are you doing?!”
“Teachin’ you a lesson.”
He stomps aggressively up the stairs and you feel like you’re about to slip off and fall at any second. When he reaches the bedroom, Joel kicks the door wide open. Making it hit the wall with a loud bang. He tosses you on the bed face first like a rag doll. You gasp at the sudden drop and before you can even get a grip on anything to escape, his hands grab both of your arms and holds them behind your back. Pressing you face down into the mattress.
“Apologize,” he grits out. You try to squirm out of his grip to no avail.
“Not a chance,” you spit back at him.
He switches his grip to hold your wrists with one hand as the free one yanks the hem of your cargo pants down and off your legs. Exposing your ass and the thin straps of your black panties for him. You only feel the cool air for a moment before his hand comes down to your cheek with a hard and swift spank.
You gasp into the bed, trying to hide the moan crawling up your throat from him. Your whole body tingles beneath him. Your cunt squeezes around nothing and the pulse in your clit instantly starts to throb. As good as it feels, it also pisses you off even more
Who the fuck does he think he is spanking you like a goddamn child?
“Apologize,” he growls again, firmer and louder this time. Your thighs rub together trying to relieve the growing ache between your legs. Arching your back, you raise your hips and give him a little wiggle to taunt him.
“Fuck. You.”
His hand comes down again with a loud thwack and this time you can’t hold back the depraved moan from escaping. The sting on your ass sends a jolt of electricity up your spine and a pool of warmth down to your core. You squirm under him, this time toying with him instead of trying to escape again.
“You’re making it harder for yourself, sweetheart,” he taunts, taking a handful of you in his hand and squeezing the raw flesh. You mewl into the mattress, trying to push yourself into him for more. You need more. But you’re just as stubborn as he is.
“If you're going to act like a little brat then I'm going to treat you like a little brat.”
“Don’t you dare,” you snarl at him.
But he doesn’t answer you. Instead the hand on your ass leaves you and you can hear a growling “fuck” fall past his lips. There’s some jostling noises and you can tell he’s trying to untie his jeans. And something about the sound of his belt buckle being pulled off his jeans makes you absolutely feral for him.
God, yes. Please just let him fuck you and then you’ll be so sweet for him.
But that’s not what he’s preparing for. Suddenly there’s only one strong hand holding your arms and you feel the leather strap loop around your wrists. He ties the belt loose enough that it doesn’t hurt but there’s no way you’re able to wiggle your way out of it.
“You know I would never do anything to you that you didn’t ask for,” he huffs, and for a second you think he’s going to be sweet with you and give you what you so desperately want but won’t say. But he goes on. Leaning over your body and caging you in between his arms. He presses his hips against your clothed pussy and you can feel his hard cock underneath his jeans.
“I’ll give you everything you want. And I’ll do it so good and so goddamn hard that you’ll be begging to come. And maybe I’ll let you…“ he leans in closer and you can feel his hot breath against your ear. “All you have to do…”
Yes?
“…is be a good girl…”
Yes? Anything…
“…and apologize.”
Fire burns it’s way throughout your whole body. You press into his groin and he pushes back but it’s not enough. You crave at least the tiniest bit of friction between your legs and he’s right there, ready to give it to you.
The apology is on the tip of your tongue and you almost let it fly out. But honestly… you kind of like this little game. There’s something so devious about not immediately giving into his demands that’s so fucking erotic. And you’re curious to see what he’ll do to you if you don’t comply.
“Bite me,” you mew.
Joel sighs a deep breath through his nose like the air in his lungs is hot steam and you smile to yourself. Loving how much you have an effect on him. And you kind of get the feeling he was hoping you would say that.
He stands up on his feet and you can feel his eyes peer down to you, no doubt taking in how disheveled you look right now. Suddenly his hands come down on your hips, gripping them hard and pulling you to the edge of the bed and you gasp. Equally scared and aroused. His hands come up to your ass, grabbing and pinching the flesh before his mouth comes in to bite it hard.
Fuck, you didn’t think he’d literally bite you, but ok.
He sucks on the skin to soothe the sting and the ache between your legs is unbearable. When his mouth leaves, it’s quickly replaced with a hard smack and your whole body jolts up. Joel chuckles to himself and you can only imagine the dirty little grin on his face right now. You feel his fingers dip underneath the little band of your panties and gently tug.
“Look at you. Soaking wet for me and I’ve barely touched you,” he huffs.
He slowly tugs the thin fabric again and again. Deliberately rubbing your clit with your own panties. You moan helplessly into the mattress and your thighs start to tremble. His pace is steady and calculated. And in less than a minute of that amazing friction, you can feel your orgasm begin to crest.
“You want more?” His voice is dripping with lust and you can feel yourself getting close. When you hum ‘yes’, he groans low in his throat. Giving you another tight smack on your ass and making you yelp.
“Use your words,” he demands. His smile is heard clear in his tone.
“Y-yes,” you gasp.
His pace quickens, teasing your throbbing clit deliciously while your body starts to burn from the inside out. Your moans and whimpers echo in the room while he works magic on you. And you can feel your warm slick juices slowly drip down your inner thighs.
It’s so fucking close. It’s right there. Just a little more.
“Not yet.”
He stops completely. Even going as far as unhooking his fingers from the fabric. You groan loudly with impatience. Your hips blindly search for his hands, trying to chase the feeling again.
No. Shit shit shit. Please, you were right there!
“I know, baby,” he sympathizes, tracing his fingers up your inner thigh where he’s made a mess. “You were breathing so hard just now. I know you wanna come so bad. But you know what you gotta do.”
“Please…,” you whimper, so fucking lost in your own heat. Everything’s burning, aching. You need him.
“Please what?” His palm smooths over your right ass cheek. Slowly caressing and kneading the plump flesh.
“…Fuck me… please.”
He hums at your request. His hands leave you entirely and after a couple seconds you hear the sound of his jeans being undone. He mumbles a few low curses under his breath. Suddenly, he yanks the panties to the side and you feel something warm and stiff press against your pussy. You gasp, almost scared of what he has planned for you. But fuck, do you want it.
“You look so good like this.” His hand holds on to the belt binding your hands. Pulling your arms and arching your back so he can push you further against his cock. He slides back and forth between your lips, coating himself with your arousal and making you writhe. You wish you could see it. What does he look like right now? What kind of expression is he wearing?
Fitting the tip to your entrance, one hand takes hold of the belt while the other grips your hip. And in one long push, he feeds you his cock. Sinking into you until the root of him meets your entrance. You flutter around him. Gasping his name as he stretches you out.
“Oh, God…,”
“Fuck, you’re so tight… Holy shit,” he groans, almost losing his composure entirely. He feels so perfect. So fucking hot and hard inside you. But you need him to move. It’s almost unbearable to keep waiting.
He pulls back leisurely, then with one quick motion, his hips snap forward. Slamming back into you and eliciting a guttural moan from both of you. He does it again, and again, until his pace becomes steady and unrelenting.
Your eyes roll back closed and you're pretty sure you start to drool on the sheets. You completely give in to him. The sounds you’re making roll out of you without any control and the curses under your breath are barely coherent. All while Joel loses himself inside you. Huffing your name and groaning at the fucking pleasure he’s taking from you.
The pressure starts building again. This time deeper and more intense than just on your clit. He fucks into that perfect spot inside you with each hard thrust and you’re not sure how much longer your going to last. Your breathing becomes more shallow, your moans choke your throat, and the throbbing inside your pussy is at its highest. This is it. You’re gonna come. Just one more thrust and…
He pulls out completely. Panting like he just ran a mile and leaning his hand on the bed for support.
“Uh-uh. Brats don’t get to come,” he pants.
“What the fuck?!” You cry out for him because now this is just plain mean. Your eyes start to well with tears, so frustrated with this game. It’s honestly the hottest sex you’ve had with him so far, but you’re both too fucking stubborn and it’s starting to piss you off.
The next second, you’re being pulled back off the bed by your binds. Forced to stand on weak, trembling legs as Joel presses his bare chest to your back. Your only support. His free hand snakes up your tank top to take a breast in his hand. Squeezing and pinching, making you whine for more.
“Say it,” he growls in your ear.
His words burn you from the inside out. And you don’t want to give in. But you just don’t have it in you anymore to resist. That damn stubbornness of yours crumbles at his feet and you just fucking want him.
“Say it,” he repeats, tugging tighter at your binds.
“I-I’m sorry,” you breathe out. Blowing away the stray hair sticking to your damp face.
“Sorry for what?” He pinches your nipple harder, making you gasp at the delicious pain.
“I’m sorry, ah… I’m sorry I teased you last night.”
“And?”
“And… for coming without you… I’m sorry.”
His lips spread into a smile against the skin of your neck. And you almost miss it, maybe he thought it wasn’t noticeable. But as he exhales a deep breath, you catch the small, devious little laugh riding on it.
“I accept your apology,” he taunts low in your ear.
“You gonna untie me now?”
“Fuck no.”
Before you can protest him, Joel forcefully shoves you down face first back on the bed. And you know he’s done holding back. He rains down on you and you’re all too eager to welcome him. With one hand, he presses down on your shoulders. With the other, he lifts your ass up. And in one swift plunge, he thrusts hard back inside you with no mercy.
You cry out for more. Your body, trembling under his hands as he starts at a fast and rough pace. He’s all hard muscle and wild grunts as he fucks you into the bed. Savage and unrelenting. Everything you love about him.
“Atta girl, fucking take it,” he pants behind you.
You cry out for more and Joel is more than happy to give it to you. Pounding your poor little cunt the way he sees fit, no holding back. It doesn’t take long for that wave of pleasure to rise again. Each deep thrust hits perfectly against your core. He teases you against that edge and you’re dying to let yourself fall.
“Joel! Joel, please,” you pant in heat.
“You wanna come, sweetheart?”
“Yes! Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
“Then fucking come for me,” he groans. Taking your hips in his hands, he revs at full throttle. Your breathing is erratic, your thighs shake, and finally he allows you to reach that blissful tipping point. Your whole body trembles as the orgasm wracks through your body.
Joel fucks you through it, not far behind you as his pace becomes fast and shallow. His moans are feral and his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he reaches his own tipping point.
“Fuck…,” he groans. “Fuck! Ah!”
He chokes and lets out a wild noise as he drives himself deep inside your cunt. Spilling into you and losing himself in the moment. His hips rock against you hard, until his pace eventually slows to a stop and he’s utterly spent. And the only sounds that echo in the room is the heavy breathing of your mutual satisfaction.
Your body is absolutely done. When Joel slowly takes his belt off your wrists, there’s nothing to keep your arms from falling limp on either side of you. Gently, he flips you into your back and you finally get to see him. Not angry, not with his walls up. Just the man you’ve come to love. His cheeks are flushed, and a layer of sweat coats his hot skin. His bare chest heaves as he catches his breath. And he just stands there, drinking you in as you lay on the bed thoroughly fucked.
When he leans over you, you don’t waste a second to connect his lips to yours. You both savor each other as if it’s been months instead of hours. It occurs to you that it’s the first time you’ve kissed since he left last night, which makes it all the more sweeter. As he separates, a smile spreads on his face, making you do the same.
“See,” he breathes against your lips. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
•
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Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please reblog and add a comment if you’d like. It means so much to writers like me and helps us share our work on here 😘 Also, if you’d like to be tagged for future works, let me know in the comments ✨
Warnings: very brief mention of firearm, some dude being creepy
Word Count: 4.5k
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Masterlist
Author's Note: Fun fact about me—I have a degree in physics. Writing this chapter was fun because, even though I'm a full-time science teacher, I rarely get to use my degree to its fullest capacity.
I say this because I consulted some of my old college notebooks as inspiration to write some moments of reminiscence. What Ford writes in the classical mechanics textbook is something I legitimately read in one of my professors' notes my sophomore year. I may have paraphrased it slightly, but I am not kidding.
If you know which professor I'm referencing, go [univeristy mascot redacted]! You're a fucking nerd, too.
P.S. If you liked that line and are interested in studying physics further yourself, I would recommend reading any of Griffiths' textbooks. He's a hoot and a holler. Also, on a more serious note, his footnotes are really great for contextualizing the material.
You heard the rush of water through the pipes above your head. Stan was just getting into the shower. In the meantime, you had free reign to wander the corridors of your former abode. Things had certainly changed, but you were curious to see what had remained. Surely there was still unhidden evidence of your existence somewhere in this house, right?
You'd already seen the living room, but only briefly, so you returned once more to get a better look. You had mixed feelings about Stan's choice of side table—as a science teacher, you were aghast at the prospect of an actual bonafide tyrannosaur skull stained with coffee rings, but as a fleshy sack of bones hurdling through space on a spinning rock, you thought it fun in the grand scheme of things. One thing was for certain: you knew Ford wouldn't like it.
In fact, Stan had done a thorough job of encroaching on his brother's space. According to your memories, the living room was host to all the lab equipment Ford didn't have the space to leave in the basement anymore. Now, most of that stuff was gone, either having been tossed into a dumpster or peddled as gimmicky junk at the 'Murder Hut', if you had to guess. You were appreciative of the change. Your dark wood dining room table was on display again. Despite the many alterations you were sure this room had seen, it did seem that Stan, and therefore Ford, had decided to keep a few familiar artifacts.
The bookshelf appeared mostly untouched, though the arrangement of the titles was out-of-order. Who would place "Introduction to Electromagnetism" before "Classical Mechanics"? Stan must have flipped through some of them at some point and misplaced them.
You slid the mechanics textbook off the shelf to put it in its proper place. Your fingers grazed the worn cover, and before you knew what you were doing, you were staring at the first page of the chapter on universal gravitation. This was your copy, and the margins were covered in ink. Some of the scrawls were legitimate notes you'd taken while cross-referencing other texts, reminders that would help you work through various proofs. Others simply served as documentation of life as a fresh-faced eighteen year old at Backupsmore University.
On this page in particular, "I wonder if Ford knows anything about Laws of Attraction."
You turned to a page on tides. "I'd rather be torn apart by a black hole than take my next midterm."
Then, turning to the chapter on non-inertial reference frames, you spotted Ford's cursive. “People jumping off of tall diving boards into large pools of jello needn’t worry about the Coriolis force.”
That was enough for now.
You slipped the book in its rightful place in the sequence, and moved on to explore the parlor. It was a simple seating room with a fireplace and a turntable, and it was your favorite room in the house. It was also the one room in the house that Ford had left untouched even before you made your exit, so it felt like it was yours. It looked more or less just as you'd remembered it, except for one small detail. You'd specifically chosen the antique umber curtains to contrast the walls, and now they were an awful shade of mustard. You didn't have a problem with the color itself, but it certainly did not go with your cushions.
It had also seemed, at first glance, that your vinyls were left as they were, resting comfortably in their crates. You kneeled on the floor and began to flit through your collection.
Well, these were definitely Ford's. Miles Davis, Beethoven, Simon & Garfunkel, Beethoven, Eurythmics, The Beatles, Beethoven, Beethoven, Beethoven—Christ, how many Beethoven vinyls did one person need?
Then, there were McGucket's Grateful Dead albums. 'A taste of Palo Alto', as he put it.
You were surprised to see Ford had kept all of your titles. You figured he would keep your BABBA record, which he swore he felt indifferent about despite knowing all the words to their hit song 'Disco Girl', but you assumed your Johnny Cash & June Carter album would be long gone by now. To put it lightly, Ford wasn't the biggest fan of folk music, regardless of your attempts to convince him it was as much about the relationship between the two musicians as it was about the music they were making.
"C'mon, Ford. Can't you feel how much they love each other?"
"I can hear them playing the same three chords over and over again."
Perhaps Fiddleford's proclivity for the banjo brought him around to the concept of Tennessee country. Maybe he just didn't care enough to get rid of it.
You'd reached the end of your catalogue when you found a few albums you didn't recognize. Chuck Berry, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, KISS. Not bad.
You must have been looking through your collection longer than you'd realized because soon enough you heard footsteps approaching you. You acknowledged Stan with a turn of your head. Shaggy hair still wet, he now donned a crisp white shirt, a maroon tie draped around his neck awaiting proper knotting.
"What'cha up to?" he asked.
"I'm just looking around," you said, pushing yourself up from the floor. "Things have changed a little bit... What happened to my curtains?"
Stan's eyes shifted slightly, puzzled. "Most of the windows here didn't have any curtains. Ford likes blackout shutters, I guess. They made the place feel like a prison, so I got those at a yard sale."
"How much were they?" you asked, considering whether or not it was worth it to buy new ones, as if you had any money left to spend.
Stan cleared his throat with a cough. "Don't remember, but I definitely paid some amount of money for them."
Strange.
"... Why did you say it like that?"
"Y’know, people use money in exchange for goods and services is all I'm sayin’. Don't think about it too much. Speaking of, I've still gotta give you a tour of the Hut, where we provide goods and services people exchange their money for."
Stranger.
So, he was a fast-talker. You supposed it was safe to assume he was likely quite the salesman as well. You were anxious to see the spectacle he had made of your home because, at the very least, this was sure to be an interesting experience. You wouldn't push it any further for the time being.
"Lead the way," you said.
Stan began leading you to the showroom, outlining his general business model on the way. The way he spoke, you'd think he was talking about fixing races rather than making legitimate sales. According to him, he was 'curating a one-of-a-kind experience for patrons, in which they could safely interact with the magical, weird, and mysterious offerings of Gravity Falls'. In other words, he was stitching together stray taxidermy parts and spinning tales to scam people into believing they were worth the price of admission—so basically what every other tourist trap in a hundred mile radius was already doing.
"Now, this is why people pay the big bucks." he said, pushing the door to the showroom open. You stepped into the room, eyes immediately assaulted by the various abominations Stan had bred on display.
It was worse than you thought it would be.
Of course, there were a few trinkets that you recognized from your time living with Ford, but those mainly served as filler, a background for the main attraction: a hodgepodge of mounted creatures and dumpster treasures.
First, there was the elusive 'Pnome'. The little guy had a thermometer sticking out of his poor, stuffed mouth, supposedly because it had been afflicted with pneumonia. How clever.
"You know gnomes actually exist, right?" you asked him. "Wouldn't you be better off getting some real attractions?"
Stan huffed out an amused grunt. "You'd think so, but people don't want real attractions. Real attractions never meet expectations," he explained, "so I create ones that do. Also, that sounds like a lot of work, and I don't feel like it."
You nodded, now examining 'Mouthman', a man constructed out of the left-over beaks, muzzles, and snouts of animals who never asked for this existence.
Then, there was the 'Legasus', the 'Clockatrice', and the 'Basalisp'. Stan sure loved his wordplay.
Surely, people weren't actually falling for this bullshit, though, right? You thought about it for a second more. Considering some of the students you'd had the pleasure of teaching, perhaps the prospect wasn't so farfetched after all.
"Anyway," Stan started, "you don't have to worry about all this. I'll be the one giving the tours."
Stan jerked his head toward the door, signaling you to follow as he stepped back out into the sun. Crunching through the light layer of snow on the ground, he led you around the corner to your old storage space, now home to the Murder Hut's giftshop.
This was another part of your home you'd already gotten a chance to meet again. Unfortunately, the most you could recall was the barrel of your revolver and the tacky bobbleheads on display.
"The tours will naturally end here," Stan explained. "Your job should be easy. I'll have ‘em nice and buttered up, so all you have to do is take these suckers' money."
"I think I can manage. In my profession, I'm usually dealing with a less than captive audience, but it sounds like you have no problem with that."
You drifted from shelf to shelf, examining the myriad of cheap trinkets lining the walls. You shook a snow globe you considered anything but remarkable and watched the silvery glitter flutter about the question mark figurine enclosed in the dome. You turned it over to look at the price tag hidden beneath the base. Twenty dollars for this hunk of junk? Yeesh.
"Do people actually buy this stuff?" you asked, setting the snow globe back on the shelf. This question earned yet another knowing chuckle from Stan.
"You can sell anything if you're wearing a tie and sound like you know what you're talking about," he replied.
"Still, the price seems kind of steep."
"You'd be surprised. Sometimes the price tag does my job for me. If you have the gall to sell something for a hundred bucks, it must really be worth something."
Your brain was short circuiting. You had spent years in a profession that required you to believe in and nurture the intelligence and abilities of every individual. Now, you were being thrust into a role which required you not only to believe in the exact opposite, but to prey on the gullible nature of said individuals. How you were expected to sort out your feelings on the matter, you weren't sure.
"But I only need you here at the end of tours. You'll probably be spending most of your time in the office back here," said Stan as he began to lead you through the living room to the backroom hidden by the staircase.
You'd previously used this room as a coat closet, but Stan had fashioned it into a modest workspace complete with a wooden desk, a corkboard, and an official 'Miser & Son' safe. Mounted on the wall were more of his taxidermied atrocities. If they weren't already dead, they'd probably be begging you to put them out of their misery right about now.
"This is where you'll be cooking the books," he said, laughing at his own joke. "But seriously, I'm going to need you to sort out our expenses and balance the budget."
Swindling schmucks wasn't exactly in your wheel house, but this? This you could do. If anything, organization was the most valuable skill you'd honed while teaching. Here, you would be in your element.
"I'm on it. Just show me the ledger," you said, breezing past Stan to seat yourself behind the desk. You began pulling open various drawers to inspect their contents. "Where do you keep your invoices? Also, do you have a list of your distributors?"
Stan began to laugh nervously. "Yeah, so, I don't exactly have a 'ledger' per se."
You looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"
"Remember how I said I was already thinking about hiring help?" he asked. Your eyes followed him as he sauntered over to the corner of the room directly to your left. He picked up a stack of shoeboxes and dropped them on the desk. "This is why."
Hesitantly, you lifted the lid off the first in the stack. Inside was a jumbled amalgamation of post-its, index cards, receipts, and napkins. Written on each scrap was a date, a dollar amount, and a short note detailing the circumstances of the income or expense.
"Are you kidding?" you asked incredulously. "How am I supposed to account for..." you trailed off, reading Stan's purple crayon scribbles, "an 'IOU for 12 pugs'?"
Stan snatched the napkin out of your hand and stuffed it in his pocket. "Sorry, I don't know how that one got in here. Anyway, since you got your hands full in here, I'll cover the giftshop today. You know where to find me!" He was already out the door before you could get another word in.
Stan was lucky you were still feeling guilty about the day before.
You were lucky you still had a few blank ledger books stowed away in your bedroom.
You had previous experience being in-charge of household expenses, and while you were not formerly responsible for running a business, you were responsible for stretching Ford's research grant year-to-year. That meant you kept a thorough record of all money going in and out. Now, you were quite particular when it came to this record-keeping, so when you found a book you liked, you bought it in-bulk, lest it went out-of-print.
At last, your neuroticism had paid off.
You retrieved one of your unmarred copies from your bedroom, still tucked away in a box on the floor of your closet, then dumped the contents of the first shoebox on the office's hardwood floor. You lowered yourself to the ground and began sifting through the heap. All of them were dated between December and February, including a receipt for Stan's new bobbleheads that he had apparently purchased sometime last week.
This gave you a better idea of the care this task required. You sorted the mess of papers into two piles: one for the current fiscal quarter and another for the previous quarter. You repeated this process with the other shoeboxes until you had five piles in total.
From there, you shifted your focus on the smallest pile, further inspecting each record so you could sort them in sequential order.
Transferring the information into your ledger was a more difficult task than you'd anticipated. Stan's handwriting sometimes veered into hieroglyph territory. Luckily, teaching had also given you plenty of practice deciphering chicken scratch. Still, some of these notes were completely lost on you, and you wanted to make sure your record was accurate and clean.
You looked at the clock above the door: it was twenty past ten. Stan was probably giving his first tour of the day by now. You didn't know how long those usually went, so you'd just have to listen and wait until you heard Stan corralling customers into the giftshop. Then, you could consult him yourself. That made you a little nervous. You could recount many instances in which a student would inform you that they 'didn't actually know what they were trying to write there'.
In the meantime, you kept sorting your piles into a proper transaction timeline, setting aside the scraps featuring illegible runes.
After another thirty minutes or so of sorting, you heard the chime of a bell, followed by a grizzly voice barking on about mind-blowing curiosities. You gathered the set-aside stubs and book in your arms. It was go time.
"This is gen-u-ine fool's gold here," you heard Stan say, now wearing a fez atop his head. He leaned on the display, closing in on his mark. "You won't get a better deal anywhere else!"
"Is it real gold?" the customer asked.
"Why else would the word 'gold' be right there in the name?" he replied.
At first, you were convinced your eyes were deceiving you because the naive patron began shoveling the glittery rocks into the front of his tee shirt. The scene made you forget why you had come in here in the first place. For a few mesmerized minutes, you watched by the wall as Stan masterfully crafted his narrative, never once telling a direct lie.
Then, Stan's eyes met yours, pulling you out of your trance. Right, the receipts.
"I just had a few questions," you started, walking over to him. "Is this a two or a seven?"
Luckily, Stan could still read his writing. Once you had the information you needed, you headed back into the office and began tallying the first quarter's revenue in the ledger. It was quick work given Stan had begun tracking expenses the previous March, the final month of the quarter.
You were genuinely impressed—he had turned a net profit of seven cents his first month in business. That didn't sound like much, but turning any amount of profit within the first year was a feat in and of itself. He must really be milking these poor, unsuspecting sightseers for all they're worth.
Afterward, you returned to the task of sequencing, each subsequent quarter more tedious than the last due to the quickly growing number of transactions. Stan put almost every cent he earned back into the business, only keeping enough for himself to pay the mortgage, keep utilities running, and afford a measly ration of groceries. Before you knew it, hours had passed.
Every so often, you'd make a run into the shop with more questions for Stan. During one of these trips, in particular, you noticed him getting especially friendly with a woman, first resting a hand on her shoulder, then caressing her elbow before taking one of her hands into both of his, his grin as charming as ever. You scoffed. He shouldn't be making passes at other women. Didn't we just talk about this?
Before you had time to react, you saw him drop something into his pocket. Suddenly, his defensiveness about the curtains was starting to make sense.
You charged over to Stan and began dragging him away from the woman by the crook of his elbow.
"Sorry, ma'am. I just need a second to discuss something with my husband," you said, smiling at her. You whipped your head to look at him, mask dropping.
You took him to a far corner of the shop, where you hoped no one would hear you, and crossed your arms.
"Give it to me," you demanded with a whisper, holding out your hand.
"I don't know what you're talking about, toots," he said.
You shouldn't be surprised. Any man willing to steal his brother's identity and earn his living as a professional grifter wouldn't be above lying about petty theft.
"You just took something from that woman. Give. It. Now,” you reiterated more sternly.
Stan looked around for a moment, as if he was trying to map out the perfect escape plan. Then, he groaned, reaching into his pocket and dropping the diamond bracelet into your palm.
"What? A man can't steal in his own house anymore?" he complained, not meeting your eyes.
"No, you knucklehead!" you whisper-shouted, giving him a frustrated push on the shoulder. "You have no idea what this means to her. What if this was her late grandmother's bracelet or something? Besides, do you really think this is how you’re going to retain customers?"
You searched his face for any indication of remorse, but he just stood there, gaze averted, looking irritated like a petulant teenager getting reprimanded in the dean's office.
"Whatever," you resigned, "I'm giving this back."
You waited until the customer was turned around, inspecting the same snowglobes you had been looking at earlier. You bent over behind her, feigning as though you were picking something up off the ground.
"Excuse me, ma'am? Is this yours?" you asked, holding up the bracelet.
"Oh my goodness! Thank you so much," she exclaimed, slipping the jewelry back onto her wrist.
You shot Stan a look from across the room before returning to the office to continue your work, now doing so with an air of moderate annoyance.
Finally, Stan was concluding his last tour of the day. You had a few final clarifications to request, so you found yourself waiting in the giftshop as Stan checked out one of the two remaining stragglers. You were leaning against the wall, tapping your foot impatiently, when the other customer—a man—approached you.
“Hey there. I was just passing through, and you seem like someone who's familiar with the place. Would you mind showing me around?” he asked in a pseudo-friendly tone. You could practically smell the sleazy desperation seeping from his pores, but maybe that was just the stench of alcohol. Regardless, the day was almost over, and you were still exhausted from a sleepless night. You were not about to entertain his obvious advances.
“Didn’t you just take a tour?” you asked flatly.
“I mean, the ‘Murder Hut’ was alright, but I want to get to know Gravity Falls a little more intimately. How about a drink?”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” you stated. “Thanks for stopping by,” you punctuated, gesturing to the door.
“C’mon, babe, don’t be like that. What’s one drink?” he insisted, taking a step toward you. Your back was pressed firmly against the wall now.
“Leave me the hell alone,” you bit, attempting to push him back. He didn't move much.
That's when you saw a hand clap the man on the shoulder from behind, spinning him around. It was Stan, shoulders squared and chest puffed.
“You heard the lady. Leave her the hell alone,” Stan bellowed.
Stan, still gripping the creep by his shoulder, seized the man's opposite wrist, jerking him away so that he now stood firmly between the two of you.
“Relax. We were just talking,” the man barked back.
“Really? Because to me it looked like you were bothering my wife,” Stan replied, enunciating his words with more bite.
“Wife?” the man laughed. “I don’t see no ring on her finger.”
He was right, after all. You wanted to make sure the whole marriage facade was believable, but you were so careless, you’d forgotten to put your ring back on. That was stupid.
“Doesn’t matter. You better get the hell out of here before I break yours,” threatened Stan, using both of his hands to push the man closer to the exit.
“Fuck—fine!” he surrendered. “Whatever.” The man grumbled as he stormed out, and the sound of his cursing faded away as the door fell shut behind him, bell chiming.
Once more, you and Stan were alone in the giftshop. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, that such a pathetic excuse of a man had actually scared you, but the rapid thumping in your chest couldn’t lie.
“Thanks for the assist,” you said.
“No need to thank me,” said Stan. “Losers like him piss me off, and I’m always ready to blow off a little steam.” It seemed that it didn’t matter if you were apologizing to him or thanking him, he wouldn’t hear it either way.
“Still, I really appreciate it,” you said, hoping he’d accept your gratitude this time. He looked at you for a moment, blinking, then raised his hand.
“Does that mean you’ll let me keep this?” he asked, a flashy gold wristwatch dangling from one of his fingers.
You tried to maintain a disapproving look, one you’d mastered during your tenure as a teacher, but a small smile broke through your lips anyway.
“Fine,” you conceded, “but only because that asshole deserved it!”
Stan smiled at you with all of his teeth, then tossed the watch into the air before catching it and dropping it back into his pocket.
You asked your questions, he counted the money in the till, then you retreated to the office to finish tidying up the ledger while he swept the floors.
After a long day like today, you were eager to retreat into another old routine—a ritual of sorts—you'd long missed. In the kitchen, you brewed yourself a cup of black tea. It was only a little after five thirty. Usually, you'd opt for chamomile this time of evening, but you needed the caffeine to keep you upright.
Warm mug in hand, you propped yourself onto the couch situated on the back porch. Wrapping a blanket around yourself, you looked out into the darkened forest, the early moonlight dancing along the crystalline structures peppering the ground. You took in a deep breath through your nose, lungs filling with the chill evening air, then breathed it out again. You had to admit, you missed the way Gravity Falls looked at night.
You languidly sipped your tea for a while, your mind blank except for the numbers and dollar signs you saw behind your eyelids whenever you blinked.
Behind you, you heard the door creak open. Stan joined you on the porch, standing beside you with a bottle of beer in hand. He took a deep swig.
"Have you eaten anything since breakfast?" you asked.
"No. Why?"
"Because you should probably eat something before you drink."
Stan grumbled in indifference. "It's more economic this way."
Stan sat himself on the edge of the porch steps. He set his beer down beside him and began to fish around in his coat pocket. His hand reappeared holding a carton of cigarettes. He pulled one out of the carton with his teeth and clicked open a zippo lighter with a free hand while the other stuffed the carton back into his pocket. You watched as he lit the cigarette, cupping his palm around the flame to protect it from the evening breeze. He took a long drag, plucked the cigarette from his lips, and let out a sigh. You wondered if you were witnessing a ritual yourself.
The two of you continued to sip your respective beverages in silence before he spoke up again, stamping out the cigarette in the dirt and tossing the filter in an empty coffee can perched on the top step.
"Take a few minutes to breathe, but don't get too comfortable," he said, then downed the remainder of his drink. "Day's not over yet."
You watched out of the corner of your eye as he pushed himself to his feet and turned around to head back inside. You heard the click of the screen door opening, then another click when it closed. You were alone again, left to steep both in mind and in reality.
Emivk rj uea—wk psui pc ulxwitsefw. Cmhs ndk r acyzqy emivkpsii gwkkwi acm.
summary: after helping the mandalorian with a favor, he brings you a gift as a thank you. little do both of you know that this gift sparks a connection that neither of you can deny, and thoughts that din never considered before you.
tags/warnings: dual pov, no use of y/n cuz ew, alcohol consumption, mentions of medicine/contraceptives, a very tiny mention of being chased/hunted down, hella chemistry, fluff, language, jealousy, sexual tension, yearning, dirty talk, heavy makeout, biting, fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, breast play, slight choking kink, piv unprotected sex, praise kink, breeding kink, cream pie, helmet off, dark room sensory focused.
author’s note: listen listen LISTEN... I know, it's been a hot minute 🥲 Life happened and all that jazz. Tbh this has been in my drafts for a while but I decided to finish it now that the movie is out so this is probably canon divergent at this point lol. But when I tell you I ran away writing this, bitch I raaaan. To everyone who wondered what happened to that bottle of liquor in s3, this is for you pookies🫵🏻🙂↕️
**update** this fic is now on AO3! It's my first work on there at the moment but feel free to drop some love 😁✨
When you decided to make Nevarro your home, you expected it to be a rough place. A far off den of thieves, bounty hunters, and a sleazy connection to the old empire. Nonetheless, it was cheap so you convinced yourself you could put up with it. It wasn’t anything new to you. Plus, at the time, you really didn’t have anywhere else to go.
Thankfully, the reputation has drastically improved over the past few years. It’s not Naboo, but there’s a sort of gritty charm to it. Rebels became marshals. Bars became schools. Thieves became honest vendors. Hell, there’s even kaf shops here now.
You’re no stranger to drastic changes in this galaxy. You’ve beared witness to the rise and fall of an empire after all.
But receiving a bottle of wine at night from a notorious ex-bounty hunter is definitely a first for you.
“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.
The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.
“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”
All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.
Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.
Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.
You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.
You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.
“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”
“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”
“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”
“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”
“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.
“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”
You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.
“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…
“Thank you very much.”
The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-
“H-hey, Mando?”
Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.
“Yes?”
“I…. w-well…”
You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.
“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”
He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.
“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”
Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.
There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach
He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.
“Alright.”
The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?
A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.
“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”
“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”
“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”
“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”
His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.
“What’s this memory?”
“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.
“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”
“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”
“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”
“Something reliable,” he adds.
“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.
You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.
His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.
He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.
Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.
“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.
In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.
There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“
“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”
Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.
You like it. You like it a lot.
“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.
“Likewise,” you smile back.
“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”
“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.
With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.
“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.
He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.
“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”
“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”
The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.
“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.
“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”
That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.
“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”
Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.
The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.
“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.
“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.
The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.
Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.
“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”
“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”
“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”
“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”
“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”
“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”
With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.
“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.
“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”
A pause streches between you.
“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.
“Shit,” you tsk.
You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.
But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.
“Hey so… can I ask you something?”
“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.
“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”
Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.
“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.
You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.
“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?
Oh god, you really are drunk…
Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that.
“Too much,” you broach gently.
“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”
He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.
“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”
“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”
“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”
Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…
Do not finish that thought…
“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"
“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”
Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.
“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”
A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.
“Well, you assumed wrong.”
The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.
“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”
“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”
“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”
He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.
“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”
You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…
“Yeah… Me too.”
You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.
“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.
“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”
“I appreciate the hospitality.”
“I appreciate the company.”
You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.
Nope. Not doing that.
You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.
“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.
“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.
For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.
You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.
The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.
With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.
“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.
When I drink. Suuuure.
“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.
“Now I know…,” he repeats.
There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.
With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.
“Don’t invite me in again.”
And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.
…what?
•
Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…
Damn… it’s been a while.
For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.
No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.
Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.
All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.
Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.
Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.
Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.
What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?
Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.
But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.
Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.
But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.
After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.
Street food it is.
“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.
Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.
Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.
“Okay, which onesss-“
Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.
“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.
The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.
Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.
Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.
Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.
“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.
Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.
It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.
“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”
Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.
“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”
“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”
Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.
Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.
“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”
“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”
But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.
“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.
You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.
But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.
“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”
Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”.
Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.
His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.
You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.
“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”
Shit.
For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.
“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”
“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”
Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…
“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”
“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…
No. Stop it.
“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.
“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”
That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.
“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”
A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.
“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.
A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.
You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.
“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”
Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.
You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.
What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?
The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.
What the hell is he doing?
He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.
That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.
“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”
Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.
Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.
“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”
“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”
First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.
Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.
“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.
Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.
“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”
A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.
“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”
“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”
His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.
That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.
He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.
You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.
That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.
•
You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.
I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.
The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.
That’s it, Shop Girl…
You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…
Bend over for me, Shop Girl…
That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.
You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.
Right. Simple.
After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?
It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.
And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.
There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.
On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.
A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...
Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.
The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.
"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.
“It’s been a whi-“
“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”
Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.
“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.
“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.
“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.
You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.
You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth.
"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.
"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"
He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.
"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."
You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.
“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.
His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.
“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”
He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.
“You’re mixing… tea?”
You hum a yes and nod.
“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”
“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.
“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”
“What does it prevent?”
“Pregnancy.”
A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.
Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.
“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.
“Guess that’s on me,” he says.
“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”
“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.
“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.
“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.
“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.
God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.
“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”
And there’s the answer you’re looking for.
Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.
Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.
But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.
It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.
“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”
It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.
“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”
The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.
Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?
You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.
“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”
“It was twelve the last time.”
“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.
“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”
Ugh, great. One of those.
“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"
“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”
That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?
“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.
Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…
“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“
It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.
“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”
With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.
He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.
Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.
The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.
“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.
“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.
You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.
“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.
“What?”
“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”
His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.
“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.
“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”
Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.
“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.
“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.
You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.
“And if I said yes?”
“I’m being serious.”
“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Yeah? What is your point then?”
He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.
“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”
That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.
You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…
“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”
“Good…”
Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.
What you’re both afraid to say out loud.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.
Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.
You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.
Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.
"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.
Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.
“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.
“Work call?”
“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”
“R-right! The pharmakits."
You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.
“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”
He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.
“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”
“Just… be safe.”
“I will…”
Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.
“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”
“Until next time,” you repeat.
He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?
You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…
“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”
“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.
Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.
For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.
An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.
You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.
And you love that he keeps coming back.
You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.
At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.
Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.
You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.
•
Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.
He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.
“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”
Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.
The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.
“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.
Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.
Well… most people, that is.
An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.
And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.
Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.
In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-
“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.
“Hmm?”
“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”
“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.
“Alright, alright.”
“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”
“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”
“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.
“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”
He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.
“It’s nothing,” he deflects.
“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.
Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.
“Sounds like you need to get laid.”
Maker...
“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.
The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.
He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.
“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”
Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.
“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”
“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“
“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.
What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.
Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.
It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.
True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.
Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…
A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.
He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.
As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.
You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.
You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.
Enough. Stop watching.
The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.
The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…
Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.
What… the fuck?
Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.
Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.
“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.
“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”
Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.
“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”
“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”
“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.
The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.
Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.
From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.
“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“
“I need to have a word with you.”
Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.
“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?
“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”
Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.
“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.
“Preferably, yes,” he answers.
“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“
”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”
You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.
Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.
He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.
“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”
Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.
“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.
“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”
“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”
“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.
“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”
Damn it… He’s such an asshole.
He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?
“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”
“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.
“I’m not,” he assures.
A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.
“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”
That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.
“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”
“Right.”
“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.
“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”
“Was it the thing about the name?”
“N-no.”
“Was it the Pantora story?
“No.”
“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“
“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”
“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”
Your quirk your brow at him.
“Curious how?”
“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.
“… Sorry, what?”
“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”
“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”
“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”
“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”
Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.
“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”
“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.
“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.
“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.
“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.
“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.
“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”
You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.
“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.
There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…
“No, you’re not.”
You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.
Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.
“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”
•
“Is all this really necessary?”
Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.
“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”
Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.
“Are you sure about this?”
Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.
“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.
You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.
“Can you see anything?”
“Not a bit,” you answer.
With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.
“Agh.”
“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”
Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.
“Here," he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…
You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.
“This help?”
“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.
From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.
And then… contact.
At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.
Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.
You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.
That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.
He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.
Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.
The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.
He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.
A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.
“Mando?”
“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.
“Is this really just about curiosity…?”
Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.
So he lets it fly.
“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”
The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.
There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.
“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.
And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.
Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.
“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”
“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.
“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”
“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”
“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.
What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.
“Next time.”
It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.
With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.
"Lay down for me."
With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.
So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.
“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.
His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.
“Mando…”
Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.
“Shop Girl…”
The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.
“Do you want this," he asks.
His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.
"Is this ok?"
He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.
"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."
She needs me.
The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.
By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.
You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.
“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”
“Right there... Perfect..."
"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.
"Then taste me, Mando."
He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.
He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.
"What are you- ah."
That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.
"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."
No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers. The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.
You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.
“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Make me come, Mando... Please…”
He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.
"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"
Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.
Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.
“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.
You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.
It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.
Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.
There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.
What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.
And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.
•
If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.
Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.
He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.
Maker, he’s so good with his hands.
His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.
“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.
“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”
Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.
A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.
Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.
You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.
“H-hold on!”
Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.
“You want me to stop?,” he pants.
“No… Hell no. It’s just…”
How do you even begin to ask this?
“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”
Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.
Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…
Oh shit.
His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.
Oh shit.
“Does that answer your question?”
The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.
He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.
“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.
“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”
With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.
It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.
“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”
“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”
He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.
“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”
His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.
You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.
Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.
“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”
“Come for me... Let me feel you."
Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.
“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”
You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.
"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.
"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.
Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.
Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.
“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”
Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.
“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”
“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”
“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“
His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.
When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.
Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.
“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”
His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.
You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?
Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.
Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.
“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.
“Really?”
“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.
“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”
He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.
“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”
There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.
“Me too, Mando...”
•
•
•
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summary: A careless comment from Spencer during a conversation about your classes leads to a disagreement. And to something you’ve both been holding back for months.
word count: 0.7k
warnings: fem!reader, rossi’s-niece!reader, established relationship, age gap (26x19) angst lowkey but it’s solved and all is well :)
You and Spencer were sitting on his couch after dinner. You were trying to explain a concept from one of your classes that you’d been struggling with, but were excited because you got it correct on the test.
Spencer nods as you explain, clearly listening intently. But when Spencer listens, he has to make it known.
“That’s actually a pretty basic application of the theory,” he says. He doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s just stating something, but you feel a pain in your chest.
“Basic?” you repeated a little bit sharply.
“I mean, it’s just an introductory understanding of the concept.”
“So you think I’m stupid?” Your tone is serious.
Spencer sits up, “No!” He defends himself. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate that I think you’re stupid I-”
“But that’s how it feels, Spencer,” you interrupt him, your words coming out fast.. “You do this all the time, I’m trying to tell you something and be excited about something but you just have to prove that you know more about it than I do and even though I know that you do it still makes me feel like you think I’m an idiot.”
Spencer looked devastated. He reached for your hand, but you pulled back. You don’t really even know why.
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he says, looking at you with sad, wide eyes.
“I know you don’t,” you say, finally looking at him. “But you make me feel like it sometimes, even if you don’t mean to.”
Silence. And not the comfortable kind. Spencer runs a hand through his hair, his eyes and face full of guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he says through a thick voice. “I don’t mean to make you feel like that. I’m really sorry.”
You look down at your hands to attempt to hide the fact that a tear fell down your cheek.
“I know you weren’t trying to mean,” you say. “And I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s just hard to keep up with you sometimes.”
Spencer moves closer, hesitant. When you don't pull away, he gently cups your face with both hands and tilts your head up to look at him. He brushes the tears off your cheeks with his thumbs. He stares at you for a long moment with glassy eyes.
“Y/N,” he says, eyes raking up and down your face repeatedly. You raise your eyebrows to show you heard him.
“I’m in love with you.”
You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you stared up at him. His hands stay on your face, you can feel him trembling slightly.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he says after a moment. “I just really needed you to know.”
You continue staring at him, unable to form words.
“I’m sorry if it’s too soon or not an acceptable time to say that,” he continues. “But I’ve been in love with you since my birthday and it’s obvious to me it’s not going anywhere and I just really need you to know.”
A sob broke from your chest. You reach up and grab his wrists, steadying his shaking.
“I love you too, Spencer.” You choke out. “I’ve been too scared to say it because I didn’t want you to feel like it was too much.”
“You could never be too much,” he says, leaning in closer to your face. You can feel his shaky breath against your skin. “I’m sorry I made you feel stupid. That was never my intention, okay?” He looks into your eyes for confirmation.
You nod at him.
“I’m sorry I got so defensive,” you say, tears starting to come out again.
Spencer pulls you into his chest, one hand on your cheek and the other on the back of your head.
“It’s understandable. I promise I’ll get better at this,” he says into your hair. “”I love you.”
“I love you,” you say back. “And thank you.”
_____
Read Part 25 Here! 🕰️ (coming soon)
_____
BUY ME A COFFEE
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a/n: guys i have a crazy idea for something but it might be insane idk, i guess stay tuned for the next part to see if i figure it out
also sorry for the insanely short part? idk what happened i don't really know why it's so short and why i want to leave it like this lmao
_____
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✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you and Bucky hate each other, so it's not unusual for him to act cold around you. but this is differant. this is... feral. and you're starting to wonder what's wrong✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, enemies to lovers, ragebating Bucky Barnes, emotional angst, everyone's bad at feelings, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (dry humping, manhandling, bucky's feral, emotional sex, dry orgasm, truly foul dirty talk, hyperspermia, pussy eating like crazy, fingering, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, bucky gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, mean!bucky, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick bucky, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 11.1k✦
✦Author's Note: i'm so normal about sex pollen✦
It doesn’t bother you. If you tell yourself enough, you’re really going to believe that it doesn’t bother you.
But he’s everywhere.
There isn’t a corner of the damn building without Bucky Barnes. You go to the kitchen and he’s there making a sandwich, watching you move around the counter like he thinks you’re going to bite him. In the gym he’s at the weights and the punching bags, and you try to ignore him but he grunts and moans and you think he’s doing it on purpose. the living area he takes over the TV and watches whatever he wants to catch up with the times. No matter how politely you ask him to switch to something else, he always tells you to just wait. Then you try, but he’s spread out on the couch until your knees have to bump, and your face gets all hot, and you have to stomp away before you start acting on all your stupid thoughts.
Because it’s not just Bucky’s eternal presence and stubbornness and smirking that burrows under your skin. It’s that you like it.
That when you’re next to him on the couch, all you can think about is that place where your body’s connect. He’s warm. Tall and warm. Your skin tingles at the contact point, and whenever he shifts it’s like you’re being shot up with a drug.
“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”
You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”
“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“
“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”
Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not-“
“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.
“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.
“Congratulations.”
You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-
Get a fucking grip.
“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”
Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.
You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.
It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.
“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.
That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.
You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.
As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.
Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.
The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.
“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.
Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.
You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.
“I was busy.”
“Too busy for your job?”
“It’s not my job-“
“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.
“Have you been carrying that around all day?”
“That doesn’t matter-“
“Yes, it really does-“
Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“
“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“
“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“
“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”
“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.
But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.
“Why’re you skipping.”
You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.
“I have a date.”
“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.
“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.
Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.
“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”
“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.
“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“
The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.
“What’s-“
“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.
“No, he’s not-“
“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”
Then he’s gone.
And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.
You just need to know what the fuck that was.
There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.
You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.
And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.
“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.
You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.
At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.
“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”
He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.
The mission is over.
Two days early.
Your jaw tightens.
Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.
Something went wrong, and they have to come back.
You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.
But they’re back early.
And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all.
You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.
Maybe they really did just… Finish early.
You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.
Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.
“You need to go, Buck-“
“I’m fine-“
“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“
“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“
Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.
He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.
His hand is hot.
Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.
He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.
“Hi.” You whisper.
His throat bobs. “You’re back.”
“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“
“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”
Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.
“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.
He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.
“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.
“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“
“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.
He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.
“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”
Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.
“How was your date?” He grunts.
“Bucky-“
“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.
The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.
You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.
Get a fucking grip.
“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”
And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.
But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.
“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”
Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.
Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.
Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.
You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.
“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.
You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.
“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”
Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.
That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.
You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.
Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.
He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.
You somehow—just barely—fight it.
“Why can’t I access these files.”
Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.
“Barnes-“
“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”
You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“
“Steve should change that.”
God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.
“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”
Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.
“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”
You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.
And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.
You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.
Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.
Instead, you find Bucky.
He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.
You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.
“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.
He just nods.
You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.
“You want hot chocolate?”
A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.
And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.
His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.
Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.
“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”
You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.
He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.
But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.
You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.
That he wants to be here.
Near you.
He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.
Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.
It’s almost a moan.
You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.
But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.
You feel almost sick.
It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.
His fever is building again.
You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.
When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.
You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.
If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘
But it is Bucky.
And he’s never going to make anything that easy.
You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.
“Hi.” You say lamely.
He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“
“Bucky, are you-“
“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.
You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.
But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.
“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“
“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”
You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.
And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.
“Bucky-“
“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”
You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.
But you do go right to Steve.
“What happened on the mission.”
Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.
“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“
“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”
Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’
“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“
“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”
You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”
Steve sighs. “Is it you?”
“Yep.”
He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“
“I really don’t care.”
“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.
You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.
“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“
“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.
“No, you just won’t tell me-“
“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“
“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“
“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”
“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.
“I know how it sounds-“
“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“
“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”
You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole.
“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Steve-“
“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”
You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.
“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”
Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.
“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“
You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.
And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.
“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”
You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”
Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”
You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.
But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.
“What are the symptoms?”
Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”
Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”
“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”
“But- Bucky-“
“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”
“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”
Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”
“Before or after the mating?”
Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“
“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”
“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“
Steve says your name plainly. You blink.
“What-“
“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”
You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.
“Steve-“
“I didn’t say anything-“
“Yes, you did-“
“Nope.”
You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”
Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.
“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”
This is a bad idea.
Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.
But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.
After you fix this for him.
If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.
Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and move to Indonesia.
But if he doesn’t turn you down…
You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.
“Fuck off, Stevie-“
“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response.
Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.
He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.
His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.
You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.
“You shouldn’t be here-“
“Steve said you need me.”
You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-
“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.
“I- I made him.”
He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”
“I was worried about you-“
“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“
“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”
Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.
“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“
“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”
He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.
“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“
“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”
He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“
“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.
“Who says?”
“You’re an ass to me-“
“You’re an ass to me.”
“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”
Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.
“Me neither.”
You nod. “But…”
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”
You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.
“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“
Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.
It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.
Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.
You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.
“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”
And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.
But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.
You didn’t know you could want him more.
“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”
For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.
Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.
“You- You got no idea, do you?”
Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“
“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”
And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.
“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.
“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”
“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”
He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.
“Didn’t you?”
You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.
“Bet I imagined more.”
And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.
You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.
“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”
You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.
“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”
Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.
You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.
“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”
He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.
“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“
Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.
“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“
He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.
Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.
You can’t have that.
“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”
Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.
“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”
You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.
“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”
He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“
You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.
“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.
“How?”
“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“
His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.
“You think this is funny?” He rasps.
You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”
He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.
“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“
“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.
He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“
Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.
There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.
A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.
Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.
“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.
Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.
Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.
You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.
He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.
“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.
And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.
“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.
You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.
Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.
“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”
You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.
Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.
“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”
You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.
You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.
“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”
And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.
So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.
Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.
“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”
You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.
“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”
He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.
“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”
You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.
Permission to go further.
His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.
“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”
In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.
A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.
Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.
“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“
“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“
His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.
Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.
“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”
He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.
“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
“Bu- Bucky-“
“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“
Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.
He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.
Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.
You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.
“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”
You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“
“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”
You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.
“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“
He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.
And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.
“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“
The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.
Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.
He’s jerking off while he eats you out. He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.
Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.
Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.
“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“
Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.
You don’t want to.
With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.
“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“
Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles
“Good girl.” He coos.
You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.
“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.
You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.
“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”
You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.
But you’re at an advantage.
Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.
You want him to give in.
So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.
Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.
His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.
“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”
You almost beam. Yes, please.
Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.
He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.
“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”
If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.
But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.
The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.
“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“
Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.
He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.
You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.
“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“
His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.
That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.
Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.
“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.
He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.
“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“
“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“
Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.
And he’s not even done.
The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.
You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.
He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.
You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.
Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.
“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.
You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”
You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.
They’re blue again.
“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.
He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.
“I’m back.”
You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.
You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.
He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.
God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-
Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.
He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-
“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”
Oh.
Or that. That’s nice.
You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.
Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.
“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”
You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.
“Yeah. I’m staying.”
✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
Description: After a year of separation, you return to Gravity Falls to finalize the divorce your husband has long drawn out, but instead of finding Ford Pines, you come face to face with the stranger who's taken his name.
Stanley Pines x f!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut (?), allusions to Billford/Fiddauthor
Status: In-Progress
Word Count: 8.2k
Author's Note: It took me forever to write this chapter, and I'm not really sure how I feel about it. In any case, I'm really excited to share Chapter 4 next week. It's probably my favorite chapter I've written so far. I suppose the old adage is true: you win some, you lose some.
You laid in your bed, but you did not sleep. Despite the exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, a nervous buzzing in your body kept you awake, and in your lucidity old memories taunted you.
The looming redwoods stretched on for miles, and you watched each one pass by through the passenger side window. You'd made an attempt to count them, but you'd long given up by the time the car slowed to a stop and Ford cut the ignition. You turned to him and saw the gentlest smile spread across his lips.
"Welcome home, my dear," he cooed. Your chest flooded with warmth at the honeyed sound of his voice.
You unbuckled your seatbelt and moved to open the door, to which Ford tutted playfully. He insisted you stay seated before exiting the car himself and walking around to open the door for you. He held his hand out, which you graciously accepted.
"My my, Stanford Pines, you are quite the gentleman," you teased as he helped you from your seat.
Once you were out of the car and on your feet, he shut the door behind you. You didn't wait for him. Already you found yourself drifting toward your new home, completely entranced—it was a rustic A-frame log cabin accented with beautiful stained glass windows. You were already imagining the cool summer nights sitting on the porch and the warm winter evenings cozying up by the fireside. This was the beginning of your new life together.
You turned to him and asked, "You built this for us?"
"Do you like it?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck, a lopsided smile upon his face.
"Are you kidding me?"
You closed the space between you, practically slamming your body into his as you enveloped him in a tight hug. You felt his cheek nuzzle into your hair and breathed in his familiar scent, something coniferous and reminiscent of his name.
In a messed up way, you found yourself glad he seldom slept in bed with you those last few months. It gave your comforter the chance to forget that scent. To breathe it in again would be too much. Even the thought of it made your stomach churn.
You tried your best to be a good wife. Why wasn't it enough?
You tossed and turned for hours in an attempt to clear your head of those nagging thoughts, but your efforts didn't amount to anything. You couldn't get comfortable, and your brain wouldn't shut the hell up. By the time five a.m. rolled around, you had officially given up. If you were going to fall asleep, it would have happened by now, so you figured you might as well do something productive with your waking hours.
You sat up and swung your legs over the side of your bed, stretching your arms above your head to work out the tension that had built up in your back overnight. Sighing out one last yawn, you willed yourself onto your feet and prepared yourself to face another day. At this point, another series of thoughts began to nag at you.
You had been such a mess yesterday, and you felt awful about the way you had treated Stan. First, you had threatened to shoot him, and still he had attempted to comfort you upon learning your husband was stranded in another dimension. And you were so caught up in your own baggage, you didn't stop to consider how he must have been feeling. You'd lost your husband, but he had lost his brother. The cherry on top? You blackmailed him into a phony marriage. Your agreed upon arrangement was probably the best possible conclusion to yesterday's saga, but no amount of rationalizing would erase how shitty you felt about it all.
You wanted to do something to make it up to him, to apologize for your tactlessness... and for the violence. It was decided: you'd cook him breakfast as a way of saying 'thanks for being so considerate even though I victimized you multiple times'.
Now having a clearly defined mission, you stepped into your slippers and started your trek toward the kitchen. As soon as you left your room, you could hear Stan's snoring from down the hall. He must be living in the spare bedroom Fiddleford used to sleep in. From the sound of him, you assumed Stan was a heavy sleeper, but you did your best to creep down the stairs as quietly as you could anyway, careful not to wake him.
The air downstairs was cooler, a frigid reminder of Gravity Falls' chill winter mornings. The sun had yet to rise, but you opened the kitchen blinds out of habit regardless, then opened the fridge to see what you had to work with.
You were concerned.
All Stan had was a half-drank six pack of beer, a few slices of American cheese you were almost certain you'd bought yourself, and an opened can of 'The Brown Meat'.
To put it more accurately, you were not concerned—you were disturbed. How was this guy still alive?
No matter. If you owed Stan an apology, it wouldn't hurt to do some shopping for him too. You quickly took a look inside the cupboards and scanned the room for anything else you might need, making a mental list of things to pick up at the store. The only other things he seemed to have in the kitchen was some watered down generic brand dish soap and a set of salt and pepper shakers. Your list was going to be longer than you thought.
You crept back upstairs, returning to your room to rummage through your purse for grocery money. Your revolver stared at you from the bottom of the bag. Deciding you didn't need it for a simple grocery run, you stashed the gun in the drawer of your nighstand. Then, you began to count the cash still left in your purse. You were down to your last few hundred bucks, so you crossed your fingers and hoped it would be enough to cover any necessary expenses.
Now all you had to do was yourself ready for the day ahead. You held your hand to your breath and considered grabbing the toothbrush from the duffle left in the backseat of your car. You couldn't remember the last time you'd replaced it, so you added it to your mental list and decided to brush your teeth when you came back.
The one thing that couldn't wait until later was a shower. You were much too tired last night, and you were even more tired now, but you were desperate to wash off the remnants of yesterday's drive. You'd driven sixteen hours to Gravity Falls, and your skin sure felt like it.
You strolled to the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain.
Fuck.
He only has 2-in-1.
Shampoo and conditioner were also going on the list, but at least your good towels were still here.
After successfully scrubbing the grime off your body, you pulled on an old button up and some jeans you hadn't seen in quite a long time. The fit was a little big on you now, but they'd do.
The trip to the store itself was uneventful. You'd been responsible for all the shopping when you were with Ford, and because nothing changed in this town (except for your husband and your house), you were still able to navigate the most efficient route through the store. You took great pride in this.
When you arrived back home, you were again careful to move quietly as you unloaded the groceries in the kitchen. You wanted breakfast to be a surprise. Also, you still weren't sure how to act around Stan yet, and you felt you needed a few more minutes to prepare before he woke up.
Now that you had some real ingredients to cook with, you got to work mixing up pancake batter and heating up pans. This was an old routine you didn't mind. It had been a long time since you last cooked a meal yourself. After you and Ford separated, you didn't actually end up settling down anywhere, so it was nice to be in your own kitchen again.
After flipping your last pancake, you laid six strips of bacon on a hot frying pan, then maneuvered yourself to the coffee maker to put on a fresh pot. You heard the stairs creaking behind you just as the beans began to brew. You turned your head to look at him. Stan's hair was still mussed from sleep, and he was sporting a white tank top paired with plaid pajama pants.
"Good morning," you greeted him with a sheepish smile.
"What's all this?" he asked. His voice was especially gruff in the morning.
"Oh, you know," you started, "wifely duties." Stan huffed out an amused grunt and grabbed a mug out of the cupboard without saying anything.
"You have great timing, by the way. How do you like your eggs?" you asked, flipping the bacon with a spatula.
"I'll eat 'em however you make 'em, toots," he said, then poured himself coffee from the pot. You stared at him for a second.
"The question I asked was, 'How do you like your eggs?'" you repeated. Another moment passed as he took a sip from his mug.
"Sunny-side up."
"Coming right up," you told him, cracking two eggs into another pan. "By the way, I don't know how you take your coffee, but I bought some milk and sugar too." You nodded your head toward the cupboard.
He shuffled over and set his mug down on the counter. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he proceeded to pour what you would consider to be an egregious amount of sugar into his coffee. He topped off his cup with a splash of milk, leaving barely enough room for him to stir without spilling. Stan took a sip, and with the taste to his liking, sat down at the kitchen table. You got the impression that the food situation you'd awoken to this morning wasn't exactly a matter of choice.
Once the eggs were done cooking, you plated the food and set them down in front of him. You sat yourself in the chair across from him, your own cup of black coffee in hand.
"Dig in," you commanded him, grabbing your own fork and knife.
The two of you enjoyed breakfast in silence, still unsure of how to interact with each other. You had started to feel a little more comfortable with each other at the diner yesterday evening, but progress was not a linear path. It would take some time for the both of you to get used to each other's presence—an adjustment period.
Stan lifted his plate and used his fork to shovel the last of his pancakes into his mouth, barely chewing before he swallowed.
"Thanks for the food," he said, looking into his coffee cup. "You didn't have to do that."
"It's the least I could do considering I almost shot you in the face," you replied, offering him an awkward laugh.
"You can say that again." His eyes drifted up from his mug to peer into yours. He looked so tired.
"I'm serious. I'm really sorry about... everything. This town has an uncanny talent for turning otherwise rational people into paranoid miscreants," you admitted.
"Don't sweat it," he said before downing his last sip of coffee. "That wasn't the first time I've had a gun to my head, so it was a pretty normal Tuesday all things considered." A low chuckle rumbled through his chest, as if he had just told a joke.
"Well, it was my first time pointing a gun at anyone, so I'm still really sorry," you said more earnestly this time. He chuckled again.
"You could've fooled me."
"Really?" you asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Did I seem like I knew what I was doing?" Stan was smirking now.
"It was a solid hold up. Very intimidating," he assured you. You couldn't tell if he was fucking with you or not, but a proud smile crept its way onto your face regardless.
"So, what's the move for today, bossman?" you asked.
"Well, my firsy tour today is scheduled around ten, so I should have enough time to get ready and show you around the place before any customers start schleppin' over."
"Sounds like a plan," you replied.
This worked out perfectly. You knew things would be different around here since Stan moved in, but you hadn't gotten the chance to look around much yet. Ford's lab space had begun to eat up the square footage of your living space by the time you packed you bags, and if the front room was any indication, Stan had reversed some of his renovations. It was homier now, like it used to be. You were curious to see what else Stan had changed.
You stood up and began to clear the table, but didn't make it very far before Stan started snatching plates from your hands.
"Hey, what're you—"
"You cook, I clean, right?" There was that toothy smile of his again. It drew a smile from your lips too.
"So, Stan Pines is a gentleman," you teased.
"I'm just trying not to get shot," he quipped back, dropping the dishes in the sink and tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder.
That's when you noticed it. Hiding beneath the towel, Stan had some sort of marking on his back. It was peaking out from under his tanktop. You didn't get a very good look at it before the moment passed, but the symbol appeared to have been scribed onto raised skin. He was branded.
You had only recovered a few small fragments of Stan's history since meeting, and already you did not know what to make of them. Before yesterday, his mere existence had been an absolute mystery, and now he was standing before you, a whole human being carrying around his own baggage just like everyone else. Your chest ached.
Summary: You and Javi go grocery shopping in Laredo.
Warnings: All domestic fluff! Established relationship. Nicknames cause it's me (baby, pretty bird). One plot point I won't tag to avoid spoilers (it should be fine? I've never written this trope before! But if you read it and think it's worth tagging/spoiling, let me know!)
A/N: Written for @the-blind-assassin-12's A Picture is Worth 1000 Words Challenge (sorry I went a wee bit over the limit!) - when Alyssa very kindly gave me the above left picture, I knew I had to write something very domestic and fluffy for our favourite beleaguered DEA agent. He happy now 🥹 If you want to, you can image this to be the HEA for Birthday Present!Javi, but it's not necessary 😊 the story is a standalone! (When I wrote it, though, I was thinking of them 🤭) As for the interaction in the middle, could be ambiguous? You should read it however it comes across to you, but to me, it's totally friendly, no bad vibes👍🏻Cause that's what Javi deserves 🥹 Thank you for hosting, Alyssa!! xoxoxo / Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘
“What’s this?” you ask, as Javi deposits a pair of brand new oven mitts into the cart.
A roguish grin flashes at you and before you know it, the mitts are lightly bopped on your head in a loving fashion, “Oven mitts, pretty bird.”
“I know what they are, Javi,” you giggle, “I just mean, why are we getting them? They’re not on the list.”
“You and your list,” Javi chuckles fondly, “You nearly burned your hands yesterday night taking the lasagna out of the oven. Chucho hasn’t baked in 30 years - those oven mitts of his are so old, a piece of paper has better insulation. You should have let me do it, baby.”
“I’m trying to impress your father, Javi.”
“You don’t need to try, pretty bird. That man would go to war for you. All the Peña men would,” the daring DEA agent flashes his famous smile at you - not the same one you fell for long ago back in Columbia, but it’s no less devastating. The old smile was a little tighter and it strained to reach the pain in his eyes; that smile was a weapon, a mask, elusive and fleeting. The smile he flashes you these days is no less dangerous, but it comes more naturally and more frequent; its lines have settle easily on this man’s gorgeous face, deep and earned, softening all his features but especially the browns of those same eyes. Both smiles can and have made you swoon on the spot; you’re grateful you have the bar of the shopping cart to lean on for support.
The two of you grin dopily at one another over your cartful of groceries, oblivious to the other shoppers in this Laredo grocery store. You may be far from home, but the love you share is the same everywhere, unwavering and soul affirming. Neither of you count the minutes that pass, it could be one or twenty, before you both snap back to the present, to the ambient muzak playing over the produce section.
“Okay, baby, I think we’ve covered everything on that list of yours, all that’s left is tonight’s dinner. We got the steaks for grilling - anything else?” Javi rubs his hands together, eager to get back to the ranch and show off his skill on the barbeque.
You giggle and gesture cheekily around you, “Vegetables?” At Javi’s nose scrunch, you crook your index finger for him to lean forward, planting a quick peck to that kissable pout of his, “If the Peña men are to go to war, they’ll need to eat more vegetables.”
Javi chases your lips, capturing them with a passionate, but still public appropriate smooch, “Okay, okay, can’t ever say no to you, pretty bird. Peppers. Some asparagus. Corn?” He’s already walking away, headed for a barrel of sweet corn when you shout after him, “Mushrooms!”
“Mushrooms!” comes the confirmation, loud and clear, accompanied by a thumbs up held high. You hum to yourself, ogling the man’s backside as he starts digging through ears of corn – you hope he never gives up those tight jeans, no matter what the current style is. There’s little danger of that happening; Javier Peña has never been one to try and blend in, follow trends – he’s one of a kind, this man of yours.
“You’ve sure got that man all trained up, running around fetching the groceries while you stay with the cart.”
You turn to see a pretty woman with dirty blonde hair and a pleasant look about her, she’s around Javi’s age and pushing her own very full shopping cart – unable to determine if her tone is awestruck, joking, or… something else, your reply is a little wary, “Sorry?”
“I never thought I’d see the day when Javier Peña would be seen doing run of the mill, domestic tasks here in Laredo. Did he move back?”
You know who the woman is now, and while you’re still no closer to figuring out the intention of her comments, she’s no threat, “We’re just visiting from New York, here to spend some time with Chucho before I’m not allowed to fly anymore.”
The woman raises her eyebrows as you push off the shopping cart bar and step back, straightening so that your pregnant belly comes into view.
“Oh!”
“Hi Lorraine,” Javi is back, he’s casual in his movements as he deposits the veggies of his labour into the cart, but deliberate in wrapping a protective arm around your waist, unsure of what was said before his return, “I see you’ve met my wife?”
You introduce yourself and extend your hand towards the other woman for a friendly shake; the lack of any further polite introductions is an indication that no explanations on how everyone knows one another is needed.
“So,” Lorraine smiles brightly, “How far along are you? Has it been a good pregnancy so far?”
“Yep!” you chirp, your warm expression relaxing your husband’s shoulders, he takes a calming breath and places a proud hand on your round belly, “Just a little over five months!”
“Well, congratulations! I’m very happy for you both,” the blonde woman is as gracious in her felicitations as you are in accepting them. Before she turns to go, her curiosity gets the better of her, “Do you mind if I ask, boy or girl?”
“Boy,” you answer, clearly elated.
“Another Peña ready to storm the beaches,” chuckles Javi and the two of you instinctively tilt your heads towards one another, sharing in the private joke. Lorraine takes your impromptu tête-à-tête as her cue to leave, bidding you and your husband good luck and farewell, leaving you to inspect the produce Javi has selected for tonight's dinner.
“Did I do good?” grins Javi, all thoughts of his ex-fiancé gone as quickly as she had suddenly appeared – his attention fully on the only woman who ever occupies his thoughts.
You pretend to pick through his selections, reserving your praise, “Hmmmmm… Baby Boy Peña doesn’t want any of this sadly.”
“What?” the normally steely head of New York’s DEA field office panics, dismayed at the idea that he’s disappointed his still in utero child, “What does he want?”
“Sushi.”
“The baby wants sushi?”
“Mmmmhhmmm,” you sigh with a dreamy far-off look, “Mercury enriched sashimi. And an Italian deli meat sandwich from that bodega around the corner back home. With extra sauce. And brie! The baby wants brie, Javi.”
The man chuckles, “Me too, baby.” You get misty-eyed (damn these hormones!) remembering that in solidarity, Javi has also given up all the foods you can’t eat for the duration of your pregnancy. Though you had insisted there was no need, it does make you feel incredibly supported and lucky to have such devoted partner; cupping your husband’s handsome face in your hands, you whisper, “Thank you, my love.”
He kisses your eyelids lightly, then with one arm still around your waist, starts pushing the cart towards the checkout, “Thank you, pretty bird. You’re so strong and beautiful, I owe you everything for carrying our child. I love you.”
“I love you too, Javi.”
“Please try to remember that when I have to cook your steak medium well tonight,” sheepish, he kisses the corner of your mouth and tries not to chuckle at your frozen look of abject horror, pretending to focus entirely on loading the groceries from the cart onto the checkout conveyor belt.
“You have to eat yours medium well too.”
“What?!!”
A/N 2: I will not be taking any comments about the best doneness for steak (it's medium rare) 😌😌🥩🥩🥩🥩🥩😂😁😁
Summary: Joel's exhausted by the time he makes it to bed. But when a pretty little thing crawls in beside him, he finds the time for you, just like he always does.
Warnings: +18 MDNI, post outbreak, jackson!joel, unspecified age difference, joel pov, porn no plot, dry humping, slow and soft sex, smut with feelings, internalized shame, intimacy, unprotected piv, clit stimulation, kissing
Note: i haven't written for joel in monthsss but i hope you enjoy!!
WC: 2k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Joel’s the kind of exhausted that only comes with age.
Weary bones, heavy limbs, tired eyes.
He’s falling into bed as soon as he gets home, often forfeiting dinner in favor of blissful rest. Sometimes even before the sun’s fully set.
And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces.
So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day.
And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”
His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.
It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.
Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.
So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.
He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it.
The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.
Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct.
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.
And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good.
But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.
Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.
The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.
Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like.
He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.
But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips.
You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack.
Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark.
“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”
He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.
It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”
You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.
Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock.
Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.
You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back.
He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”
When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you.
His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one.
In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.
Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do.
Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.
When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with.
Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.
He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche.
Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that.
But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.
He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.
When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response.
Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”
He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve.
But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.
He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity.
Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.
He slides in real easy.
You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.
It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home.
Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace.
There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it?
He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.
He wants to savor the way you love him.
“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.
You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.
It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation.
The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much.
Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves.
Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.
He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.
“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”
Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it.
“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”
He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble.
Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.
He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.
You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.
Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest.
When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.
“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."
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Series Summary: After the events of The Mandalorian Season 3, Carson Teva dispatches Din Djarin and Grogu to a New Republic stronghold planet to train and strengthen their armies in the face of whispered threats from Empire remnants. On the planet Solana, General Djarin earns the loyalty of a legion and wins the heart of their princess.
Vibes: Medieval but in space (Star Wars compliant but let's not go too deep 😅)! Princess-Knight imagery and tropes (secret relationship, forbidden love).
Penguin Classics Cover - new!
A/N: Aww man, the power of that The Mandalorian and Grogu trailer, eh? 😅😅😅🥵 After its release, I know I couldn't put off turning the two one-shots I wrote for this AU into a series any longer (sorry other WIPs! 😅)
The fics in this collection aren't meant to be read as sequential chapters (they're more like connected one-shots that tell an overall story), nor are they written/posted in chronological order of the events. Personally, I like reading them in the order they're listed below - but have included the timeline order in purple for reference or if anyone prefers to read that way!
I endeavour to complete the series before close to when the movie comes out (oof! 🫠 and I'm even setting a schedule?! 🫣); that way I can write it as (post S3) canon compliant until it isn't and then well... too late 🤷🏻♀️😂 (Update: it’s still compliant! Yay!) Please enjoy!
(3) Kiss It Better
Din tells you he's leaving
(2) The Might of the Realm
Din finds himself in the gladiator arena of a foreign planet fighting for the success of your diplomatic mission.
(4) Loving You Had Consequences
Din learns of your engagement.
(1) Yours to Tame
Worried, Din goes after you amidst a rainstorm.
(5) Never Be The Same
You dream of Din, or do you?
Interlude: Meeting and first kiss lore (ask)
(6) Finale Part 1: Love Drought
Din returns to Solana, though the reunion is not what you expected.
(7) Finale Part 2: True Love Never Has to Hide
Din finds you, but is it too late?
(8) Collide (Epilogue) - new!
Having returned from a long mission for the New Republic, Din shows you how much he missed you.
Haircut (dabble)
Nox (HC)
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll to help decide on Princess!reader's planet name 😘 / Kindly mind the warnings on each individual instalment! / Series title by TSwift, inspo lyrics below the cut:
🎶Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift🎶:
He said, "Let's get out of this town
Drive out of the city, away from the crowds"
I thought Heaven can't help me now
Nothing lasts forever
But this is gonna take me down
He's so tall and handsome as hell
He's so bad, but he does it so well
I can see the end as it begins
My one condition is
Say you'll remember me
Standing in a nice dress
Staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you'll see me again
Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha
Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha
I said, "No one has to know what we do"
His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room
And his voice is a familiar sound
Nothing lasts forever
But this is getting good now
He's so tall and handsome as hell
He's so bad, but he does it so well
And when we've had our very last kiss
My last request is
Say you'll remember me
Standing in a nice dress
Staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you'll see me again
Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha (ha-ah, ha)
Wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha
You'll see me in hindsight
Tangled up with you all night
Burning it down
Someday when you leave me
I bet these memories
Follow you around
You'll see me in hindsight
Tangled up with you all night
Burning (burning) it (it) down (down)
Someday when you leave me
I bet these memories
Follow (follow) you (you) around (follow you around)
Say you'll remember me
Standing in a nice dress
Staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you'll see me again
Even if it's just pretend
Say you'll remember me
Standing in a nice dress
Staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you'll see me again
Even if it's just (pretend, just pretend) in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha (ah)
In your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha
Even if it's just stayed in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha
In your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha
('island breeze and lights down low.' — part four. Part one here.)
adult fire lord zuko x fire lady firebender reader | contains smut | mdni. | wc: 9,2k
summary: in which a missing fire lord leads to a secluded morning at the hot springs, the soka summit ends with one final round of chaos, and everyone discovers that saying goodbye to whaletail island is much harder than expected.
content: adult!fire lord zuko x fire lady!firebender reader, explicit sexual content [p in v, choking lowkey], established marriage, featuring the gaang (+suki obvi), humor, element bending (sokka keeps backbending duh), minor injury mention, alcohol/hangover mention, suggestive jokes, post-war, fluff, pregnant!katara, discussions of future children, happy ending.
note: pls ignore any accidental lore inconsistencies, i had to fill some restoration era/island worldbuilding gaps with my own interpretations hehe. sorry for the delay, not proofread tho. im not crying you are, but i hope you enjoyed your stay in whaletail island. ♡
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The final morning on Whaletail Island arrived wrapped in golden sunlight, crisp sea air, and entirely unreasonable levels of anticipation. Mostly because of the hot springs. And maybe, just a little, because of your husband.
You woke slowly, stretching your arms over your head before reaching across the mattress. Empty. The sheets were still warm to the touch, telling you that you had only missed him by a few minutes.
Frowning in mild disappointment, you washed up, pulled on a light, comfortable robe, and headed downstairs. The cabin was weirdly quiet. Everyone had gone to bed after the festival last night, so you could only assume the rest of the group was still sound asleep.
Everyone except Sokka, that is.
You spotted him sitting near the sunlit window, a steaming mug of tea forgotten on the ledge beside him. He was holding a piece of cloth, entirely absorbed in polishing the shiny tin surface of his new medallion.
You grabbed a fresh piece of fruit from the kitchen bowl as you walked into the room.
"Morning, champion!", you greeted him.
"Morning, my fellow champion," Sokka replied, holding the medal up to the light and squinting to check for streaks.
You took a bite of your fruit, glancing around the empty common area. You tried to make the gesture look effortless… but you were trying perhaps too hard.
Sokka lowered the medal, giving you a knowing look.
“Looking for Zuko?"
"No." You crossed your arms, leaning your weight onto one hip in total indifference. "Why? Have you, uh... seen him around?"
Sokka went back to buffing the metal, a smug grin playing on his lips.
"He left about half an hour ago after eating breakfast."
Your eyebrows shot up, you tried to mask it by twirling a loose strand of hair around your finger, suddenly invested in inspecting your split ends.
"He did? That’s funny…”
"Yep. He never really struck me as a morning person, but I guess being the Fire Lord changes a man," Sokka said, still too focused on his prize. He let a heavy beat pass before he casually sipped his tea. "He went up to the hot springs."
You dropped your hair, smoothing down the front of your robe.
“Okay. Thank you. See you.” You turned on your heel, ready to bolt out the door.
"Wait." Sokka narrowed his eyes, pointing the polishing cloth at you. "He specifically told me not to let anybody go up there."
You paused, looking back over your shoulder.
"...Anybody?"
"Anybody."
You nodded thoughtfully, tapping your chin.
"Interesting… Well," you said cheerfully, taking a step toward the exit. "It's a good thing I’m not going to the hot springs, then."
Sokka blinked, looking at his cup. "You're not?"
"No! Why would I, especially since he asked you to guard the path?" You walked over and gave his shoulder a supportive pat. "You’re doing a fantastic job, by the way! Keep it up. Just in case Katara or Toph want to go up anytime soon…”
"Katara is locked in her room," Sokka noted, shaking his head. "She asked me to make sure nobody disturbed her, either. Apparently, Aang is feeling under the weather this morning."
"He's not feeling well?" you asked, intrigued by Katara's suspiciously familiar strategy.
Sokka sighed.
“Yeah, Katara said he wouldn’t appreciate any noise or disturbances while she helped him 'relax' and recover."
"I see..." You smiled to yourself, respecting Katara's brilliant execution. "What about Toph?"
"She’s sleeping outside in the hammock," Sokka explained, setting his tea down to give his medal one final wipe. "She didn’t explicitly tell me to keep people away, but honestly, I wouldn’t go near her if I were you. She’s terribly hungover."
"That sounds dangerous," you agreed.
"Yeah. Anyway... where exactly are you going if you're not heading to the hot springs?"
"I'm actually going to gather..." You looked around the room, your eyes scrambling for inspiration before landing on the fruit bowl. "...sea-plums!"
Sokka stared flatly at you. "Sea-plums?"
"Very important. Essential for breakfast."
"You don’t even like sea-plums. I know that for a fact!”
"I’ve changed…”
"You changed overnight?"
"People grow, Sokka." You quickly turned and made a break for the front door.
Sokka slowly lowered his cloth, his eyes widening as the pieces connected. "...Wait."
You offered a cheerful wave without turning back.
“Bye!"
"WAIT!"
By the time Sokka scrambled to the open doorway, your laughter was already echoing down the trail as you hurried toward the secluded area.
"What happened?" Suki asked, leaning against the doorframe and rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she walked up behind him.
Sokka watched your retreating figure for a moment, a spark igniting in his eyes. He turned to Suki, proudly slipping his shiny champion medal around his neck before looping his arm smoothly through hers.
“You know what they say, babe! If you can’t beat them, join them."
Suki blinked up at him, very confused.
"… What does that mean in this situation, Sokka?"
"It means," Sokka said, his voice dropping into an uncharacteristically romantic tone as he reached up to tenderly tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "that you and I are going to go check out those beautiful waterfalls on the other side of the island."
Suki's eyes sparkled with delight, her hands resting flat against his chest as she stepped closer into his space.
“We are?"
"For sure," Sokka murmured, leaning down to press a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, a look of authority took over his face, and he cleared his throat loudly. "And NO ONE, I repeat, NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO GO NEARBY!"
Suki laughed, swatting his shoulder playfully.
"Why are you shout—?"
A perfectly aimed pebble flew through the open doorway and struck Sokka dead in the back of the head.
"Ow!" Sokka yelped, rubbing the spot and spinning around.
"No one is going anywhere, you loudmouthed boomerang-brain!" Toph’s scratchy, hungover voice boomed across the yard. "Everyone is clearly busy! Now shut your traps and leave before I actually get up!"
Sokka and Suki froze for an instant before Sokka grabbed Suki’s hand, spun on his heel, and the two of them bolted out the back door toward the waterfalls in silence.
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚
You followed the narrow path upward, brushing past vibrant clusters of wildflowers and dark stone already warmed by the morning sun. Every so often, faint wisps of steam drifted between the rock faces ahead, disappearing into the fresh sea breeze before you could even reach them.
Rounding one final bend in the trail, you stopped.
The hot springs sat nestled within a beautifully sheltered hollow carved directly into the heart of the cliffs. Several natural pools stepped gently down the rock face, their crystal-clear surfaces veiled by drifting, shifting ribbons of steam. Mineral-rich water spilled lazily from one stone basin into the next before disappearing into a narrow channel that ran down toward the sea. The entire place felt hidden from the rest of the world.
To make it even better, a few of the larger, natural rock pools were separated by heavy, ivory privacy curtains. Following a strong suspicion, you walked toward the largest pool at the very end of the path, where thick steam rose like a protective wall. Holding your breath, you stepped up to the curtain and peeked through the fabric.
Zuko was leaning back against the dark volcanic stone with his eyes closed. One broad, muscled arm was stretched along the rocky edge of the spring, and just looking at him made your thoughts spin…
His hair was in a bun, you noticed. Morning sunlight filtered through the mist, catching in the damp, dark strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. For a moment, you stood there and stared, taking him in.
Without even opening his eyes, he spoke. "You know, I could feel you coming a mile away."
You stepped fully into the enclosure, pulling the curtain aside behind you.
"Maybe I wanted to be felt," you teased, stepping closer. "I wouldn’t want to interrupt anyone else’s private rest time."
Zuko opened his eyes.
"I would love nothing more than for you to interrupt mine. Please, don’t be shy."
His gaze dipped pointedly toward the edge of the pool where his clothes lay on the ground, inviting you in.
Now that you were inside the curtained space, you realized just how spacious and hidden it actually was. To the right of the natural spring, someone had laid down a plush arrangement of thick blankets and soft pillows on the smooth ground. Overhead, glowing strings of lights hung across the rocks like the ones outside your cabin.
You walked over to the flat stone on the left where Zuko had neatly left his clothes, and your fingers went to the ties of your outfit. You hadn't dressed in anything extravagant or fitting for a Fire Lady today; you had chosen a simple, airy white dress. As you unfastened it and let the fabric slip down to the floor, Zuko's eyes found you.
He leaned his chin in his hand, a beautifully tired, heavy-lidded expression on his face as he watched you from the water. He didn’t need to utter a single word. The dark, burning intensity in his eyes told you everything you needed to know: your husband was incredibly eager to get his hands on you.
Fully naked, you stepped closer to the edge of the spring, carefully scanning the wet, smooth stones to find a way in without clumsily ruining the ambiance growing between you.
Zuko’s half-smile widened at your caution. He began to stand up.
As he rose from the steaming depths, the water cascaded off his frame in shimmering sheets, and a quiet truth hit you all over again- you would never, ever get tired of seeing him naked. The light helped defining the hard, sculpted lines of his chest and the sharp ridges of his abs. Everything was slick with heat, a dozen glistening water droplets tracking slow paths down the prominent, deeply cut V-line of his hips. Your gaze instinctively flicked lower, catching a brief, heated glimpse of him completely bared and uncovered, before you quickly brought your eyes back up to meet his.
“Come here," he said in a rough command.
"Such a gentleman," you teased softly, slipping your hand into his grip.
The water took you in with a rush of enveloping heat as you sank into the sculpted basin of the spring directly opposite him. Your tired muscles began to loosen, and your body practically sighed with gratitude as the water rose to your collarbones. Unable to help yourself, an involuntary moan escaped your lips.
"This is so good," you breathed, letting your head fall back against the stone. "We really need to take warm baths like this more often, don’t you think?"
"I think we can definitely arrange that," Zuko replied, the water sloshing as he sat. "These past few days have shown us both that there are a lot of things we should be doing more often..."
"Like allowing Sokka to organize more of our group events?" you asked, a playful smile tucking at your lips as you inhaled the damp steam.
Zuko let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
"I’m still pondering if that’s a risk we can safely take."
You opened your eyes to find him watching you. "Oh, admit it, he’s been a fantastic host! And he completely helped me redeem my honor in the harbor games last night, which, you know more than anyone is a massive deal—ow!"
As you tried to shrug your shoulders emphasis, a sharp twinge of pain cut through the base of your neck. Your hand immediately darted up to press against the tight knot nestled right between your neck and shoulder blade. The inevitable price of spending weeks hunched over endless stacks of scrolls back at the palace.
Before you could even complain, Zuko moved.
His hands found your waist beneath the water, his grip firm and effortless as he guided you around, pulling your back against his chest so you were sitting right between his thighs. His fingers brushed your hand away from your neck.
"Allow me," he said against your ear as his thumbs found the exact center of the ache, applying an amazingly deep pressure.
"Zuko," you gasped, your head lolling back as the agonizing tension finally began to break. "Agni... right there, yes..."
He laughed.
"What?" you asked, leaning into the intoxicating heat of his touch.
"Nothing, just keep relaxing," he replied, his thumbs tracing slow circles over the tight muscles. "But this is exactly why you need to let me take care of more of the daily scrollwork."
"Absolutely not," you mumbled, your head swaying slightly with the rhythm of his hands. "Then you would be the one hurting, and you already do more than enough."
His hands paused for a fraction of a second, his chest expanding with a deep breath against your back.
“You do enough too," he whispered tenderly.
He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the bare curve of your shoulder, before his hands slipped back to work, melting the last of your stress away into the steam.
For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward; it never was with him.
The entire island felt slower this morning, as though even the world itself had decided to rest after the chaos of the past few days.
When his hands finally left your shoulders, you let your head fall back against his chest. Zuko’s arms didn’t need an instruction to wrap around your middle beneath the water, pulling you flush against him as he rested his face against your damp hair.
“This has been nice,” you said in a quiet whisper, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. You could have fallen asleep right there in his arms without a single regret...
You felt the faint vibration of his laugh against your back before you actually heard it.
“Which part? The retreat or the collapsing shrine?”
“The retreat,” you smiled, nudging him with your shoulder.
Your arms shifted beneath the surface, settling more comfortably as you folded them over his, locking your fingers with his hands.
“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment with his chin resting on your shoulder. “It really has. But don’t tell Sokka.”
“Because you’re going to tell him yourself, right?” you said. Zuko let out a low noise of complaint against your neck. “Come on, Zu. He deserves it.”
“Fine. I will tell him,” he conceded. “It has been... quite enjoyable.”
There was something unusually raw and honest in his tone that made you move to glance back at him.
Moments like this were rare throughout the years: just the two of you, with no responsibilities, no titles, and no one expecting anything from you. Your gaze lingered on him a second longer than you intended.
Naturally, Zuko noticed. “You keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re… thinking.”
You smiled. “I am thinking, dear husband.”
“That’s what worries me, dear wife.”
You laughed, shifting your hand beneath the water to splash a small wave in his direction.
The playful sound died down when his hand lifted from your waist, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek.
The cut. It was tiny, barely visible now under the morning light, but it didn’t stop his thumb from tracing the uninjured skin just beneath it.
You groaned, tilting your head back. “Zuko…”
His eyes didn’t leave the scratch.
“I can’t help it. It still bothers me.”
“It was barely even a cut, come on…”
“You were bleeding…”
Wanting to put an end to his worrying, you twisted around to face him properly, sending small ripples cascading through the water. Sensing your movement, Zuko's hands caught your hips, effortlessly guiding you until you were sitting straddling his lap, your thighs framing his waist.
“It was a scratch,” you insisted, placing your hands on his broad shoulders.
“It was your face!”, he insisted.
“I've had much worse. Remember my fight with the sea monster?”
Zuko paused, a panicked blankness washing over his features. “Not really, no…”
“True... that was back when you were still chasing us,” you chuckled, clearing your throat. “Anyway! I survived that, and I am still in one piece. Plus, there are people out there who constantly get hurt doing much sillier things.”
“And?”
“And I think surviving a rogue pebble from a collapsing ancient shrine is fairly impressive by comparison.”
That finally earned a reluctant smile from him, the tension in his shoulders dropping a fraction.
You leaned closer. “I’m fine, Zu. I promise. You don’t have to feel bad about it!”
His hand slid from your cheek, his fingers cupping your jawline with a familiarity that ran straight to your core.
“I know you’re fine.”
“But…?”
“But I still don’t like it.”
His grip on your hip tightened, pressing you to him as if a sudden gust of wind might steal you away. Even after all these years, the mere sight of a mark on your skin unsettled him so deeply it showed in the tight, sharp tension of his unscarred brow.
The crown, the throne, the nation… none of it mattered in the face of the terrifying truth written in his eyes: losing you remained the most frightening thing in his world.
You leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, and pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth.
When you pulled away, Zuko's eyes stayed closed for a long second, his breath hitching against your lips. His thumb smoothed over your jawline, his hand remaining resting against your face.
“You know I adore you, right?” he asked.
The question caught you so thoroughly off guard, leaving you to do nothing but nod blindly against his touch.
“I just…” He exhaled quietly, the warm breath fanning across your lips as he looked down at you. “Sometimes I look at you, and I think about everything this life asks of you.”
You blinked, his words sending a wave of curiosity through you.
“Zuko, what are you talking about?”
His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his long fingers tracing the exact alignment of muscles that had been knotting up with pain only moments earlier.
“Things like that,” he answered, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into your skin. “And the scrolls. The endless meetings. The ministries and the councils. The fact that this entire vacation has been the most enjoyable time I’ve seen you have all year.”
“That's not true!" you countered. "I really loved putting together the chorus of kids for your birthday celebration last month…”
A smile broke through his seriousness. “Aside from that.”
His thumb continued its hypnotic movement against your skin.
“You wake up before everyone else in the palace. You go to sleep after everyone else has gone to bed. Half the time, I look at you and realize you’re carrying problems that should be entirely mine to bear.”
“They are ours,” you emphasized, lifting your hands to cradle the smooth side of his face.
“They became yours because of me,” he replied, his voice dropping into a register of what you knew was deeply rooted guilt.
“Zu…”
His gaze pulled away from yours, looking down at the rippling water between your chests. “You were one of the first people who truly trusted me when I wanted to change.”
“Actually, I think that honor goes to Toph,” you pointed out.
“You were one of the first people who trusted me,” he corrected, a hint of his usual stubbornness returning.
“Better.”
His smile faded back into a memory that clearly still lived right beneath his skin.
“I still remember the Western Air Temple, how you looked at me back then,” he whispered, his grip on the back of your neck tightening enough to pull you a fraction closer. “I remember thinking that I didn't deserve that kind of unyielding faith. And I remember promising myself that I’d spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of it.”
His voice had gone quiet, barely carrying over the rhythmic lapping of the water against the stone.
You looked at him, at the man who still carried the ghosts of his past even after all these years of peace. At the man who had spent decades trying to become someone worthy of the trust people placed in him, completely blind to the fact that he already was. He couldn’t just say those things.
“Zuko, I…”
He looked at you. Whatever verbal response he had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t what you did instead.
You reached up, cupping both sides of his face to pull him down into a deep and loving kiss, hoping the absolute devotion in the touch would suffice as an answer where words failed.
As the seconds stretched, his hand slid up into your damp hair, while your own hands settled against the sides of his neck.
When the kiss finally broke, it was only because breathing had become a necessity. Zuko didn't pull away far, resting his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy and synchronized breaths with your own.
“You know,” he said, as he brushed the tip of his nose against yours, “most people answer serious conversations with actual words.”
You smiled, your eyes fluttering shut as a wave of absolute bliss washed over you, leaning into him. “Luckily for you, most people aren’t married to me.”
He let out a breathless chuckle, his lips grazing yours with the movement.
“Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to your mouth in a self induced trance. “Incredibly lucky.”
The trace of his smile vanished before the sudden reminder that the two of you were entirely alone, and perfectly hidden away in a secluded hot spring at the very edge of the world.
Water crested over your shoulders as his hand spanned the curve of your waist, erasing the last inch of space until you were resting against his lap.
“Your chosen way of answering is incredibly tempting, Fire Lady.”
“Is it, Fire Lord?” you questioned, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes.
“You have no idea.”
You found his lips again, unable to repress a needy moan the second your mouths met. The sound only seemed to undo his remaining restraint, prompting him to pull you impossibly closer until there wasn't a single inch of space left between your bodies.
Your hands slid down his neck to his broad chest you loved so much, and your palms caressed the hard plane of his muscles beneath the water, your hips moving with an involuntary tilt against him.
Zuko let out a moan against your lips, his hand traveling up from your shoulder to cradle the curve of your throat. He didn't squeeze, but the pressure of his palm against your racing pulse made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.
His other hand traveled down from your waist, his fingers tracing path along the side of your breast before his mouth abruptly left yours. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing a row of kisses against your skin while his hand moved to afford him room.
He went lower. His lips closed over the breast his hand had only teased, sucking while his tongue flicked across your nipple. You gasped and pressed his head closer with both hands, one gripping his shoulder and the other tangled in his hair.
“Zuko, please,” you breathed.
The hand at your waist slid beneath the water. He gripped his cock, stroking once before guiding the head to your entrance. His other hand tightened at your throat just enough to pull you down. You sank onto him, pausing twice to adjust to the stretch. A broken moan left you once you were fully seated with his length buried deep inside.
“Are you alright?” he asked against your cheek.
You answered with a shaky nod and jagged breaths. Once the burn eased into pleasure, you began to move.
Your hips rose and fell, water rippling around you. His hand started to venture from your throat. You intercepted him, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and pulling his hand firmly back into place. He smiled darkly and his fingers spread wide against your neck, applying just enough heavy pressure to anchor you down as he drove you into a faster, harder rhythm.
Every drop of your hips forced his cock deeper, the thick stretch dragging against your walls until your vision blurred. The surface of the water churned and bubbled from the heat radiating off both of you, steam rising in thick white sheets until the air itself felt heavy and wet against your skin.
You let out a shaky and breathless laugh, your pace never faltering. “Are you trying to boil us alive?” you gasped, leaning down to press your forehead to his.
Zuko didn't laugh. His head fell heavily into the crook of your neck where another moan build up, his fingers sinking into the skin of your hips to keep you in place.
“Don't joke right now,” he ground out, as his body trembled beneath yours. “Not when you’re doing this to me. Keep moving.”
You leaned into the pressure, chasing the dizzying rush it gave you. Your pussy clenched tight around him with every thrust. Sweat trickled down your spine and between your breasts even as the spring soaked your skin.
“That’s it,” he growled against your ear.
Your hips kept jerking and grinding as the coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. Zuko’s cock hit that perfect spot again and again until your whole body seized.
You spasmed hard around him, pulsing and squeezing in rhythmic waves as the orgasm crashed through you. Your thighs trembled. Your back arched, pressing your chest to his while your inner walls fluttered and milked his length.
Zuko held you through it, grip firm at your throat and hip, letting you ride out every last shudder. Only when your body finally went limp against him did he release your throat.
His mouth crashed onto yours, tongue sliding against yours as he stood in one smooth motion.
Water poured off both of you. His hands hooked beneath your thighs and lifted you without ever pulling out, keeping you impaled on his cock as he carried you from the spring, steam still coming off of your overheated skin.
The cool island breeze hit you for only a fraction of a second before he set you down over the thick blankets, carefully positioning you right in the center of the plush layout. As he hovered over you, you couldn't help but notice that his messy bun had somehow remained intact through all of it.
You reached up, both of your hands framing the sides of his head to draw him down.
“You know what the funny thing is?” you asked, your voice catching as you briefly pressed your eyes shut, your fingers tightening in his hair at the overwhelming sensation of him sliding deeper inside of you on your position.
“Hm?” he murmured, his breath hitching as he braced his weight over you.
“You keep talking about the crown like it’s something terrible that just happened to me.”
Zuko frowned as he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
“... but it did.”
You shook your head against the pillow, looking up into his eyes.
“No. You forget I knew exactly who you were when I chose you... I knew you even before the throne.”
You locked your fingers behind his neck, pulling him down so his chest would be against yours, dragging deliciously against you with every move, and making you both moan from the skin to skin feeling.
“Becoming the Fire Lord, the crushing responsibilities, the endless meetings and impossible schedules... of course, nothing could’ve truly prepared me for the reality of it. But none of that matters. Not when you’ve held my hand through every single second of it.” You spoke. “And if I had the chance to go back to the very beginning and do it all over again…”
You leaned up, tilting your head to press an adoring kiss directly against the rough skin of his scarred cheek.
“… it’s going to sound cheesy, but, I would still choose you, Zuko. No doubt at all.”
He froze completely, his breath catching in his throat as his brow twitched.
He gave you a breathtakingly vulnerable smile.
"You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me," he said. His large hands slid down to pin your hips firmly into the blankets. "If you keep talking to me like that, I'm never going to let you leave."
"That’s alright," you said, moving so you’d lock your ankles behind his waist. "I don't really plan on going anywhere."
Abandoning all hesitation, he leaned down to capture your lips once again. Tongue gliding deep to taste every corner of your mouth while his hips began a measured roll.
Zuko kept his chest pressed to yours, the solid weight of him pinning you to the blankets without crushing. His breath came out in visible wisps, mingling with the steam rising from your joined bodies.
He broke the kiss only long enough to murmur against your lips,“I love you,” before sealing the words with another slow grind of his hips.
“I love you, Zuko,” you replied as your heels rested against the small of his back while he moved. The angle let him sink fully each time, the base of his cock brushing your clit on every downward stroke.
Your fingers slid into his hair, careful not to disturb the bun, and tugged gently. The small pull earned another moan from him. Pleasure coiled tighter with every pass, your inner walls fluttering around him.
“Don’t stop,” you gasped out, winding your arms tighter around his shoulders.
Zuko let out a low breath, his gaze fixing on yours with absolute adoration. “I wouldn’t dare,” he ground out, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Look at what you do to me— spirits, you're perfect.”
His hand slid beneath your lower back, lifting your hips so he could drive even deeper. The new angle made your breath hitch, a broken sound escaping you that he swallowed with another kiss. His own breathing grew ragged, and he whispered your name between kisses with need.
Your climax crashed through you, inner walls clamping down around his cock as you cried out his name. The sound and feeling triggered his own release; Zuko groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, cock throbbing with each spurt of cum. Both of you moaned through the shared peak, bodies locked together, breath steaming between your mouths.
He stayed buried inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours and still breathing hard.
When you felt like the shocks were coming down from your body, Zuko had you sit up. His hand reached up to his head, and with a quick tug, he finally undid the messy bun, letting his dark hair fall completely loose around his face. He started to maneuver himself lower onto the covers until he could drape your legs over his shoulders.
You looked down at him, breathless. “I don’t think I can do this again…”
He hooked his hands behind the back of your knees, pulling you forward until you were hovering right over his face. Looking up at you, Zuko parted his lips with anticipation, thumb stroking your thighs as he drank in the sight of you, his mouth seemed to be watering for a taste.
“You’re the Fire Lady, there are no impossibles for you” he affirmed in a rough voice. His hot breath washed over your damp skin, making you shiver as his eyes locked onto yours. “Move however you please…”
Zuko’s fingers dug into your thighs as he pulled you down onto his waiting mouth. His tongue dragged through your slick folds in one hungry stroke before sealing over your clit. A low groan vibrated against you, sending a tremor of heat snapping up your spine. His hands slid up the backs of your legs, fingers splaying wide to keep you steady while his lips sealed around the sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again.
“Right there,” you said, one palm stayed braced against the slick stone lip of the nearby spring while the other cupped the back of his skull, holding him exactly where you needed.
You moved faster, grinding down, chasing the sharp edge that built low in your belly. Every breath came shorter.
Heat built fast. Your firebending stirred without conscious thought as bubbles rose in sudden bursts from the pool. The water in the spring churned, giving off a thick, blinding cloud of condensation that rolled upward in waves, filling every corner of the space in response to the flare inside you.
Zuko’s hands slid higher, palms hot on your ass, urging you to take what you needed. You moved faster, riding his mouth with growing urgency. His nose brushed your clit with every forward rock while his tongue thrust deep, drinking every drop you gave him.
“Spirits…”, you gasped, feeling his hands going up your chest.
The pressure coiled again. Your thighs trembled around his head. You leaned harder on the spring’s, knuckles whitening. Your fingers threaded deeper into his hair, gripping the strands as you rocked forward, guiding the angle until the flat of his tongue met your clit with each pass.
You locked down, completely undone as the climax ripped through you. Your thighs clamped tight around his jaw, trapping him in your scorching heat. You could only gasp as your body buckled again and again under the relentless strokes of his tongue.
Zuko kept licking steadily until the tremors eased and your grip on his hair loosened. Only then did his hands ease their hold, letting you sink back onto your heels above him, breath still ragged and skin flushed from the combined heat of the springs and your own doing.
Exhausted, you moved off him, settling back down right next to him on top of the thick blankets. The moment you were at his side, Zuko rolled over and pulled you against his chest. His long arms wrapped around you, shielding your naked skin from the cool island breeze while he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply.
You let out a luxurious sigh while melting into his solid chest. "I’d have this every day if I could," you murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone.
Zuko let out a hum against your skin, a sound of unbothered satisfaction.
"But sadly," you teased, tracing a line down his chest, "we have to go back eventually."
He didn't even open his eyes. He just shook his head against your cheek. “Not yet. As far as I know, everyone’s minding their own business. And if we get back now, we’d be interrupting them.”
”You have a point…”
Propping your chin on his chest, you looked up taking in the sight of him. The fierce and rigid lines of the Fire Lord had completely melted away, replaced by an expression so serene it felt sacred. A rosy warmth still stained his cheeks, and his dark hair fell in loose waves across his forehead. He looked utterly striking like this: unraveled and at peace.
Glancing past him, you looked around the secluded clearing, your fingers smoothing over the fabric beneath you.
“The blankets are so comfortable, though. I wonder if the rest of the secluded springs have them…”
His eyes flickered open.
”I wouldn’t wonder if I were you,” he murmured, his fingers caressed the small of your back. ”Instead, I’d stay with my husband, and not question why we have them.”
You blinked. Your eyes dropped to the heavy fabric beneath your hands, tracing the intricate, familiar gold stitching running along the rich crimson border. It was a pattern you knew by heart: the exact weave used for the private linens inside the Caldera palace.
"Oh, of course you would," you gasped, a wide smile breaking across your face as you nudged his chest. "You set them up!"
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," he replied , the warmth in his eyes giving him away. He pulled you up until his lips could graze yours in a fiercely loving kiss. "But since we're here, and the blankets are so comfortable... I suggest you take advantage of it."
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚
By the time the two of you finally made your way down the cliffside path and stepped back through the front door of the cabin, the quiet sanctuary you had left that morning was completely gone. In its place, was a wall of chaotic noise echoing straight out of the kitchen.
You and Zuko paused in the doorway, radiating the serene, heavy-lidded bliss of people who (momentarily, at least) hadn't a single care in the world as you took in the absolute disaster happening over the kitchen table.
"For the last time, Sokka, we need to pack!" Katara’s voice shrieked, her hands thrown in the air as she glared at her brother. "The fish won’t be able to cook outside as quick, the ship is already half-loaded, and we leave in a few hours!"
"And I am telling you that fish is, in fact, better cooked outside!" Sokka yelled back, brandishing an oversized wooden spatula like a sword. "It’s a traditional island recipe! We are eating outside for the sake of the last day!"
"But Aang can’t even eat fish!" Katara countered, gesturing to where Aang was sitting on a stool.
"I can’t bend and I still hang out with you guys!" Sokka shouted, slamming his spatula onto the counter. "So we are going outside!”
Aang raised a timid hand. "I wouldn't mind a roasted fire-root outside—"
"Not now, Aang!" Katara and Sokka snapped in unison.
Suki was leaning against the pantry eating a sea-plum, looking highly amused by the sibling rivalry.
"What exactly is the issue here?" Zuko’s voice cut through the noise. His hair was bundled back up, but it was visibly damp, and his aura was so peaceful it practically glowed.
The kitchen went dead silent for a fraction of a second as everyone turned to look at the two of you.
"Oh, fantastic," Katara sighed, marching over to you. "Tell them we are staying inside to finish organizing our things while we eat."
"Whoa, whoa, side with the chef!" Sokka interjected, stepping up next to Zuko and nudging his arm. "Zuko, buddy, fellow guy. Tell her the outdoor fire pit is the only logical place to spend our final morning."
You looked at Zuko. "Well... Sokka did catch the fish, right?” Sokka nodded “And it does cook better outside…”
"Yes! Thank you!" Sokka cheered.
"Absolutely not," Zuko countered, throwing you a look before turning to Sokka. "Katara is right. If we don't pack now, our arrival to the capital could be delayed. We eat inside."
"You're taking her side?!" Sokka gasped, wounded. "Suki, back me up!"
"I really don’t mind, honey," Suki laughed, tossing a plum pit into the bin. "But inside is cooler anyway."
"Aang?!" Sokka yelled desperately.
"I just want a squash!" Aang cried.
Within three seconds, the kitchen erupted into absolute chaos. Everyone was talking over each other, Katara was lecturing Zuko about time importance to which he agreed, Sokka was screaming at Suki about loyalty, Aang was trying to defend his squash, and you were laughing so hard you had to lean against Zuko's shoulder, while he stubbornly tried to maintain his "rational leader" voice amidst the shouting.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door to the side hallway slammed open against the wall with enough force to shake the floorboards.
The arguing stopped.
Toph stood in the frame, looking like demon raised from the underworld. Her hair was a wild, bird's-nest tangle, her eyes were narrowed, and her face was pale and fiercely twisted with the rage of a catastrophic hangover. The sheer menace radiating off her made Sokka slowly lower his spatula.
She marched two steps into the kitchen, her gaze locking dead-on into the center of the room.
“Listen up, you repetitive dunderheads! I have an idea: if you got laid today, you don't get a vote!" she roared in her sleep-deprived voice.
Katara’s jaw dropped, her face turning a violent shade of crimson. Sokka blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Beside you, Zuko froze completely, his eyes widening in panicked blankness as a bright red blush instantly rushed up his neck and flooded his cheeks. You quickly cleared your throat, finding the pattern on the kitchen floor absolutely fascinating all of the sudden…
Toph let the horrific silence stretch for a few seconds, satisfied with the compliance she had just beaten into the room.
She let out a grunt, crossing her arms.
"Great. My ears are bleeding, and you all sound like screeching turtle-ducks. I say outside. Let's go and don't complain."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and marched right out the back door toward the fire pit.
Sokka cleared his throat, raised his spatula, and whispered, "...So, outside it is."
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚
The outdoor clearing was a welcome relief from the suffocating awkwardness Toph had left behind in the kitchen. The bright midday sun warmed the grass, Appa was sprawled lazily near the edge of the yard, letting out a low, rumbling groan of satisfaction as Momo ate some fruit Aang gave him right between Appa’s giant ears.
Sokka, fully vindicated by the hangover dictatorship, was beaming with joy. He quickly got the fire pit roaring, utilizing a controlled spark from Zuko to get the volcanic coal glowing.
Within twenty minutes, everyone was settled around the pit on low stone benches and woven mats. Sokka proudly handed out the crispy fish to Suki, Katara, and yourself, while sliding a massive platter of roasted fire-root, seasoned squash, and sea-prunes over to Aang. Toph sat flat on the earth, her eyes closed with her forehead against a smooth stone she had earthbent up from the ground just for that purpose.
"Drink this, Toph. It'll help," Katara said, sliding a wooden mug filled with a steaming herbal brew a few feet away. "It's a Water Tribe remedy for... overindulgence."
Too lazy to physically reach for it, Toph kept her forehead pressed against the rock and lazily extended two fingers toward the ground, sliding the cup across the grass and directly into her waiting palm.
She peeled her face off the cool stone and sat down cross-legged on her mat, sniffing the brew. She gagged at first, but took a massive gulp anyway. A bit of color returned to her pale cheeks. She grabbed a skewer of roasted squash from the platter, taking an aggressive bite as if punishing the vegetable for her headache.
You leaned into Zuko’s side watching it all happen while happily finishing your lunch and enjoying of your friend’s company.
“So," Suki started, leaning her chin in her hand. "Since this is our absolute last day together on the island before we all go back our respective duties around the world, we need to do something fun. No scheduling talk allowed!”
“Ooh, I know!" Aang chimed in. "We used to play a game at the Southern Air Temple during festival mornings. You take turns naming a scenario and everyone points at the person who is most likely to do it."
"A pointing game?" Sokka chewed thoughtfully. "Simple. Elegant. Excellent potential for judging each other. I'm in!”
“I can't see where any of you are pointing," Toph muttered, "so this game already sucks."
“Wait, scratch the pointing!" You interrupted. "Instead of pointing, we can stomp. One heavy stomp on the ground toward whoever you're voting for. Toph can feel the vibrations and tally the scores.”
A grin spread across her face.
“Now that is a game. Proceed."
“Alright, I'll start," Suki chuckled, looking around the circle. "Who is most likely to completely lose a top-secret state document because they used it as a bookmark?"
Without a single second of hesitation, a synchronized chorus of heavy thuds rattled the dirt.
Toph burst into a loud laugh, pointing a finger straight at Sokka. "Five distinct seismic waves, all hitting you dead-on, Snoozles. The dirt doesn't lie."
"Hey!" Sokka protested, outraged. "First of all, it was one map! And second of all, it made a perfect bookmark for my poetry journal!"
"You rest your case," Katara laughed, taking a sip of water.
“Your turn, Fire Lady," Aang said, leaning forward eagerly as he tossed a piece of melon into the air, which Momo swooped down from Appa's head to catch mid-flight.
You hummed, tapping your chin playfully before glancing down at your husband. "Who is most likely to secretly spend three hours meticulously planning a romantic gesture, but then act like it was totally an accident and they 'just happened' to find it?"
Katara and Suki slammed their heels down, sending two enthusiastic thuds straight toward Zuko.
Toph didn’t even wait for the rest. She let out a cackle, slapping the ground. "Oh, the dirt is practically screaming! Sparky, give us a stomp, what’s your defense?"
Zuko, who had just taken a sip of his tea, choked slightly. He looked away, his boot remaining guiltily still.
"I have no idea what that implies," Zuko mumbled.
"Oh, come on, that's definitely a Zuko special," Sokka teased, leaning across the fire pit. "Next thing you know, he'll 'accidentally' stumble into a perfectly catered five-course banquet in the middle of the courtyard."
"Shut up, Sokka," Zuko said, with no real heat in it.
“Alright, my turn," Toph said, leaning her head to the side. "Who is most likely to try and make friends with a dangerous, wild spirit creature just because they think it looks 'misunderstood'?"
A singular, incredibly loud, stomp shook the ground as every single voted instantly.
"Twinkle Toes! The earth didn't even hesitate. You're practically a magnet for weird monsters."
"They aren't weird monsters!" Aang protested. "They're just expressive! If you give them some space and don't make any sudden movements, they're actually really friendly…”
“That’s so cute! Okay, my turn," Suki said, to keep the momentum going. "Who is most likely to accidentally set a kitchen on fire while trying to cook a simple midnight snack?"
Aang and Katara stomped toward Toph. Sokka and Toph stomped right back toward Suki. You and Zuko looked at each other and stomp-voted for Toph as well.
"Why am I getting voted?" Toph complained, kicking a pebble into the fire pit. "I can cook!"
"Toph, you tried to roast a tea-leaf on a hot stone inside the cabin when we arrived and almost burned the curtains down," Suki laughed.
"The rock was hotter than I thought!" Toph grumbled, taking another gulp of Katara's hangover tea.
“Alright, let me ask one," Katara said. Her hand coming to rest against her rounded stomach as a knowing smile spread across her face. She looked around the circle. "Since I'm already carrying the first of the next generation... who do we think is most likely to have a baby next?"
The ground practically groaned under the collective force of the stamps. Katara, Suki, Aang, and Toph all kicked their heels down with absolute certainty, every single vibration pointing directly into the space between you and Zuko.
“The Fire Lords, it is,” Toph announced.
Your heart skipped a beat. A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly tried to laugh it off, holding your hands up.
"Come on, guys!" you said quickly, a little flustered. “You only want to tease…”
“I don’t want to tease, I think you both would be wonderful parents!” Suki said, her eyes filled with genuine sincerity.
"Yeah, plus, the baby would have a built-in Air Nomad playground whenever you visit," Aang offered enthusiastically.
"And I can always help you watch them when things get too busy at the palace," Katara added, a sweet smile on her face. "Though if they inherit both of your firebending, I might need to keep a water-whip ready just to put out the sparks…”
"Oh, they'll definitely inherit the legendary Fire Lord temper," Sokka joked, earning a swift jab to the ribs from Suki.
Your chest tightened with a nervous flutter under all the attention. You glanced sideways at Zuko, tracking the sharp line of his jaw and bracing for the familiar tensing of his shoulders.
You half-expected him to shift uncomfortably to avoid the heavy weight of royal lineages and future heirs. Instead, his shoulders remained dropped and relaxed in the midday sun. A genuine smile played on his lips. His eyes met yours. Without a word, his large hand slide over yours, his thumb tracing a circle over the back of your knuckles.
“We have time," Zuko said, his fingers squeezed yours in reassurance. "But... I think we'd be ready when it happens. And, apparently, all of you too…”
Before Suki or Katara could let out the squeak you knew they were holding, Toph snorted.
“Everyone speaks for themselves. I only talk with evidence. And if we're talking about stomps, I felt some very specific vibrations coming from the upper hot springs early on…”
Instead, the squeak came out from Sokka.
Zuko looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
“Do you realize that, if we're talking about a future Fire Nation heir, I am the cause of it? Without me, they wouldn't have relaxed!” He said, shaking Suki's shoulders. “They would still be drowning in endless scrolls back at the palace!"
The entire circle burst into laughter. Katara threw a piece of squash at her brother's head, which he expertly ducked.
"Oh, please, Sokka," Suki laughed, catching a stray blossom drifting down from a nearby tree. "The only thing you masterminded was getting a light hangover from a couple of island juices."
"It was the salt air!" Sokka defended himself.
"I don't know," Toph chimed in, leaning her head back with a grin. "If the Fire Lord's kid turns out to be an over-scheduler who loves weapon maintenance, we'll know exactly who to blame."
"I would welcome a child with an appreciation for proper weapon care," Zuko mumbled. He was openly chuckling.
“I think you’re right, though…” you started saying, earning a shocked look from everyone and a head tilt from Toph.
“About the fake summit, I mean!” Everyone relaxed, especially Zuko to your side which made you smile. “Look around. We actually did it. No councils, no global disasters. Just us… In fact, this calls for a real toast, because this time together was... really, really enjoyable. And Zuko and I owe it to all of you.”
“Or to the SOKA summit…” Sokka suggested, a massive grin on his face as he proudly raised his wooden skewer and his mug into the air.
Suki laughed, standing up to raise her cup next to his. Katara and Aang joined in, their faces lit with joy, and even Toph raised her hangover brew with a lazy smirk.
You raised your own cup. Zuko clinked his cup of tea against yours.
"To the SOKA Summit!" everyone cheered in a chaotic yet happy chorus, the sound of laughter echoing beautifully out over the island cliffs.
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚
The afternoon seemed to slip away far too quickly after that. One moment everyone was still sitting around the embers of the fire pit, and the next, Appa had been loaded, the cabin had been swept clean, and the Fire Nation sailors were making the final preparations down at the harbor.
Nobody wanted to be the first person to acknowledge that the retreat was officially over… So, naturally, Sokka did.
“Well,” he announced dramatically, throwing his travel bag over one shoulder as everyone reached the wooden docks. “I think it’s safe to say the summit was an overwhelming success and nothing ridiculous, contrary to popular belief…”
A collective groan rippled through the group.
“It was a success, but it was also a little ridiculous,” Katara pointed out, carrying a small satchel.
“Great leaders leave a legacy, Katara,” Sokka countered, puffing his chest out. “Mine is, amongst other numerous things, this amazing trip.”
Everyone paused at the ramp of the ship, turning back to look up at the green cliffs of Whaletail Island one last time.
The air was warm, the tide was peaceful, and a heavy wave of nostalgia suddenly settled over.
“We should come back,” Aang said, his grey eyes reflecting the brilliant blue of the ocean.
“Maybe next year,” Katara agreed, her hand resting over her stomach with a hopeful smile.
Suki chuckled, nudging Sokka’s arm. “Without a collapsing shrine next time, maybe?”
“With less juice,” Toph grumbled, she was leaning comfortably against Suki’s side.
“And with more fish,” Sokka amended.
One by one, everyone began to board the ship.
As the vessel finally pulled away from the docks, the sails caught a perfect, steady wind. The distance grew, and the island began to shrink against the backdrop of the midday sky.
Up at the bow, Aang and Katara stood close together, watching the water part against the hull. Nearby, Sokka was already holding a map, explaining a "more efficient" naval route to Suki, who was listening with an affectionate smile lighting up her face. A few feet away, Toph was sitting on the wooden deck, her eyes closed as she soaked up the sun, pretending she wasn’t listening to a single word of Sokka's rambling.
Standing beside Zuko at the railing, you leaned against the wooden barrier and just watched them.
Nobody was in a hurry. There was no looming emergency, no high-stakes meeting, no war, no political crisis, no frantic scheduling. Just the rocking of the sea and the familiar sound of your friends' voices.
“They’re happy,” you murmured.
Zuko glanced over at you, the ocean breeze catching his dark hair. “Who?”
You looked back toward the group, with a smile at your lips.
“All of them!”
Zuko’s gaze followed yours, tracing the chaotic, loud, but beloved family sprawled across the deck.
“Yeah,” Zuko said, his voice dropping into that tender tone meant only for you. His large hand slid sideways along the railing, his fingers between yours. “They are.”
“You know, we will be able to come back again,” Zuko muttered after a moment.
“At least Sokka won’t have to make up a whole diplomatic event to get us to come next time," you replied, a laugh bubbling up as you looked at him. "We cannot let that happen again, even if it was funny… we have to remain close to our family.”
Zuko smiled as he turned toward you, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping a stray strand of hair from your cheek before he leaned down to press a kiss against your lips. When he pulled back just enough to lean his forehead against yours, his arm slid around your waist to bring you closer.
"We will," he murmured. "I promise."
You rested your head against his shoulder as Whaletail Island slowly disappeared into the horizon behind you.
Ahead of you waited the palace with the councils, endless stacks of scrolls, and the overwhelming responsibilities that came with the lives you had chosen to live…
But for now, your friends were laughing somewhere behind you, Zuko’s hand remained intertwined with yours, and for the first time in a very, very long time, going home didn’t feel quite so heavy.
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚
note: thank you for visiting whaletail island! ♡ — this little series became such a comfort project for me, and saying goodbye to it feels a bit like leaving a vacation i wasn’t ready to end.
along the way, i ended up developing quite a bit of backstory for this specific version of the reader and zuko’s relationship, and i’d absolutely love to explore more of it again sometime soon…
thank you for reading and coming along for the ride. whaletail island expects your return, until next time! xx
🏷️my dear taglist (lmk if you'd like to stil be tagged in other zuko works!xx): @sereaylia @newseldarya @winter-lemon @clockworkgraystairs @eepypupy @solarlovesxyz @sainz0fthetimes @radicaldualism @littlemiyastars @pdacex @saintfaux @keropiiko @potao-o @thestupidgirlakira @1iluvvocattoss @maee67 @kwomikailea @msheds0519 @awkwardnesshabitat @highlady0239 @angelruinz @xoxocelestial @simplykayblog @roroclarinett
What if…we reverse the roles for a second and imagine it's you who takes Peepaw Joel's virginity?
Yes, of course old Joel dated. Plenty. I mean, look at him. Women were gushing for him. But going to bed with them? Never happened. And after the outbreak, sex just wasn't his priority. Survival was. Trust was. And by the time he reached Jackson, he'd built walls so high that even he forgot there was a virgin hiding behind them.
But Jackson changed things. Tommy was happy. Maria was pregnant. Joel watched those couples walk hand-in-hand, and something twisted in his gut—a hollow ache. He never had that. Not even once. And now he's sixty, belly soft from steady meals, hands calloused from years of work, he figured it's too damn late.
Who the hell would want a grumpy old virgin?
Then you came to Jackson.
Bold, young, too goddamn pretty. Everything Joel needed to stay away from, because his heart couldn't take it anymore. But when you placed a kiss on his cheek, told him he looked handsome, and invited him over to your house—he couldn't possibly say no.
"Ain't never...done this before," he blurted out the moment your hand slid under his shirt, while you sat on top of him. He braced for your reaction, embarrassed, but you only cooed, kissed him, and promised to take real good care of him.
And yes—Joel's cock was excited. He's old, but he's not dead. The moment your hands started roaming—his thigh, his belly, the zipper of his jeans—he hardened like a rock. Blood rushed to his groin with a desperation he'd never felt before.
But his insecurities hit hard. When you started to tug his shirt up, he grabbed your wrists. "Too much gut on an old man like me."
You just nuzzled your face into the soft skin of his belly and told him how much you wanted it pressed against you while he fucked you.
And when you finally wrapped your hand around his cock for the first time? That poor old man nearly had a heart attack. Deep, shaky moans spilled from his mouth. He tried to stay quiet at first, but the new sensations wrecked him—little gasps, grunts that turned into desperate groans, maybe even your name said like a prayer when he got close.
First time your cunt clenched around him? He was already gasping. A few pumps up and down, and he was babbling: "I'm gonna—fuck, I can't hold it—stop or—"
And he spilled inside you, all pathetic and breathless, gaping for air. His cock pulsed and pulsed, twitched and twitched until he collapsed, face buried in your neck, breathing hard. He was mortified. "That...that was damn pitiful. I'm sorry."
But you just stroked his hair, smiling to him. "It was perfect. And we've got all night."
And because he's old but not spent—once he caught his breath, his cock stirred again, curious and ready.
This time, you let him take control.
He was slower. More gentle. He wanted to please you. Wanted to make up for that quick finish. So he fingered you, licked you, followed your instructions until he had you gasping beneath him. Then he pushed in again, and he lasted longer. He learned. He memorized every sound you made.
t.w.: Soft Dark, Smut, Dub-con, breeding/pregnancy kink, Reader is pregnant, fingering, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, hints of Stockholm Syndrome, barely proofread (forgive me)
a/n: Please read all warnings before interacting with any of my works. 18+ Only!!!
Love at First Sight Masterlist
He’s been conditioning you. He revels in the way your thighs clench together whenever his hands wander over your body.
At first, he let you isolate yourself, keeping yourself in the bunk as he piloted the ship, letting you take the cot every night. He didn't even try to interact with you, keeping himself busy with the child, his bounties and credit collection.
He would allow you outside of the ship, trusting you to be completely alone with Grogu. He was surprised by how you never once triggered the tracker embedded on your bracelet. He didn't know you knew that he had modified a cattle tracker into a shiny golden pendant.
You'd woken up with it your first morning in the Razor Crest. The soft hum of it was hard to locate at first. You lacked the tools to deactivate them. You were as sharp as a whip with technology.
A skill you wouldn’t use in a long time since you were taken.
He had plans. He wanted to find a home planet. Preferably somewhere adequate to raise his children and continue his life with you. The holopad he conspicuously left out in the hull while he was out one evening was full of data files on hundreds of mid-rim planets.
Most of the planets he landed on were among those in the holos. They were safe, quiet, and isolated. Once you had found the pad, he checked which images you would stare at the longest, which descriptions you would read with rapt attention.
He shakes his head remembering the first thing you did with the holopad. Immediately locating the communications feature and finding it disabled, the transmitter chip at the back of the device thoughtfully missing.
He would watch as you would glance outside of the ship, your stare would wander often when the ramp was open. You clearly had a preference. Your eyes would glimmer in regions with cooler temperatures, lots of trees, deciduous and changing with the seasons.
You dozed off to the soft sounds of animal chirps and rainfall when he would leave for a bounty.
By the fifth month of your Razor Crest residency, he lost his patience. He thought finding a planet would come easier. Some were perfect but the people were too hostile. For some, the people were peaceful but the planet was too unpredictable.
He was tired of your lack of communication. The moment you were alone with him, the room grew deadly silent. The only sounds that would react to him were of Grogu, coincidentally the only person you willingly interacted with.
Despite this, you were still pliant. Your pregnancy had made you sick early on. He’d make you food, soothe your back, bring you ginger tea and other higher quality rations he’d use extra credits on to make sure you were comfortable.
He started to condition you to get used to his presence; the way he could make you feel. If only you would give him easier leverage.
You would often hear him pleasuring himself, murmuring about how you looked so beautiful carrying his child. How you would look so pretty all cock-dumb and fucked out over his bed in a real home.
You would try to sleep after, but you couldn’t help but think of the way wetness dampened your underwear and how a part of you thinks back on how he pleased you back in your home. Before you realized his plan to take you.
You’d stare half awake at the panels above you. Shifting uncomfortably against the small bunk that only seemed to get smaller as your belly grew.
He broke the silence one day as he was making portions. He stated how he had enough credits to buy an isolated cottage near farmland, of which planet, he didn’t say. Sleeping Grogu was taken out of your arms and tucked into his metal bassinet. With a press of a button it was closed shut, leaving you alone with 'Din'.
You'd spoken directly to him a couple of times since your kidnapping. He revealed his name to you the day you had woken up. Despite your anger, the fear, and the desperation to be free, you often caught yourself thinking of it.
Who would have known a bounty hunter to have such a simple name. You loathe the fact you would have chuckled in any other circumstance.
You blinked up at him in confusion as the baby's pram closed shut. He sighs wistfully. As he sat down on the blankets and pillows he set up on the floor as a makeshift common area in the Crest, he reached for your hand.
You let him pull you down against him. He’s strong enough so that he could position you any way he wants without your assistance. He pulls his helmet off, the magnetic connection between it and his flightsuit hisses as it deactivates. He motions for you to pick up the plate of food he set on the small wooden tea table he had found in a market somewhere.
“We’ll be home soon,” he soothes as you eat slowly in his lap, pieces of his armor digging into your body. His cuirass was cold behind you, making you shiver.
You look back at him, eyes blank. He just smiles and caresses your cheek briefly with a swipe of his thumb, a slight chuckle escaping him at your ‘pout’. His hands skim over your tunic and stop on the swell of your belly, lightly tracing it up and down with the tips of his fingers.
He cups the underside of the bump, his nose pressing against the side of your neck.
Your defeat was present from the beginning. You never fought back, barely argued. Things couldn't have gotten much worse than life in your village, barely able to make it through a work shift without passing out from dehydration or starvation.
Chills run down your spine and goosebumps start to rise. He holds you against his chest for a couple of minutes, urging you to continue eating. Breathing in the scent of your hair and lightly caressing your belly.
Then his hands move further down to caress over your mound, you shiver. A shot of pleasure goes up your spine. He continues to ‘accidentally’ rub against you in between his praises of how well of a mother you’ve been, especially to Grogu, whenever he was gone.
You were throbbing by the time you were done with the portions, mumbling that you were full to excuse yourself away from the table.
That prompted him to ask you to feed him spoonfuls in return. He didn’t want to put anything to waste. It felt very intimate, especially with the way he loudly chewed next to your ear and groaned as if he were eating something gourmet, almost mimicking the sounds he made when he last had you in your bedroom back in your home planet, his mouth to your cunt.
The baby gave a sudden cry in his pram, you were grateful for the respite, especially as Din was starting to graze over your inner thighs to spread them. You excuse yourself to the restroom and curse yourself. It was the hormones, it had to be. You shouldn’t be this affected by his gentle touches otherwise.
He’s been doing the same technique for a little over a month afterwards. Grazing over your ass as he walked by, ‘accidentally' cupping your breasts and lightly squeezing as he mewled over your bump. Having you sit over his erection whenever you ate 'together' and the baby was napping in his soundproofed pod.
You hate the way your body responds to a simple touch on the shoulder and jumps to imagining him thrusting into you against the side of the hull.
It gets worse when you are finally 'home'. He was able to get his hands on a small cottage. It was far from the other housing units in the town, not quite secluded but not as neighborly. Despite the isolation, he didn’t allow you to even step outside the door. He said it was too dangerous.
You questioned him, considering you were a long way from other people. He never answered. Instead, he would hold you close to him and reassure you that it was safer for you and the baby.
Grogu was off to school, taken by his father almost every day. He wasn’t fussing constantly over him.
The one positive from being stuck ‘home’ was that he was barely there. You rarely had moments where he would make you want to rip his armor off and feel his skin on yours like the months before.
You had more time for yourself. To acclimate to the sudden shift in your center of gravity as your seventh month of your unexpected pregnancy began.
He was often away to earn credits working odd jobs. He'd leave you with the promise that soon, if you complied instead of ignoring all of his advances at becoming a family, you too would accompany him out one day.
He didn’t like the idea of keeping you as if you were a nanny to his children. Just a doll he could stare at and fondle. It was unbecoming of him and yourself.
But because you were currently pregnant and you didn’t reciprocate his kisses and affection, he thought it was best to keep you where you were. You had enough time alone to think about ways to escape, but with your growing condition the thought was dissipating quickly. You felt tired, nauseous, heavy. Your feet were swollen and even thinking of the months to come made you dread even thinking of being alone. In some sick way the bastard has debilitated you in this form.
Though that didn’t stop him from praising you. He likes to watch as you start to waddle around, chasing after his son, now yours, and play with him. Pride surges in his chest when he watches Grogu pat your stomach in question and you softly explain how there was a tiny person growing inside.
“The villagers have been asking for you,” he says one night, his shoulder leaning against the doorway to the restroom as you apply cream to your face in front of the mirror above the sink.
You hum absentmindedly, looking anywhere but the reflection as he steps closer behind, wrapping his arms around you.
“Is that so?” you question sarcastically. He ignores your tone.
“Mm.” He slumps over you, resting his head on top of yours. His eyes lower to your stomach and his brows furrow.
Skimming past your third trimester you outgrew all of your old clothes, including those of the man behind you. His stare made you fidget. You feel embarrassed as you try to tug the tunic as far down as it can go. A sliver of your skin still peaks through.
Tears well and blur your vision, you try to look away from his now worried gaze. Your hands move to cover your face as sudden emotion floods through your body, an unstoppable wobble from your lips gives you away. He stops your hands from hiding your face quickly, asking you what was wrong.
“My clothes don’t fit,” you whine. You think of how stupid you must sound. The way you could be thinking of many other worse things that he’s done to you, and you think to complain about this.
“I’m so big. I'm just so...,” you sigh weakly, hands fluttering over your body in an exasperated gesture. His grip tightens on your hands reassuringly and he presses a kiss to the side of your head.
He’s always liked his women with meat on their bones. He liked the thought that your body was changing because of him. Seeing you now, insinuating that you're not the most beautiful creation the maker has ever made, made his eyes twitch in irritation. Not at you, of course, but of the way you view yourself, of how people may have led you to believe.
In his culture women are respected as if they were goddesses. They are the foundations of their kind. Seeing you now look at yourself in disdain made him feel like a failure. He failed to take care of you as a spouse should.
All because he never touched you properly, fully and with his full intentions, he thinks. He's teased you for months, never going farther than a few raunchy touches.
He kisses up your neck and you freeze. His hands wander downward, under your stretchy maternity pants and underwear. His hand was so large that you could see it straining the seams of your pajamas.
“You’re beautiful,” he says as he flicks his wrist to palm over your mound, grinding it against you. You gasp as he continues, watching over you through the mirror as you twitch and lean your back further into his chest.
You sigh shakily as he inserts a thick finger inside of you. Then another as your eyes close shut tightly. The sound of your slick cunt resounds around the small room, your hand makes its way behind his head, pushing his mouth against your neck and shoulder.
He nips and sucks, groaning as he feels your walls squeeze around him. His palm grinds down harder, a quicker rhythm that makes his hand sticky with your arousal. He presses his pelvis forward, allowing you to feel the outline of his cock against the plushness of your ass.
He brings you to climax easily. Your legs threaten to collapse but he catches you.
The rest of the night he praised your body, your caring personality. Often mentioning how you would be such a caring mother to your next child and children.
You were barely awake and on the verge of passing out. You felt as if you exerted yourself trying to keep up with his burning touches. You don’t think you’ve ever been cared for as much as you have been with him.
“Tomorrow we’re going into town to get tunics.”
He presses himself against your back maneuvering a pillow under your body which lays on its side.
He finally presses a kiss to your lips as he pushes a strand of hair from your face. He smiles as he sees you respond back weakly, your eyes closed and lips slack in a light pucker.
--------------------
I'll upload parts every Wednesday! Next one will have actual full-length smut. I'm a tease, I suppose.
('island breeze and lights down low.' — part three. Part one here.)
adult fire lord zuko x fire lady firebender reader | mdni.
summary: in which a guardian spirit needs help, the fire lord gets distracted at the worst possible moment, and the gaang spends one last night on whaletail island proving exactly why nobody should ever let them compete against each other.
content: adult!fire lord zuko x fire lady!firebender reader, established marriage, featuring the gaang (+suki obvi), humor, element bending (sokka keeps backbending duh), action/adventure, spiritual shenanigans, minor injury, alcohol mention, suggestive jokes, suggestive content, excessive gaang chaos at a festival, post-war, fluff.
note: pls ignore any accidental lore inconsistencies, i had to fill some restoration era/island worldbuilding gaps with my own interpretations hehe. i did have more time to write this and got super inspired, not proofread tho. all hail the whaletail hooks champions. ♡
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The two Air Acolytes led the way along a narrow path cut into the western cliffs.
As the group descended, the warmth drifting from the festival gave way to something cooler and damp. Mist clung thicker between the rocks. Far below, waves crashed against the base of the cliffs with enough force to send vibrations through the ground beneath your feet.
Even Sokka had fallen unusually quiet.
The acolytes carried small, hooded lanterns whose light bounced across the path, but the deeper they moved into the cliffs, the less useful the flames seemed to become. Shadows stretched strangely between the rocks, swallowing whole sections of the trail before giving them back.
Zuko’s hand brushed yours. Your fingers found his without a second thought.
“So much for a peaceful evening.”
You glanced toward him.
“We had almost an entire day.”
“A personal record.”
You smiled sideways. His thumb brushed once across the back of your hand.
“You alright?”
You squeezed his hand.
“Are you?”
“Ask me again after we deal with the potentially angry spirit.”
“Fair.”
The entrance to the caverns appeared. A jagged opening split the cliff face, half-hidden behind curtains of moss and mineral-stained stone. Ancient carvings framed the archway, worn smooth by centuries of salt and wind. Some of them looked damaged.
Zuko slowed. You watched his head follow a fracture running directly through one of the carvings.
Fresh damage.
The older acolyte noticed where he was looking.
“We found that three weeks ago.”
Zuko crouched beside the broken stone, brushing his fingers over the cracked surface.
“Construction tools.”
The acolyte nodded.
“The lower harbor expansion team broke through part of the outer tunnels.”
Aang frowned.
“They continued working after finding a shrine?”
The younger acolyte exchanged a glance with his companion.
“We don’t know if they understood what they’d found.”
“Someone should have,” Katara said.
Toph stepped past them and pressed her bare foot against the stone floor near the entrance.
“What?” Suki asked.
Toph remained still for another second.
“The island feels wrong.”
Toph tilted her head.
“Not dangerous wrong…,” she said before she pointed deeper into the darkness. “Something’s moving underneath us.”
Somewhere beyond the reach of the firelight, water echoed through the caverns. The sound disappeared before anyone could identify it.
Sokka cleared his throat.
“Just to check, are we absolutely sure this isn’t one of those situations where the Avatar goes in alone while the rest of us wait somewhere safe?”
“No,” Aang said.
Sokka sighed.
“That’s what I was afraid of….”
A smile tugged at your mouth as you followed the others toward the entrance.
Darkness swallowed the group. The cavern widened into a network of natural tunnels carved through black volcanic stone. Moisture gleamed along the walls wherever the acolytes’ lights reached, turning the rock slick and reflective. Narrow streams threaded through the floor in shallow channels, disappearing beneath arches worn smooth by centuries of flowing water.
The festival felt far away now. Only the occasional distant boom of drums reached the tunnels, muffled beyond layers of stone and earth.
The older acolyte led you deeper.
“We found signs of the missing acolytes near the central shrine chamber.”
“How often do people come down here?” you asked.
“Less than they used to, Fire Lady,” the younger acolyte admitted. “Mostly for meditation and maintenance of the old shrines.”
The tunnels curved, and after a few minutes of walking, the first shrine appeared. At least what remained of it.
Ancient carvings also covered the walls around a circular alcove carved directly into the stone. Offerings sat scattered across the floor: broken shells, faded prayer ribbons, small ceramic bowls overturned beside the water.
One of the braziers had been knocked onto its side.
Katara crouched beside it.
“This wasn’t weather.”
“No it wasn’t,” Aang agreed.
Toph moved farther into the chamber.
“Someone came through here recently.”
“Can you tell who?” Sokka asked.
“No.” She frowned. “Too many footprints. But they’re not all old.”
Your eyes drifted toward the water running through the center of the room.
Something moved.
You blinked.
The current flowed steadily beneath the shrine before disappearing through a narrow opening farther ahead.
Beside you, Zuko stopped walking.
“You saw that too?”
You felt a chill slide unexpectedly down your spine.
“Yeah.”
Across the chamber, Katara straightened. “I thought it was a reflection.”
Aang looked between all of you.
“What reflection?”
Before anyone could answer, something echoed through the tunnels. It wasn’t precisely a voice; it sounded like several voices speaking at the same time underwater.
The sound traveled through the cavern for only a few seconds before fading back into the darkness.
Sokka immediately moved closer to Suki.
“Nope.”
“Sokka—”
“No. Absolutely not. Everyone heard that.”
“I heard it,” Katara admitted.
“Me too,” Zuko said.
Toph crossed her arms. “I felt whatever made it.”
The two acolytes exchanged visibly nervous glances, but neither looked surprised.
Aang’s expression grew more serious.
“That’s new, isn’t it?”
The older acolyte nodded.
“Yes…”
Farther ahead, somewhere deeper in the cavern network, water splashed.
The sound came again.
The older acolyte’s shoulders tightened. “The central shrine is this way.”
The group moved deeper into the tunnels, following the narrow water channels winding through the stone. Suddenly, Aang stopped.
The group nearly walked into him.
“What is it?” Katara asked.
Aang frowned toward the darkness ahead.
“I can feel something.”
Sokka pointed, instinctively dropping into a low stance and sidestepping so he was pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Suki. “Great. That’s the exact sentence nobody wants to hear in a cave!”
“It doesn’t feel angry,” Aang said slowly. “Just… confused.”
The tunnels opened abruptly into a much larger chamber. Several stone pillars rose from the water below, supporting a ceiling lost somewhere in darkness overhead. Ancient braziers lined the outer walls, all of them extinguished. At the center of the chamber stood a circular platform connected to the shore by a narrow stone bridge.
On the platform sat two figures. The missing acolytes.
“There!”
One of the missing acolytes looked up at the sound of their voices. Confusion crossed his face.
“Aang?”
The group hurried across the bridge. The two acolytes looked exhausted rather than injured. Their robes were damp from the cavern air and both seemed oddly unfocused, as though waking from a dream.
Katara knelt beside them once everyone reached them. “Are you hurt?”
The older of the two shook his head. “We don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” Sokka repeated.
The younger acolyte rubbed both hands across his face.
“We heard someone calling.”
Aang crouched beside him.
“Calling from where?”
The acolyte glanced toward the water surrounding the platform. “We couldn’t tell.”
A heavy ripple crossed the surface, and far beneath the dark water, something enormous shifted. It was massive enough that the entire pool seemed to displace around it, sending a wave breaking softly against the stone edges of the platform.
“Not a fish, guys…” Sokka stated, his voice dropping as he stared at the shifting shadows.
“Not even close,” you affirmed.
Small whirlpools appeared and vanished as the water grew restless beneath them, currents twisting in directions that made no sense. Reflections stretched strangely across the surface until the depths below began to glow.
Aang stepped closer to the edge as the water below began to glow.
Thin strands of pale blue light drifted beneath the surface like threads caught in a current. More appeared later, winding between the submerged pillars and ruined carvings revealed beneath the pool.
The light started to gather.
The missing acolytes exchanged nervous glances.
“That’s what we saw,” one of them whispered.
The glow brightened.
“What on earth is going on?” Sokka asked.
A shape emerged beneath the water, large enough to wrap around the entire chamber. Then it vanished again beneath the currents.
Your breath caught.
The water churned violently as the massive shape began to rise.
In response to its approach, all the ancient carvings lining the chamber walls began to glow, pale blue symbols awakening one after another beneath centuries of dust and mineral stains. Light spread across the stone until the entire shrine seemed illuminated from within.
Aang stared, recognition flickering across his face. “I don’t think it’s trying to hurt anyone.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the spirit finally surfaced, breaking the plane of the dark water.
Its massive head and upper body rose high above the pool, resembling a sea serpent woven from moonlit water and living coral. Luminous markings flowed across its body like moving constellations while translucent fins drifted around it in slow, graceful motions. Pieces of ancient shells and polished stone hung suspended among the currents surrounding it, orbiting the spirit as though caught in its presence.
It was beautiful. And at the same time, deeply, unmistakably distressed.
Sokka blinked twice.
“Wait…”
Nobody looked away from the spirit.
“Can everybody see that?”
“Yes, Sokka,” Katara answered.
“Isn’t that… a bit weird?” Suki asked exactly what was on your mind.
“Yeah, because usually when Aang says spirit, half the time the rest of us are staring at a wall,” Sokka said.
“This place is a spirit crossing,” Aang explained while his gaze remained fixed on the creature. “Some places exist closer to both worlds than others. The shrine was built on one of those places. Whatever happened here weakened the boundary. That’s why everyone can see it.”
The spirit’s luminous eyes swept across the chamber, its gaze settling on each of you in turn.
“… should we bow?” Sokka asked.
“We should shut up,” Toph replied.
“It’s hurting,” Aang realized out loud. “The damage to the outer tunnels... it's tearing at the spirit itself.”
A low call echoed from its throat, rolling through the cavern like a mournful song and raising goosebumps along your arms.
In response, every stream feeding into the shrine surged. Light flashed violently around the spirit as the water churned beneath it.
Toph’s head snapped upward. “Aang.”
The warning in her voice made everyone turn.
Cracks splintered through the stone beneath your feet. The spirit cried out once more, and the entire pool erupted. The water around its body surged outward in a violent ring that slammed against the surrounding pillars hard enough to crack stone.
Toph reacted instantly as both hands struck the platform.
Stone erupted upward around the outer supports, reinforcing pillars that had begun collapsing beneath the strain.
“I’ve got the ceiling!” she shouted through gritted teeth. “Somebody else deal with the angry water!”
The spirit cried out again. Every channel feeding into the shrine exploded at once.
A wall of seawater rushed through one of the side tunnels.
Katara spun toward it. Water rose around her in a sweeping arc before colliding with the surge head-on. The impact sent spray crashing across the chamber.
A second torrent burst from another tunnel, then a third.
Aang’s expression sharpened. “It’s not attacking!” He lunged toward the center of the platform, air swirling around him in widening circles as he pushed back the worst of the flooding before it could reach the rescued acolytes. "Katara!"
"I know!" she redirected surge after surge, but every wave she turned aside was replaced by two more.
The spirit twisted beneath the water. One of the upper supports split apart, and chunks of stone rained toward the platform. Before the monks could even scramble to safety, another violent surge burst from the flooded channels. Katara spun toward the roar, water already rising in fluid, defensive arcs around her hands. But as the wave tore through the cavern passage, swelling nearly to the ceiling and carrying shattered stone and debris from deep within the shrine, her posture faltered.
"Too far!" she shouted over the din.
Aang’s head snapped toward her. The distance between them and the main tunnel was too great. Even if Katara managed to contain this wave, another massive surge was already swelling right behind it.
You moved before either of them could think.
Heat rushed through your arms, and a brilliant arc of fire erupted from your palms, instantly illuminating the dark, cavernous chamber. Beside you, Zuko stepped forward in perfect synchronization. No words were needed. Your twin streams of flame crossed over the rushing water and struck the oncoming wave head-on.
The collision was deafening. A massive wall of steam exploded upward in a roaring white cloud, instantly swallowing half the chamber and blinding everyone in a thick, hot fog.
Somewhere in the mist behind you, Sokka hacked and coughed.
"I can officially say this is the worst vacation I’ve ever been on!"
As if in response, another surge raced through the subterranean tunnels, and the spirit cried out in a piercing sound. With every pulse of light that raced through its body, the shrine answered with another violent tremor. Water crashed violently against the outer walls, making a massive support pillar groan under the pressure.
The pieces clicked together in your mind. You looked past the rushing water, peering through the hot haze toward the glowing fractures rapidly spreading through the ancient carvings.
"The channels!" you shouted, pointing through the haze. "Look at the channels!"
The luminous lines pulsing through the stone weren't fracturing at random; they were all converging directly toward the damaged section of the shrine, right where the construction crews had carelessly breached the tunnels.
Aang’s eyes widened in realization. "It’s trying to reach the breach."
A massive section of the ceiling groaned and collapsed near the outer edge of the chamber. Toph caught it mid-air before it could crush the bridge, stone grinding against stone as she grunted, forcing the shattered rock back up into the ceiling.
Could this mountain stop breaking while I'm holding it?!" Toph’s voice boomed from somewhere behind the fog. "I'm officially claiming this cave, and it's treating me terribly!"
"I’m pretty sure you can't just claim a cave, Toph!" Sokka shouted back. "Especially when the current landlord is a sixty-foot angry water dragon! Look at how mad it is, that is a high-risk investment!"
"Well, it's mine until we leave!" Toph’s face tightened, sweat beading on her forehead. "Okay, everybody move."
The sheer strain in her voice cut off any argument before it could start. The spirit cried out again, sending another violent tremor ripping through the flooded channels.
"Now would be great!" she barked.
"Everybody heard the terrifying earthbender!” Sokka shouted, needing no further encouragement. ”Move!"
The rescued acolytes scrambled toward the bridge, Suki moving to guide them. One of the older monks pointed toward a narrow, jagged fissure climbing upward along the far wall. "There’s another route! An old escape passage!"
"Take them!" Aang shouted.
Suki hauled one of the exhausted acolytes up by the arm. "Come on, keep moving!"
"What about you guys?" Sokka asked, lingering at the base of the trail.
Another sharp crack echoed overhead. Toph didn’t even glance at him, her arms rigid as she held the ceiling.
"I’m busy holding up a mountain, genius."
"Right." Sokka pointed dramatically at the rest of the group. "Don't die while I'm gone!"
"You say that every time," Katara shouted back.
"Because you keep almost doing it!"
With a sharp thrust of her jaw, Toph forced a section of stone aside to clear the upper tunnel's mouth. Sokka, Suki, and the acolytes vanished into the darkness just a heartbeat before a massive tremor rocked the cavern, sealing the opening firmly behind them.
The spirit surged forward, slamming its massive form directly against the flooded wall nearest the breach. The impact vibrated through the entire shrine.
Aang’s eyes tracked the movement. "There."
Katara turned. The glowing currents weaving through the water were no longer chaotic; they were all bleeding into the same fractured masonry.
"It wants something on the other side," you said.
"It has from the beginning," Zuko agreed, his eyes narrowing.
Another pulse of light raced through the ancient carvings. This time, the illumination didn’t scatter. It collided into a single trail that threaded through the walls, pointing straight into the heart of the collapsed ruins.
Aang stared at the glowing path, a look of profound understanding crossing his face. “It’s showing us where to go."
The spirit cried out once more. The anger and malice were gone, replaced by a sound that echoed through the cavern like a desperate, hollow plea.
Zuko stepped forward first, his hand automatically finding yours, his grip firm and grounding.
"Let's go," he said.
The spirit turned. For the first time since surfacing, it stopped its frantic circling. Its luminous eyes locked onto the dark, ruined tunnel ahead, waiting for you to follow.
"Toph…?" Katara asked, her voice tight with concern.
Another violent tremor rolled through the cavern before the question could fully leave her mouth. Toph slammed both hands harder against the vibrating stone beneath her feet. Fresh, crude pillars groaned upward from the floor, catching a sagging section of the ceiling just in time.
"I’m staying here," Toph grunted.
"Are you sure?" you asked.
"No," she shot back. "But if I leave, this place becomes a very wet tomb for all of us. Go find whatever that giant sea noodle is crying about."
Without wasting another second, the four of you plunged into the ruined tunnel, following the glowing currents into the dark.
The passage narrowed drastically. The ancient shrine had once ended at a solid stone wall, but the construction crews had blasted directly through it with ruthless efficiency. Jagged fractures split the surrounding rock, turning the corridor into a treacherous maze of broken masonry and splintered timber supports.
Katara guided a sphere of glowing water ahead of the group, illuminating the path with the pale light reflected from the spirit behind you.
"You’d think people would stop digging after hitting an ancient shrine," she sighed, stepping over a pile of loose shale.
"You’d think they’d stop after finding a giant warning carved into the wall," Zuko muttered.
Aang glanced back over his shoulder. "There was a warning?"
Zuko kicked aside a piece of rubble, pointing his torch toward a cracked stone marker half-buried in the debris. Even fractured, the old Fire Nation characters were unmistakable.
"Yeah," you added, stepping over a collapsed beam and brushing dust from your shoulder. "So someone ignored several very obvious signs…”
"Unfortunately, that seems to be one of humanity’s favorite hobbies," Aang said.
Ahead of you, the spirit’s luminous form rippled through the flooded channels flanking the path. Its massive, serpentine body passed silently beneath the water before vanishing around a sharp bend.
The deeper you pressed, the older the environment became. The modern tool marks vanished entirely, replaced by rough, ancient stone that predated the harbor above by generations. Intricate carvings began to emerge beneath centuries of mineral deposits: stylized waves, primitive fishing boats, and countless figures offering gifts to a long, majestic creature woven through every single scene.
You slowed down beside one of the murals, tracing the outline. "The spirit... it's a guardian."
"These are centuries old," Aang murmured, his fingers brushing the weathered stone. "Maybe older."
Katara looked around the vast tunnel. "The harbor was built around this place."
"Not the other way around," Zuko finished.
A distant, echoing cry cut through the damp air. The spirit's call carried less panic now, replaced by a demanding urgency.
"It's close," Aang said, quickening his pace.
The tunnel finally spilled out into a vast, cavernous chamber. Unlike the serene shrine behind you, this place had been desecrated. It was an active construction site. Shattered scaffolding leaned haphazardly against ancient murals, abandoned ropes hung like dead vines from the ceiling, and crates of excavation tools sat coated in a thick layer of dust.
But it was what stood at the dead center of the chamber that drew everyone's breath.
A massive stone disk, nearly as tall as a man, dominated the room. Ancient carvings spiraled across its surface in concentric rings, mirroring the stories on the walls: waves, boats, and offerings. But beneath the art there were names. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, carved into the stone.
The pale blue light pulsing through the shrine’s veins flowed directly into the base of the disk. Behind you, the spirit broke the surface of the dark water. For the first time since you had encountered it, the creature became completely, utterly still.
Slowly, the guardian lowered its massive head toward the stone.
Zuko circled the monument once before stopping abruptly. "Hold on."
Following his gaze, you noticed that the floor around the disk wasn't solid. A perfectly circular groove ringed the monument, branching outward into dozens of narrow, intricate channels carved directly into the bedrock, the exact same pattern you had seen illuminated throughout the outer shrine.
Katara frowned. "It’s connected."
"It was connected," Zuko corrected, crouching to sweep a thick layer of dust away from the base.
Something emerged beneath the grime: blackened stone and ancient scorch marks.
Aang’s eyes widened. "Fire."
Four shallow basins sat evenly spaced around the monument’s base. Time and neglect had nearly hidden them, but their purpose was now obvious: they were ancient braziers.
The spirit released another low, prompting call.
"This wasn’t just a memorial," Aang realized, stepping back to take in the scale of the room.
"The shrine's energy grid ran through here," you said. "The excavation breach cut it off."
"And whatever connection existed between the guardian and the shrine went with it," Zuko finished.
Another violent tremor rolled through the chamber. Far behind you, back toward the main shrine, the stone groaned under the sheer force of Toph’s bending. Time was running out.
Aang didn’t hesitate. "Can you relight them?"
Zuko was already moving. Golden fire bloomed from his fingertips, pouring into the nearest basin. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a carved channel flashed to life. Light raced across the floor, and the spirit stilled, a flicker of hope rippling through its luminous markings.
But only a fraction of the network awakened. The light sputtered, then stopped.
Zuko frowned, his hands still smoking. "Not enough."
You looked toward the opposite side of the monument, eyeing the dark channels still waiting for power. Without a word, you stepped up to the second basin and thrust your hands forward.
Fire surged from your palms, igniting the ancient stone.
The response was immediate. Light exploded through the remaining channels, racing beneath the floor in branching rivers of gold and blue. The carvings surrounding the disk awakened one after another, illuminating centuries of forgotten names.
The entire chamber shuddered with a resonant shockwave of recognition. The spirit threw back its head and cried out. This time, the sound carried no pain. Only pure relief.
As the guardian’s cry faded, the light continued to pulse through the monument beneath your hands. The carved names shimmered in unison until the entire stone disk seemed to come alive, moving images shifting across its surface like a living tapestry.
Boats crossed rough, stylized seas. Families gathered along a primitive shore. The guardian glided protectively beneath the waves beside them. Generations blurred past in moments; harbors expanded and homes multiplied, yet through every shifting scene, one detail remained constant: at the dead center of the shrine sat a single, smooth piece of dark rock resting within a circular recess.
Then, the images turned chaotic. Carved workers appeared. Dust and explosions cracked through the ancient tunnels, causing a painted collapse. In the fray, the small dark rock tumbled free from its alcove, and a carved worker bent down to pocket it.
The image vanished. The chamber fell dark again, save for the baseline glow of the braziers.
Katara blinked into the sudden dimness.
"A centuries-old spiritual connection was shattered because someone picked up a shiny rock?"
Another tremor rolled through the chamber, and the guardian let out a deeply offended huff from the water.
"Apparently," you said, "yes."
Aang stepped closer, his fingers brushing the empty, circular recess at the center of the monument. "It wasn’t just a rock. It was the anchor for the connection."
Before anyone could reply, the floor lurched violently. A massive crack split across the chamber floor, and behind you, the guardian surged through the water again, its panic returning full force as chunks of stone began to rain down from the ceiling.
Aang moved closer to Katara, his hand settling instinctively at the small of her back as the cavern gave a terrifying heave.
"You okay?"
Katara nodded, bracing herself against him.
"I’m fine. But we need to find that rock, fast."
Above you, a massive section of the ceiling broke loose. Zuko moved instantly, a precise arc of fire bursting upward from his fist to shatter the falling boulder before it could crush anyone. Most of the debris exploded into harmless gravel, but a jagged fragment ricocheted off the wall and whipped past your face.
You hissed, instinctively pressing a hand to your cheek. It barely hurt, but when you pulled your hand away, your fingertips were stained with a thin line of blood.
Zuko saw it, and the remaining color drained from his face.
"That's it," he said, his voice cutting sharply through the roaring cavern. "We're done."
A tremor rolled beneath your feet, answered by a panicked cry from the guardian.
"We don't even know what we're looking for," Zuko continued, stepping between you and the falling dust. "This place is collapsing, Toph is holding up half the island, and we're wasting time chasing a stone that could be anywhere in the harbor by now."
"Zuko—"
"No." For a split second, he looked every bit the Fire Lord you knew: measured, decisive, and entirely unyielding. But beneath it, he was terrified. "We leave. We evacuate the tunnels, and we come back with proper excavation crews after the festival."
The guardian let out another mournful, echoing wail. Aang’s shoulders sank; part of him knew Zuko was right. The spiritual memory had only shown a generic rock. No map, no location, no clue where the worker had taken it…
The floor shuddered violently again, throwing everyone off balance. You stepped closer to Zuko, grabbing his wrist.
"I’m fine."
"I can see that you’re not."
"It’s a scratch, Zuko."
"It’s still blood." His amber eyes finally met yours, dark with worry.
"We can’t leave," you urged softly, keeping your grip firm. "Not when we’re this close."
Aang looked over at Katara, his eyes dropping instinctively to her hand resting over her belly. "Zuko’s right…”
"Aang!" Katara and you shouted in unison.
"We can come back later and—"
Before Aang could finish, a small, loose piece of rubble tumbled from the damaged ceiling and bounced across the face of the monument. Everyone froze, watching it roll.
The stray pebble dropped neatly into the empty, circular recess at the monument's center.
The entire shrine flashed blindingly. A surge of brilliant blue light exploded through every carved channel in the room. The guardian froze mid-thrash. Just as suddenly as it had ignited, the light faded back into a dull simmer.
Katara blinked against the afterimages. "...Did anybody else see that?"
Aang stared at the completely ordinary piece of ceiling rubble now sitting inside the ancient monument. "It responded."
You looked from the stone to the spirit, noting how its luminous eyes remained locked entirely on the monument.
"It was never looking for a specific stone," you realized.
Zuko frowned, his defensive posture melting into confusion. "What?"
You stepped toward the pedestal. "The workers didn't steal some rare, sacred artifact. They just broke the physical circuit." You pointed to the recess. "The stone was never the magic part. It was just a weight."
Aang’s eyes widened as the spiritual logic clicked into place. "The stone was only a physical anchor for the ritual."
"The monument accepted a random piece of rubble, maybe it was just a rock," Katara said, tracing the glowing lines with her eyes. "But it didn't finish the connection."
"Because the stone isn't the important part of the bridge," Zuko added.
You looked between the pulsing channels and the restless spirit, the logic clicking into place. "The stone can hold the physical circuit open... but it doesn't have the spiritual energy to actually link the two worlds back together."
Aang stepped forward, the blue light of the channels reflecting in his eyes as the guardian’s markings flared with sudden, brilliant intensity. He looked at his own glowing hand, understanding his unique responsibility.
"It needs a direct conduit," Aang said softly, the weight of his duty settling over him. "The Avatar is."
The ordinary piece of rubble still sat nestled in the center of the monument, pulsing faintly beneath the network of illuminated channels.
"Everybody back," Aang commanded.
As the floor gave another violent lurch, Aang stepped forward and pressed his palm flat against the stone.
A brilliant wave of energy raced beneath his hand, surging outward through the entire chamber like a physical pulse. Ancient symbols blazed to life across the cavern walls. The fractured lines running through the shrine filled with a blinding, cohesive light, sealing the cracks not with stone, but with pure, ancient energy.
The guardian froze. The tremors stopped.
A heavy, absolute silence crashed through the cavern so abruptly it felt louder than the chaos had been. The frantic, pained movements vanished entirely. A profound sense of relief settled over the creature.
A massive chunk of the ceiling broke loose, plunging toward them. Katara grabbed your sleeve, yanking you backward.
"Move!"
Nobody argued. The four of you pivoted and sprinted back through the unstable tunnel. Behind you, the guardian’s radiant glow poured through the newly restored shrine network, chasing away the oppressive darkness that had filled the depths of the island for days.
Another rumble vibrated through the passage.
Aang vaulted cleanly over a fallen beam, while you ducked beneath a buckling support timber. Zuko caught your arm just in time, his grip tightening as he kept you from sliding across the slick, wet ground.
The four of you burst back into the central chamber. Toph was still standing exactly where you left her, holding half the mountain together through sheer, stubborn willpower.
Aang didn’t slow down.
"It’s over, Toph!"
Toph tilted her head, listening. The cavern had gone entirely quiet. The water no longer surged angrily against the masonry, and the spirit's mournful cries had ceased. For the first time since they had set foot in the shrine, the island felt completely still.
With a sigh, Toph immediately dropped her arms. "Great."
Everyone stared at her, stunned by the sudden release.
She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"You trusted us awfully fast," Zuko noted, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Toph shrugged casually.
"If it wasn’t fixed, I’d already be dead."
Zuko closed the distance between you. He reached out, his hand sliding over the curve of your waist to pull you securely against his side, anchoring you to him as if to assure himself you were safe.
"Can we leave now?" he asked, looking down at you.
"That's the most enthusiastic I've ever heard you sound about leaving somewhere," you teased.
A quick glance toward your cheek immediately wiped away his attempt at a smile. The tiny cut had already stopped bleeding, but Zuko's eyes lingered on it anyway.
You sighed. "I told you I'm fine."
"We'll discuss it later."
You narrowed your eyes. "We're not discussing a scratch."
"We are."
From a few paces away, Katara snorted.
"Good to know nearly dying changes absolutely nothing between you two."
Together, the five of you began the trek back through the tunnels. The suffocating, heavy atmosphere that had plagued the caverns had vanished. Clear water flowed peacefully through the ancient channels and the unsettling spiritual whispers were gone.
When you finally emerged from the mouth of the cavern, the cool evening air rushed over your skin like a breath of fresh air.
Below the jagged cliffs, Whaletail Harbor glittered with life. The world had continued turning while all of you were buried beneath it.
Sokka was waiting near the base of the trail alongside Suki and the protected acolytes. The second he spotted the group emerging from the rocks, he shouted.
"There they are!"
Toph strolled right to him, tapping his arm before grabbing it.
"Good news, Snoozles. The island isn't haunted anymore."
Sokka froze, his eyes widening. "The island was haunted?!"
The older acolyte stepped forward before anyone could continue down the trail. He looked back toward the towering cliffs, where the hidden shrine lay buried beneath layers of ancient stone and forgotten history.
He bowed. Not to Aang alone, but to all of you.
"Thank you."
The younger acolyte lowered his head in tandem. "The guardian protected this island long before any of us were here. We didn’t understand what was happening until it was nearly too late."
"You weren’t the only ones," Katara admitted, offering a reassuring smile.
The rescued acolytes exchanged a sheepish glance before one of them laughed softly, breaking the lingering tension.
"I think I owe an apology…”
Aang blinked, tilting his head. "For what?"
The acolyte rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a bit pink.
“Well... when the voices first started echoing in the dark, I honestly thought I was achieving a higher state of spiritual enlightenment."
A surprised laugh rippled through the group, and even the older acolyte couldn't help but smile.
"We’ll make sure the harbor council knows exactly what happened here," the elder promised, his expression turning firm. "The excavation will be permanently halted."
"Good," Zuko said, his posture finally relaxing.
The acolyte nodded once in agreement. "And the breach will be repaired properly, with the respect the guardian deserves."
A sudden burst of celebratory music drifted from the harbor, accompanied by the faint scent of roasted street food. Sokka’s head snapped toward the noise, his eyes widening.
"Now..." he murmured.
Everyone recognized that dangerous look.
"Oh, no," Suki sighed, shaking her head.
"Oh, yes." Sokka spun around toward the vibrant, glowing waterfront. "We have already fought one ancient, terrifying force tonight!" He marched toward the path with absolute determination. "And now, we fight the long food lines. To the festival!"
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚
The moment you stepped into the harbor, the festival seemed to swallow you whole.
Someone pressed a skewer of sizzling, grilled squid into Sokka’s hand before he could even ask what it was. Children darted between the stalls, carrying paper fish larger than their heads, while a woman balancing three heavy trays of candied fruit argued loudly with a merchant over prices. Nearby, a rowdy group of musicians had abandoned any attempt at a melody and were simply trying to play louder than one another. The air was thick and alive, Tangled with the rich scents of sea salt, charcoal, citrus, and fried dough.
As the crowd surged around you, you felt Zuko slow to a halt beside you. You paused too, the chaos a contrast to the damp silence of the caves.
The rest of the group continued several paces before Katara noticed the gap and glanced back.
"Hey. What’s wrong?"
You exchanged a hesitant look with Zuko. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I don’t know if this is appropriate."
Aang blinked. "The festival?"
"All of this," Zuko said, gesturing vaguely toward the celebration.
"We’re supposed to be here officially representing the Fire Nation," you explained, shifting on your feet. "Not exactly running around playing games. Not that I dislike the idea, but..."
"After tonight..." Zuko looked toward the crowds gathering along the waterfront. "People heard of us dealing with the spirit. It feels strange to immediately show up here pretending we’re on a normal vacation."
Before anyone else could offer a profound philosophical rebuttal, Sokka wrapped a heavy arm around each of your shoulders, pulling you together.
"I completely understand," Sokka said.
You distrusted his tone.
"You do?"
"No." Sokka grinned, squeezing your shoulders. "But I think you’re both being ridiculous."
"Sokka—" Zuko started.
"Look, you are the Fire Lord and the Fire Lady," Sokka interrupted, counting on his fingers. "Very important. Extremely impressive. Lots of paperwork. I get it…”
"I hate where this is going," you muttered.
"...But you also just helped save the entire island," Sokka countered, pointing toward the buzzing docks. "These people are happy because of you."
Suki stepped up beside him, her smile warm.
"He’s right. They’re incredibly grateful. And honestly? I think it’s good for them to see these leaders enjoying the same evening they are."
Katara nodded in agreement. "It reminds everyone that you’re still human."
"And it’s healthy to take a breath," Aang added with a smile.
Toph smirked, leaning casually against a nearby wooden pillar.
"World leaders. Can’t even have a good time without somebody giving them permission first…”
"That’s not true," Aang protested.
Katara raised an eyebrow. "Aang."
"...Okay, fair," the Avatar mumbled.
You laughed, and the sound seemed to break the last of Zuko's hesitation. He let out a quiet breath, a genuinely relaxed expression finally washing over his face as he bumped his shoulder playfully against yours.
"If you put it that way..." Zuko conceded.
"Fantastic!" Sokka announced, clapping his hands together. "No more responsible thoughts. Let’s get into festival mode!”
Before either of you could regret it, he gave you both a firm shove forward into the heart of the crowd.
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊
The harbor opened up around you in a blur of motion and color. Brightly painted stalls lined the cobblestone walkways, and dancers spun gracefully beneath strings of paper lanterns. The irresistible aromas of grilled fish and sweet, spiced pastries made your stomach growl almost instantly.
Within minutes, the group naturally fractured. Aang and Katara wandered off toward a shop selling handmade woodcarvings and painted souvenirs. Sokka caught the scent of roasted meats and vanished without a trace, Suki following close behind with a look of affectionate resignation. Toph somehow acquired a local drink almost immediately and was already deep in conversation with a burly fisherman who looked completely unprepared for whatever she was telling him.
For the first time all evening, it was just the two of you.
The joyous noise of the festival swirled around you like a warm breeze. You glanced up at Zuko. "Okay."
"Okay?" he asked, tilting his head.
"We’re having fun…”
A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That is the current plan."
"Good…”
"But not too much fun," he added, a familiar seriousness creeping back into his voice.
You laughed, shaking your head.
"There he is."
"Who?"
"The Fire Lord, of course."
"I am attempting to enjoy myself."
"You look like you’re scheduling it in a ledger."
His offended expression only made you laugh harder. Seeing his chance, Zuko reached out, his hand slipping smoothly into yours. His grip was warm and grounding.
You looked down at your joined hands, a sudden idea striking you, and let go.
Zuko froze, his hand hanging empty in the air.
"...What?"
You took one careful step backward into the crowd.
"Maybe we shouldn’t."
His eyebrow shot up.
"What do you mean?"
"Because..." you said thoughtfully, trailing off as suspicion flashed across his face. You pointed past him toward a lively stall at the far end of the harbor, where darts were flying through the air. "Last one to the prize games has to pay for Sokka's dinner!"
For half a second, Zuko simply stared, his brain catching up to the challenge. Then, you spun on your heel and bolted into the thick of the crowd, your laughter trailing behind you.
Behind you, a loud voice of complete, competitive disbelief echoed over the music.
"Oh, absolutely not!"
A heartbeat later, the Fire Lord was chasing you through the festival.
The evening slipped away faster than any of you expected. One game became two. Two became five.
At some point Sokka won a stuffed turtle-duck the size of a small child. At another, Aang accidentally got talked into participating in a dance competition he hadn’t realized was a competition. Toph acquired a second drink and refused to explain where it came from.
By the time anyone thought to check the hour, the entire group had somehow reunited in front of a crowded prize stall near the center of the harbor.
“How did we all end up here?” Katara asked.
“Fate,” Sokka answered immediately.
The game itself was simple enough. Teams stood behind a painted line and tossed wooden rings toward a collection of moving targets mounted on spinning wheels.
Sokka appointed himself organizer.
"Alright!" he announced, clapping his hands together. "Teams!"
Before anyone could even think about objecting, his finger was already darting around the group.
"Me and the Fire Lady. Team One."
"What?" you said, catching the sudden smirk on Zuko's face out of the corner of your eye.
"Team Two: Aang and Zuko," Sokka continued without missing a beat.
Aang blinked, looking between Zuko and the game board. "Why?"
"Because it’d be funny," Sokka said honestly. He pointed again. "Katara and Suki, Team Three."
Suki shrugged, offering a cheerful high-five to Katara. "I'm in."
"And Toph—"
"I’m not playing," Toph interrupted, lifting her cup. "I just spent the last half hour holding up a collapsing cave."
"Fair point," Sokka conceded.
She took a sip.
“I deserve this drink."
The local fisherman next to her gave her a respectful nod.
"You absolutely do, little lady."
Toph beamed with pride, gesturing toward him with her cup.
"Finally, someone reasonable around here."
Katara sighed, watching her closely. "I think she’s getting tipsy…”
"I’m not tipsy," Toph scoffed, taking another long sip. "Though... the floor is vibrating weirdly."
"Toph, we’re standing on a wooden dock."
Toph paused. "...That actually explains a lot."
"Yeah," Katara murmured. "You’re tipsy."
Before the debate could continue, the stall owner cleared his throat loudly, crossing his arms over his apron.
"Are you guys playing or not?"
Everyone turned back to the booth. The man pointed proudly to a pair of heavy, brightly painted tin medallions hanging from thick red ribbons right at the center of the display. Stamped boldly into the metal were the words: Whaletail Hooks Champion.
Sokka’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, his competitive spirit completely taking over.
“Oh, we’re playing…”
The game turned out to be far more competitive than any festival attraction had a right to be.
Brightly painted wooden targets spun atop rotating wheels at varying speeds while players attempted to hook heavy rings around them from across the lane. Some moved unpredictably, jerking side to side, while others ducked behind wooden barriers before reappearing a few seconds later.
A sizable crowd had gathered quickly around the stall. Apparently, the locals enjoyed watching legendary world leaders become completely irrational over cheap prizes.
The first round went entirely to Katara and Suki. Katara landed three perfect, flowing throws in a row, while Suki cleanly sank four.
"How are you so good at this?" Aang asked, watching another ring slide perfectly onto a spinning peg.
Suki blinked at him, holding a fresh ring balance on her fingers.
"Aang, I throw razor-sharp fans for a living."
"Right. Good point."
The second round, however, belonged completely to Sokka. The moment the game shifted from raw aiming to strict timing, his inner war strategist activated.
"No, no, no, watch the pattern," Sokka muttered, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at the wheels. "That blue one slows down every six rotations. It's a trap."
You stared at him.
"You counted the rotations?"
"I count everything," he said solemnly.
The ring left his hand with a sharp flick. A direct hit.
The crowd cheered, and you laughed, high-fiving him. "Okay, I have to admit, that was actually impressive."
"I know," Sokka said, basking in the glory.
Three throws later, Team One had climbed into second place. Across the lane, Zuko looked mildly offended by their sudden success.
"He’s actually good at this."
"You sound surprised," Suki observed, leaning against the counter.
"I am."
Sokka pointed a triumphant finger. "You hear that? The Fire Lord respects my athletic prowess."
"I didn’t say that…" Zuko shot back.
But as the next round began, Team Two started pulling ahead. Aang wasn’t bad, but Zuko was the real problem. His throws were precise, consistent, and annoyingly perfect. Every ring he released seemed to land exactly where he intended, his military discipline translating entirely too well to festival games.
"Again?" Katara complained as another target spun away carrying one of Zuko's red rings around its neck.
The scoreboard shifted:
Team One: 24
Team Two: 30
Team Three: 27
Sokka looked physically ill, clutching his stomach as he stared at the numbers.
"This is terrible. This is an absolute disaster."
"Sokka, we’re only losing by six points," you said, trying to re-anchor him to reality. "That’s not terrible."
"It is when Zuko starts getting confident," Sokka whispered.
Across the lane, Zuko accepted another ring from Aang. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and casually pushed his dark hair back from his face before landing another perfect throw. The crowd erupted into applause.
Sokka narrowed his eyes, leaning in close to you. "You see that?"
"What?"
"That! Right there."
You followed his intense gaze.
"Sokka, I have no idea what you’re talking about."
"The shoulder thing!" he hissed. "And the hair! Zuko’s been distracting you all night."
Katara nearly choked on her drink, bursting into a loud laugh, while Aang just looked lost.
Zuko, hearing his name, looked up with an expression of profound confusion.
"What are they talking about over there?"
"No idea," Aang admitted, tossing his next ring.
"Waving his hair around," Sokka continued his passionate rant to you, ignoring the other team entirely. "Cracking his knuckles. Lifting his arms."
You blinked, utterly baffled.
"Sokka... is he distracting me, or is he distracting you?"
Suki burst out laughing, and Toph, lounging comfortably on a nearby barrel with a local beverage in hand, pointed in Sokka’s direction.
"Honestly? At this point, I think he’s just distracting himself."
The crowd chuckled, but Sokka held up a hand, completely unfazed. He turned to you.
"My dear Fire Lady…”
"Oh no. Stop."
"…you are far too oblivious to his psychological warfare."
"I’m leaving this stall right now," you said, turning around.
"You can’t leave!" Sokka grabbed your sleeve. "We’re a team!"
Another ring landed across the lane. Another point for Team Two. The scoreboard updated after the turns:
Team One: 26
Team Two: 34
Team Three: 30
A heavy, grim silence fell over Team One. Sokka stared at the numbers, then at you, then back at the numbers. You recognized the plotting look in his eyes.
"No," you said firmly.
"I haven't even said anything!"
"You don't need to. I know you.”
"You could help us," Sokka pleaded, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You could help us more."
Across the lane, Zuko landed yet another throw, leaning against the wooden barrier with a small, smug grin. Sokka slammed both hands down onto the counter, throwing his head back in a theatrical groan of disbelief.
"There! That’s the problem. Think about it: he’s your husband…”
"We only need four points. You could easily get us four points!”
"Sokka, that’s cheating."
"It’s more like… romantic strategy."
You folded your arms, glaring at him. Sokka folded his arms right back, matching your stance.
"You want me to distract Zuko," you summarized.
"I want you to help your team."
"By distracting Zuko."
"By securing victory."
"Sokka."
"Look," he reasoned, gesturing dramatically toward the opposite side of the lane. "I’m telling you, it would only be fair. Remember when he beat you at the games on Ember Island?"
The mention of Ember Island brought your entire train of thought to a grinding halt. The memory flashed in your mind: Zuko gloating over a trivial victory, refusing to let it go for days.
"He didn’t deserve that win, did he?" Sokka pressed. "You were doing way better."
"I was doing better," you murmured, your own competitive instincts suddenly flaring to life. "The wind caught my last throw…”
"Exactly! I knew it!" Sokka encouraged. "So now, we need to win. For justice."
You looked toward the scoreboard. Then toward Zuko, who was casually spinning a ring on his finger, looking entirely too relaxed. Then back toward the scoreboard. Four points. Only four.
Sokka saw the exact moment your resolve crumbled. A massive, devious grin spread slowly across his face.
"There she is."
"Sokka, please, don't enable me..."
"There she is, I can see her! The true competitor!"
"No, she’s not here, she's being a responsible world leader..." you muttered, though your eyes were locked on Zuko. You sighed, letting your arms drop. "...Fine. One distraction."
Sokka gasped dramatically, Suki covered her face to hide her grin, and Katara started laughing in anticipation.
"You are never allowed to complain about cheating ever again," you warned Sokka, reaching up to casually loosen and rearrange your hair.
"I won’t," he promised.
"You absolutely will."
"That’s future Sokka’s problem."
You shook your head, stepped out from behind your counter, and crossed the lane. The moment Zuko noticed you approaching.
"I already know Sokka sent you," he said as you stopped right beside him.
"Why would you think that?" you asked, tilting your head innocently.
"Because you’re on the losing team."
The word ‘losing’ immediately irritated something deep inside you, dragging your mind straight back to his smug face on Ember Island. Your competitive edge sharpened.
"We’re not losing."
His gaze drifted pointedly toward the scoreboard, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.
"We’re still ahead.”
The stall owner handed him a fresh, painted ring. Zuko rolled the heavy wood thoughtfully between his fingers, rolling his shoulder back.
"If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to secure this victory."
You smiled. "Of course."
Zuko narrowed his eyes. Experience had taught him that a smile that gentle from you never meant anything good. "Of course?" he repeated.
"Of course."
His suspicion doubled. You folded your hands behind your back.
Across the board, the wooden target rotated into view. Zuko lifted his arm, setting his stance into a perfect, practiced military position.
You looked him up and down thoughtfully.
“I just wanted to say... I really like that look on you."
His focus flickered. "What look?"
"The focused one…”
A few feet away, Sokka physically stopped breathing. Zuko snorted, fighting a grin as he kept his arm raised.
"That’s your strategy? Flattery?"
"No." You leaned in just a fraction closer, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper that only he could hear over the crowd. "All I’m saying is, it’s the exact same expression you make when you look up at me while your mouth is on my—"
The ring left his hand going completely sideways.
It missed the target, missed the rotating wheel, and missed the entire structure of the game stall. The ring sailed clean out of the booth, landing somewhere near a thoroughly confused person in the crowd.
Zuko froze, his arm still extended, his entire face flushing a deep, brilliant crimson that rivaled the Fire Nation banners.
Sokka exploded. "HE MISSED! THE FIRE LORD MISSED!"
The entire harbor seemed to hear him. Katara doubled over, clutching the counter as she gasped for air, while Suki nearly dropped her remaining rings from laughing so hard. Even Aang looked deeply impressed by the sheer trajectory of the fail.
Zuko slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the flush remained on his cheeks, but his gaze locked directly onto yours.
"...You."
You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your grin.
"I’m really not sure what happened there, Zu. A sudden gust of wind, maybe?"
"You know exactly what happened."
"I was just making casual conversation."
Behind you, Sokka was practically doing a victory lap.
“LET'S GO TEAM ONE! THE COMEBACK IS REAL!"
"You haven’t won yet!" Zuko called out.
"We basically have!" Sokka shouted back, shoving three rings into your hands the moment you walked back to your side. "Do it again! Go back over there and do it one more time!"
"No," you laughed.
"For justice!"
"Sokka, there is absolutely nothing just about what I just did."
Sokka pointed a dramatic, accusing finger across the lane. "He started it!"
"I did not!" Zuko protested loudly.
"You were waving your hair around!" Sokka yelled.
"What does that even mean?!"
While Team Two looked genuinely worried and Zuko continued to glare at you, Sokka leaned over the counter, grinning so hard his face looked painful.
“She’s a natural, Suki. A natural."
Suki shook her head, though she was still smiling.
“I regret ever introducing you two."
The stall owner held up the final set of rings, his voice booming over the chatter.
“Last round, folks!"
The crowd cheered as the scoreboard updated. Thanks to your distraction and Suki's quick throwing during the chaos, the massive gap had evaporated. It was a dead heat:
Team One: 38
Team Two: 35
Team Three: 39
Everything came down to the final throws. Sokka’s eyes darted across the spinning wheels, his mental math clicking into place. He pointed toward the board.
"Third target from the left."
You followed his finger. "The fast one?"
"No, the one behind it."
You frowned, squinting. "Sokka, you can’t even see a target behind it."
"I know. It’s blocked by the wooden barrier right now, but its rotation speed is half the front wheel's. It's going to emerge in exactly three seconds."
You stared at him, then back at the blank spot.
Right on cue, the hidden target slid out from behind the barrier exactly where he predicted.
"...That is incredibly annoying," you muttered. “But damn impressive.”
"So I've been told."
You lined up your shot, took a breath, and flicked your wrist. A direct hit.
The crowd erupted. Tie game.
Across the lane, Aang groaned, resting his forehead against the wooden counter.
“Why are they suddenly so good at this?"
"They’ve become insufferable," Katara replied, though she was grinning.
Sokka handed you your second-to-last ring, his eyes never leaving the board.
“Now, the one on the far right."
"The moving one?"
"The fake moving one."
“What does that even mean?"
"The mechanism is hitching," Sokka explained rapidly. "It sways left, but it’s pretending. It drops right back to the center on the next beat. Trust me."
You didn’t fully understand the physics of his madness, but you trusted him anyway. You threw the ring. It sailed gracefully across the lane, catching the right-hand peg perfectly as it hitched.
The crowd exploded again. Team One pulled ahead on the scoreboard for the first time all night.
Beside the game stall, Toph raised her cup in the air. "I’ve got five silver pieces on the loud one!"
"The loud one?" the fisherman beside her asked, looking down at the earthbender.
Toph pointed a blind, unerring finger directly at Sokka’s face.
“The loud one."
Back at the game, Sokka was practically bouncing in place. Only one final target remained on the entire board, and it was notoriously the hardest: a tiny, painted wooden turtle-duck spinning in tight, rapid circles near the very top of the display.
The crowd fell completely silent. The stall owner folded his arms, looking smug.
“No one’s hit that turtle-duck all night, folks."
Sokka immediately looked at you. You looked back at him. Neither of you spoke a word, but years of shared history and mutual chaotic energy suddenly condensed into one terrifying look of perfect realization.
"Oh no," Katara muttered, stepping back.
"They’re doing the Ember Island thing again," Suki agreed, covering her eyes.
Aang winced. "What thing?"
"The thing where they stop talking because they both think they’re geniuses," Katara explained.
Sokka gave you a sharp nod. You nodded back.
In a flash, Sokka tossed his final ring, not toward the turtle-duck, but straight toward one of the heavier wheels spinning directly beneath it. The crowd gasped at the apparent miss, but the heavy ring struck the lower wheel with a sharp thunk, causing the entire mechanism to jerk violently sideways.
The tiny turtle-duck target stuttered in its track, its rapid spinning halting for a fraction of a second.
Before anyone else could even comprehend what Sokka was doing, your final ring was already in the air. It sailed flawlessly across the lane, cutting through the lantern light, and landed squarely over the stalled turtle-duck target.
The crowd roared, Sokka screamed at the top of his lungs, and you screamed right along with him. Somewhere behind you, Toph’s voice boomed over the madness: "I WON TEN SILVER PIECES!"
"THAT WAS MY RENT MONEY!" the fisherman wailed.
"I BELIEVED IN THEM MORE, BUDDY!"
Sokka grabbed you by both shoulders, shaking you back and forth.
“WE DID IT! WE WON!"
"WE ACTUALLY WON!" you shouted back.
Neither of you noticed you were jumping up and down like toddlers, and neither of you cared.
Across the lane, Aang sighed dramatically, though he was smiling.
“I liked them better when they were losing."
Katara just laughed, leaning against her brother's shoulder as he continued to celebrate their absolute heist of a victory.
Meanwhile, Zuko stood with his arms crossed, watching the two of you lose your minds. He tried very hard to look stern, trying to keep a straight face and fail completely. A breathless smile broke. Because as entirely annoying and chaotic as the two of you were when your brains synchronized, the bright, victorious look on your face was worth every single bit of it.
The stall owner, looking thoroughly defeated but deeply impressed, handed over two heavy, brightly painted tin medallions attached to red ribbons. Sokka proudly slipped his over his head, and you did the same, looking down at the bold lettering stamped into the metal: Whaletail Hooks Champion.
Suki walked around the counter, a bright smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around Sokka’s neck and kissed him on the cheek.
"Congratulations, babe!"
Sokka straightened his spine, puffing out his chest so the tin medal caught the lantern light.
"Address me correctly."
Suki dropped her arms, her smile turning into a look of dry amusement.
“Oh, no..."
"Whaletail Hooks Champion Sokka," he corrected, raising his hands in the air to frame an imaginary title above his head.
Suki just laughed, shaking her head as she leaned against his shoulder.
Across the lane, Aang shook his head and folded his arms in mock betrayal.
"I am officially never teaming up with Zuko again unless we are actively saving the world."
"Aang," you said through your lingering laughter, adjusting your new medal. "You don't have to say that!”
"No, I do," Aang insisted, gesturing wildly at the Fire Lord. "How has he been married this long and still fallen for something that obvious? Zuko, you should already know what she’s going to do whenever she wants to distract—"
Before he could finish his lecture, Katara reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair back from Aang’s forehead, her fingers lingering gently against his temple.
The words died right in his throat as he stared at her, his posture melting. Katara offered him a sweet, knowing smile. "There."
Aang blinked.
"...Hi."
Beside him, Toph nearly choked on her drink, coughing as she laughed.
Aang blinked again, trying to shake the fog from his head.
“What?"
Zuko stepped up behind you, his hand sliding smoothly around your waist as he pulled you against his side. A smug grin crossed his face as he looked across the counter.
“You were saying, Aang?"
Aang opened his mouth to reply, then paused. He let out a defeated sigh.
"I forgot."
The group erupted into a fresh wave of laughter.
Katara playfully rolled her eyes, though her smile was affectionate as she took Aang’s hand and nodded toward the center of the harbor.
"Come on, let's dance!" she called out.
Aang followed her into the crowd without a single shred of hesitation.
The music grew louder, filling the night air as you followed the others toward the beating heart of the harbor. Someone had cleared a wide, circular section of the cobblestone waterfront specifically for dancing. Local musicians crowded onto a raised wooden platform, pouring their souls into songs so fast and lively that half the festival seemed to be moving in perfect rhythm with them.
Aang and Katara disappeared into the swirling crowd first, their hands locked as they spun. Sokka immediately attempted to teach Suki a chaotic new dance he had clearly invented less than thirty seconds earlier, while Suki simply laughed and tried her best to keep him from tripping over his own feet. Toph took one look at the growing madness, announced to no one in particular that she deserved another drink for holding up a literal mountain, and vanished toward the nearest refreshment vendor without a backward glance.
You watched them go, leaning back into Zuko's chest with a soft smile.
“Somehow, they get more ridiculous every single year."
"Or better," Zuko murmured, his chin resting lightly against the crown of your head, his arms wrapping around your middle from behind.
"Uhhh, debatable." You turned your head slightly, pressing a playful kiss to his jawline.
His grip tightened around you, a quiet hum vibrating in his chest. Just then, the fast-paced tempo of the festival changed. The drums slowed, transitioning into a deeper, swaying rhythm. Around you, the frantic dancers parted, making room for couples to step closer together.
Zuko turned you in his arms. The movement was entirely effortless, born from years of knowing exactly how the other moved. His right hand settled firmly against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, while his left hand intertwined with yours, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over your knuckles. Laughter and the scent of sea salt drifted through the warm night air, and the overwhelming noise of the world seemed to fade into a gentle hum.
There was absolutely nowhere else either of you needed to be.
You relaxed into his rhythm, letting your forehead rest briefly against his shoulder, letting the steady beat of his heart soothe the lingering adrenaline from the caves.
"Tired?" he asked softly, his breath brushing the top of your ear.
"A little," you admitted, tilting your head up to look at him. "It's hard work carrying Team One to a historic victory."
Zuko looked down at you, his amber eyes immediately darkening with that familiar, mock-suspicious glint.
“You cheated. And I know that look. What are you planning?"
"Should you be worried?" you teased, your fingers lightly tracing the embroidered collar of his robes.
"When you use that specific voice? Yes. Always."
You laughed, the sound bright and unbothered. Across the harbor, a long string of lanterns reflected over the dark.
"I saw a sign earlier," you murmured, leaning in just close enough that your lips almost brushed his jaw. "Apparently, there are natural hot springs tucked away into the cliffs nearby."
"Are there?" Zuko asked, his pace slowing just a fraction as he focused entirely on you.
"Mhm. And a very enthusiastic local woman confirmed they are exceptionally nice." You trailed a finger down his chest, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. "They also happen to be completely secluded."
Now you had his absolute, undivided attention. His eyebrow rose, a spark of genuine interest igniting in his eyes.
"Secluded, you say?"
You nodded thoughtfully, enjoying the way his chest tightened beneath your palm.
“And they're not too far from the Shiny Bug."
The corner of his mouth twitched, a slow, devastatingly handsome smile breaking across his face. He leaned down, dipping you slightly into the turn of the dance just to hear you gasp.
“I highly approve of your scouting methods, Fire Lady."
"I know you do." Your smile widened as you stood up on your tiptoes, bringing your face inches from his. "We’re married for a reason, Zu."
As you spoke, Zuko’s thumb gently brushed over the small, faint scratch on your cheek, the tiny reminder of the collapsing cave from earlier. His touch was incredibly tender, a silent check to make sure you were truly alright, before his playful gaze returned.
A genuine, breathless laugh escaped him, one of those rare, unburdened sounds that never failed to make your chest swell with affection. His hand pressed a little firmer against your waist, guiding you effortlessly beneath the glowing lanterns.
"In that case," Zuko whispered, his voice dropping into a low, rough register as his mouth hovered agonizingly close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "I hope the rumors stay entirely between us."
"What rumors?" you asked.
"The ones about the Fire Lady being found entirely alone in those hot springs sometime soon." He nipped playfully at your earlobe, making a shiver run down your spine, before whispering, "Because I’d love nothing more than to get her all to myself."
You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb smoothing over his scar as a wicked, playful grin spread across your face.
"Well... you might. If you manage to wake up early enough to keep up with me."
The promise settled comfortably between you, thick with anticipation. Before he could retort, you slid your hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down into a deep, lingering kiss.
Zuko didn't hesitate; his arm anchored you tightly against him, melting into the kiss as the festival carried on around you.
The music swelled, drifting deeper into the starlit night. Nearby, Aang’s joyful laughter echoed over the din at something Katara had said. Sokka had somehow successfully convinced an entire group of absolute strangers to join whatever ridiculous line-dance he was leading, and even Toph’s boisterous voice occasionally boomed across the docks whenever she won an argument with a vendor.
The retreat had not gone remotely according to the schedule. There had been rigid political obligations, a sudden spiritual crisis, a collapsing ancient shrine, and entirely too many opportunities for Sokka to embarrass them all in public. And somehow, despite the absolute chaos of it all, you found yourself wishing it wasn’t almost over.
Tomorrow would be your final day on Whaletail Island before returning to the capital and the heavy weight of the throne. But for tonight, wrapped in Zuko's arms beneath the moonlight, the music, and the endless canopy of stars, reality felt very far away indeed.
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊
note: ahhhh, contrary to the last installment, this one has my whole heart 🥹 i had so much fun writing it. life has been a little busy lately, so getting to sit down and spend some time with these guys genuinely helped more than i can explain. thank you for still being here and reading these <3 and for everyone already yearning for spice… don’t worry. i gotchuuuu. see you in part four? xx
🏷️my dear taglist (still open for ppl who want to be tagged in part 4): @sereaylia @newseldarya @winter-lemon @clockworkgraystairs @eepypupy @solarlovesxyz @sainz0fthetimes @radicaldualism @littlemiyastars @pdacex @saintfaux @keropiiko @potao-o @thestupidgirlakira @1iluvvocattoss @maee67 @kwomikailea @msheds0519 @awkwardnesshabitat @highlady0239 @angelruinz @xoxocelestial @simplykayblog @roroclarinett
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Joel Dealing with His Girlfriend (pre-wifey): Milestone
Joel x F!Reader
Set when Joel and reader are still dating
Warnings: Talking about soft dicks. Joel goes to pound town. multiple orgasms. fucking until unconscious.
18+ ONLY
- - - -
A typical Saturday evening with your boyfriend usually involved you reading in bed while your aforementioned boyfriend hugged your abdomen and rested. Joel is coddled up against your stomach, breathing deeply into your shirt. His face smothered in your scent and touch. Body lax, breathing deep and steady. One leg tossed over your calf. Sometimes you’d run your fingers through his fluffy messy tuff of hair, earning low purrs from deep within his chest. He'd nuzzle his nose against your tummy with a soft grin.
It suddenly dawned on you.
You put your book down , accidentally smacking his head where he let out an 'oomf' into your stomach.
“Why have I never seen you soft before?” you ask.
Joel had started getting used to these kinds of questions from you. Something told him early on this is likely what life with you would be like, so might as well get used to it. He barely reacted aside from casually grumbling into your body: “S’never a time where you n’ me in the same room, and ya lookin’ at my dick, and it wouldn't be hard.”
But that wasn’t good enough for you. “That can’t be true. Roll over right now.”
But Joel didn’t budget.
So you used your surprising leg strength and flipped him like a pancake.
Joel tossed over easily, but the way your eyes laser beamed down at his crotch made him cover the area sheepishly with the pillow.
You saw it anyway, the clear print tent on his front jutting out.
“Are you hard right now??” You ask in disbelief.
“When ya lookin’ at me like that? Of course I am!” He retorts defensively, shifting his hardened dick to a more comfortable, more discrete location without his trousers.
“I’m not lookin at you any different way.”
“Every look ya give me makes me hard…” he admits. His ears turned red.
“But... When will I be able to see it soft…” you draw your eyes into a cute pout.
Joel rolls his eyes. “When I’m dead probably. I can't stay soft when I’m with you.”
“So you’re just walking around with a boner all day every day?”
“No. It’s only after I get to see you.”
You suck your cheek in, looking away. You don’t want him to notice the unavoidable grin plastered on your face from his open and unashamed confession.
You tap your finger on your book for a moment.
"I want to see it soft," you declare.
Joel lets out a chuckle. "Never gonna happen."
"I've known you for a year. I have to know. its like. A milestone. Or something..."
He raises his brow.
You double down. "'Or something', I said! Its a thing. Look it up." When he doesn't relent, you get up on your knees, tossing the book aside. "What do I have to do to make it soft."
Joel laughs, leaning back with one hand behind his head. "You know, there you have been in the same room as me when i've been soft many times, babygirl. Always the same situation."
"Why don't I remember??"
"Cus you're always too fucked out droolin' in the sheets by then," he says cockily.
Something about his smug sexy grin riles you up, and you quickly find yourself straddling atop him.
His hands instinctively seek purchase on your thighs, stroking them up and down while his eyes racked up and down the gorgeous sight of you on top of him. "This ain't helpin' ya get any closer to seein' the 8th wonder of the world..." He hums. To emphasize his point, he drags your clothed mound against his bulge.
It made your insides warm and fuzzy for a moment, your brain slipping into that dizzy realm of pleasure. The one that makes you sway and melt, do whatever the hell Joel wants, and sleep so good afterwards--
No! you were determined to see that thing floppin' around like a deflated wet balloon, even if it was the last thing you saw!
"I need you to get soft."
"Its too late. Im rock hard."
"Make it go backwards!"
"Cant go backwards. Only go forward. Care to find out?" He teases with a smirk. Joel sucks his lower lip as he slowly starts a steady rhymth, rocking you in place, his feet planted a little more firmly so you had no chance of escaping.
You let out a low whine. The only way out, was through. For as long as Joel knew you, you never backed out of a challege.
You also never really win at these things... but he loved how that fact never stopped you.
1 hour later...
The most desperate, pained, pleasurable croak you could muster gets muffled into the betsheets as you bite down on the fabric.
"Ah huh. How ya doin' sweatpea?" Joel huffs. Powerful hips drive into your ass repeatedly, his hands gripping your waist like he meant to leave bruises there. Each thrust sent your forehead scraping forward against the mattress. It took all your night not to fall off the side of the bed.
This fucker! you thought. How the fuck does he do this?
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he expertly angles his cock down, smacking your g spot repeatedly.
Like always, you'd lost count of your orgasms. Like always, you stopped using coherent words and instead resorted to babbling whines to communicate. and Like always, Joel wasn't anywhere near slowing down.
"I ain't hear you, baby." He lays his body closer to yours, chest top your back, slotting against you like a mould. Slow, deep, method rolls keeps his tip planted deep inside you.
He was so solid inside your body. Outside your body. all over you, all of him. His scent, his taste, his touch. Intoxicating and addicting over and over again.
That fucker!
You could feel his breath tickle your as he whispers: "You still waitin' to see it soft?"
Thirty minutes ago you would have ground your teeth and stuck it out with your middle finger up, ass even higher, and mind set to the sky.
But now?
Now you just hummed stupidly, eyes blurry with tears, and brain so switched off, its a miracle you could ever form a thought.
It took less than 20 minutes from that before you were face planted, unconscious in his pillow, a drooling sight he never got tired of.
Joel laid back next to you. He sighed heavily, body ablaze with sweat. You didn't notice it, but he had cum three times, and he was beat. That was usually his max, granted he had saved all week until he could get his hands on you. He was patient like that, waiting for when you'd be in the mood, and not pouncing on ya. Sex was better when you were a stubborn, determined little thing.
But he was exhausted. and true to his word, his cock sagged tiredly against his lower belly.
Joel raises his brow before brushing the hair from your face. If there was a chance you were awake to peak it, you would have shown sign of being alive right now. Instead, despite his best effort to poke your cheek awake, you snored deeply. A well earned rest.
A chuckle escapes his chest. "So much for milestones," he says to himself. He doesn't stop brushing your hair gently from your face. His thumb grazing the soft expanse of your cheek.
"My girl," he hums softly.
He remembered the first time you slept at his place over a year ago, and the thought of waking up to you like this every day plagued his mind.
Its the same thought that tumbles through his mind as he rolls the little velvet box in his hand. He keeps flicking it open, then closed, and the beautiful diamond ring flashes at him repeatedly.
"Whatdda think? You gonna like it?" He asks to your unconscious body, presenting the ring.
you let out an even louder snore.
"Yeah. let's hope that's a yes."
Joel tucks the ring back in his bedside drawer. Not today.
Some day.
Then, the thought dawned on him. A terrible, awful, unthought of one that could thwart that dream from every happening.
What if you said no, all because you never saw him soft???
('island breeze and lights down low.' — part two. Part one here.)
adult fire lord zuko x fire lady firebender reader | mdni.
summary: in which the Fire Lord and Fire Lady learn to have fun, Sokka turns friendship into a competitive sport, and Whaletail Island starts hiding something beneath its cliffs.
content: adult!fire lord zuko x fire lady!firebender reader, established marriage, featuring the gaang (+ suki obvi), humour, element bending (sokka back bends duh), suggestive content, post-war, fluff, blindfolds (in a competitive way).
note: sorry for the delay! pls ignore any accidental lore inconsistencies, i had to fill some restoration era/island worldbuilding gaps with my own interpretations hehe. no proofread whoops. hope you keep liking your stay in whaletail island. ♡
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The first light of morning found Whaletail Island wrapped in mist and silence.
Pale sunlight filtered through the thin curtains while gulls drifted over the harbor below. The room still carried traces of the night before: faint incense in the air, tangled blankets, cool mountain wind slipping through the cracked balcony doors.
There were no attendants knocking at the door before sunrise, no stack of urgent council messages waiting beside the bed, no voices already demanding the Fire Lord’s attention before either of you had properly woken.
Somewhere beside you came a soft, steady sound that your half-asleep mind first mistook for the waves below the cliffs. Only when the sound came again did you finally look toward Zuko, staring at him in absolute disbelief. Because Fire Lord Zuko- terrifyingly disciplined, permanently tense, Fire Lord Zuko- was snoring against the pillow beside you. You genuinely could not remember the last time he had slept deeply enough for it to happen at all.
Sometime during the night, he had pulled you almost completely against him beneath the blankets, one arm still wrapped securely around your waist while dark hair rested messily across his forehead. Sleep had softened the usual sharpness of his expression.
Another quiet snore escaped him, and the laugh that slipped from you afterward was barely louder than a breath. Even so, it was enough to stir him. Zuko’s brow twitched faintly before his eyes slowly cracked open, still unfocused with sleep.
“…why are you looking at me like that?” he asked at last, his voice roughened by sleep. Your smile widened.
“Oh, nothing.”
His eyes narrowed, suspicion giving way to sudden alarm.
“Did Sokka draw something on my face?”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “No!”
“Mmm.” He squinted harder beneath the blankets. “You’re smiling suspiciously.”
“You might’ve been snoring…”
“I was not.”
“Zuko.”
“I don’t snore.” His brow furrowed. “You know that.”
You bit down on another laugh as you moved closer, propping your head against your hand before attempting a truly terrible imitation of the soft sound he had been making moments earlier.
Zuko stared at you in complete horror.
“I do not sound like that.”
The indignation in his expression completely broke whatever composure you had left. Laughter broke from you, shoulders shaking hard enough to jostle the blankets between you.
He made an offended sound before grabbing the nearest pillow and shoving part of his face into it with despair.
“You do realize,” he muttered against the blankets, “that I’m the Fire Lord.”
“More like the Snore Lord.”
His arm tightened around your waist again, dragging you closer until you were nearly half sprawled across his chest.
“Would that make you my Snore Lady?” he asked, one brow arching.
“Ew, Zuko, that’s horrible!” you said, laughing.
He echoed your laugh beneath his breath while his hand wandered along your back, absent of urgency for once.
You traced small patterns against the front of his night robes as the room settled back into silence, Zuko hovering somewhere between asleep and awake again with his forehead resting against yours.
“I think,” you murmured eventually, “this might be the latest we’ve slept in for months. Without counting that night in your study, of course.”
“It was only fair we slept in after that,” he replied, eyes still closed even as amusement touched the corner of his mouth. “You looked so good...”
Heat climbed straight into your face.
“…And you sounded even better.”
You shoved lightly at his shoulder, which only seemed to encourage him further.
“Zu, stop it.”
“You sounded a lot less opposed that night...”
Rather than answering, you kissed him.
Zuko kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it, one hand settling at your waist as your fingers threaded through his still-messy hair. The kiss lingered beneath the tangled blankets, his mouth brushing yours again until your thoughts began drifting out of reach.
“Don’t even start…” you murmured against his lips.
“Why?” he asked, his mouth grazing the corner of your jaw before trailing lower. “Because of what I’m saying?” His voice lowered. “Or because you remember exactly how you were that night?”
Your breath caught the moment his hand slid along your thigh beneath the blankets.
“Zuko…”
A quiet satisfaction settled into the way he kissed your neck again, lingering just long enough to make your eyes fall shut.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.
The crash from downstairs was loud enough to shake something wooden against the floor below.
Both of you went still.
“GOOD MORNING, VACATIONERS!” Sokka’s voice tore through the cabin.
You buried your face against Zuko’s shoulder, fighting laughter while very pointedly refusing to acknowledge the existence of the outside world. Zuko made a low sound of deep personal suffering before choosing denial as well, dragging you back into another kiss wishing stubbornness alone kept Sokka away.
“EVERYONE GET UP!” Sokka yelled. “BREAKFAST FIRST. ROMANCE LATER.”
Zuko dropped his forehead against your shoulder with a groan.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“I’ll kill Suki. Shouldn’t he be busy with her?”
“GET UP OR I’LL PERSONALLY COME DRAG YOU OUT OF BED!”
You snorted and finally climbed out from beneath the blankets.
By the time both of you had thrown on lighter robes, your bedroom door slid open at the exact same moment as the one across the hallway.
Katara stepped out first, hair still loose from sleep while Aang lingered behind her looking far too awake for this early in the morning.
“What a cockblocker,” Zuko muttered beneath his breath.
Realization crossed his face a second too late.
“…a great cook,” he corrected smoothly as Katara continued staring at him. “I said he’s a great cook.”
Aang nodded far too fast. “I mean, he is.”
Katara elbowed him hard enough to send him stumbling after her toward the stairs.
“A great cook!” Aang repeated weakly while trying to recover his balance.
Steam drifted from the kettles near the kitchen while platters crowded nearly every available surface: jasmine rice beneath woven covers, steamed buns stuffed with pork and scallions, roasted seaweed crisps stacked beside sliced lychee and mango, sweet bean pastries dusted lightly with sugar, and enough tea brewing to satisfy an entire royal council meeting.
Somewhere near the stove, Sokka nearly dropped an entire tray while attempting to turn dramatically toward all of you at once, catching it against his chest at the last possible second before beaming anyway.
“You’re awake!”
“Hard not to be,” Zuko muttered while reaching past you for tea, his sleeve brushing yours in the process.
“Good. Excellent. Amazing.” Sokka pointed triumphantly with the serving spoon still in his hand. “Because before anyone cruelly abandons this island forever, I prepared activities specifically designed to make you regret leaving...”
He gestured grandly toward several enormous parchment rolls stacked near the kitchen counter, nearly smacking Aang in the face with the spoon as he did.
Aang ducked. “You’re really committed to the theme this morning!”
You settled beside Zuko near the low table and reached for one of the steamed buns while the cabin buzzed with overlapping voices, clattering dishes, and Sokka’s unstoppable energy. After weeks of palace schedules and rushed meals between meetings, the chaos felt oddly comforting.
“Well,” you said, lowering your teacup onto the table, “there’s been a slight change of plans.”
The cabin fell abruptly silent.
Zuko looked once around the room before speaking.
“We’re staying.”
“I KNEW IT!” Sokka exploded, loud enough to make several dishes jump.
Aang broke into a grin while relief brightened Katara’s entire face. Across the room, Toph straightened so fast she nearly knocked over the bowl beside her, and Suki let out an excited noise before crossing the cabin to throw her arms around you.
Katara joined a second later, wrapping one arm carefully around both of you while you nearly lost hold of your breakfast entirely.
“I knew you’d cave eventually,” Suki informed you proudly.
“You all made it very difficult to say no,” you admitted. “And I really do appreciate it. We both do, right, Zu?”
Zuko nodded once, still holding his tea.
Sokka pretended to cry with emotion. “Every single time. One soft look from his wife and suddenly the Fire Lord becomes reasonable.”
Leaning against you, Suki pointed toward him with a slice of mango in hand. “He literally prepared backup activities in case emotional manipulation worked.”
“Because I believe in commitment,” Sokka defended, placing one hand against his chest.
“You believe in hostage situations….” Zuko muttered.
Too excited to care, Sokka lunged for the nearest parchment roll and slammed it dramatically across the table hard enough to make several teacups jump.
“Alright, your— no, wait. My dear friends, of course. Absolutely no royal activities here.” He gestured grandly toward the parchment. “Allow me to present today’s itinerary.”
Toph tilted her head toward the sound of parchment unfurling. “I can’t see it and somehow I still know it’s ugly.”
“We begin,” Sokka continued, “with trust exercises across a specially designed obstacle course built personally by me and Aang.”
Aang lifted one hand from beside the fruit trays. “In my defense, he said it would be relaxing.”
Katara leaned farther over the parchment. “It involves ropes...”
“And bridges!” Sokka added proudly.
Your eyes narrowed. “Why is it color-coded?”
Suki pointed at one section. “Is it safe enough?”
Toph smirked from across the table. “More importantly, is it unsafe enough?”
Sokka placed a hand against his chest in awe.
“You see the potential...”
He pointed the spoon dramatically toward the terrace doors.
“Everybody finish breakfast and meet outside in ten minutes.” His gaze shifted pointedly toward you and Zuko. “Fifteen for the two of you, since apparently waking up was a group project this morning.”
You nearly choked on your tea as laughter erupted around the table.
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚
Fifteen minutes later the entire group stood near the upper terraces of the retreat, where the cliffs broke open toward the sea. Wind pulled at robes and hair and the absurd quantity of flags Sokka had attached across the area overnight. What had looked mildly alarming on parchment looked significantly worse in person, because there was, in fact, an obstacle course.
Ropes ran between cedar posts hammered into the volcanic stone. Narrow bridges swayed above steaming channels carved through the cliffs. Hanging lanterns, wooden beams, stacked crates, and painted markers had turned half the retreat into something that looked designed by someone with tremendous energy and extremely poor judgment.
You stopped beside Zuko near the edge of the clearing and stared.
"When did you even build all this?"
"Passion never sleeps!" Sokka answered proudly.
Toph snorted from her seat on one of the larger rocks nearby, holding a small bell in one hand. "Neither does property damage, apparently."
Sokka climbed onto one of the wooden crates near the starting point. "Welcome," he announced, "to the first official event of the Whaletail Island Games!" Toph rang the bell once. "The rules are simple. One person from each pair wears a blindfold while their partner guides them through the obstacles. No bending allowed! Unless Toph needs to save someone from imminent death. The course has three sections, each harder than the last, and the winning team is decided by speed, teamwork, trust, and overall performance as judged fairly by the greatest earthbender who has ever lived."
Toph lifted the bell slightly. "Meaning I decide based on vibes."
"That's not how competitions work!" Sokka protested, crouching beside a basket near the crate and pulling out several strips of dark fabric. "Alright. Teams have already been assigned."
Suki reached for one of the blindfolds. "Please tell me you're not my responsibility..."
"You absolutely are, babe!"
Nearby, Katara picked up another blindfold while Aang leaned over her shoulder.
“I hope we do well,” Katara said.
Aang smiled knowingly. “I think we will.”
“Oh, I know we will,” Katara corrected, brushing loose hair away from her face as the wind caught it again. “I’m just trying to make everyone else believe we’re not about to crush them.”
The entire group turned toward her.
Katara blinked once beneath the sudden silence.
“…have fun?”
Sokka tossed the final blindfold toward you. Zuko caught it before it reached your hands.
"No."
You blinked at him. "What do you mean, no?"
"You are not walking blindfolded through this." He gestured toward the course without looking away from you. "There are ropes. And cliffs. And whatever that is." He pointed toward a narrow swinging bridge farther ahead.
Aang raised one hand slowly. "That part was my idea."
"Of course it was…"
You laughed and plucked the blindfold from Zuko's hand, ignoring the disapproving look he gave you. "The whole point of a trust exercise," you reminded him, "is trust."
Toph rang the bell sharply.
"Less feelings. More suffering. Let's go."
Sokka pointed toward the start of the course, where three painted banners snapped in the wind.
“Section one is the Cliff Paths. Balance, direction, basic coordination. If you fall here, honestly, that's embarrassing." He gestured toward the ropes and hanging bridges farther along the cliffs. "Section two is the Crossing Grounds, where communication matters most. And section three..." He paused, turning toward the final stretch dissolving into mist above them. "...is the Leap."
Aang's face lit up. "You kept the last part?"
"Of course I kept the last part." Sokka pointed upward toward where narrow stone pillars rose unevenly from the volcanic channels below, connected only by hanging ropes and scattered wooden platforms. "The final stretch is about instinct. No time to think. Just trust."
Toph hopped off the rock in one clean movement and landed near the starting line.
"Blindfolds on, everyone."
Fabric rustled across the clearing as everyone moved toward their partners. Suki stepped behind Sokka and tied his blindfold firmly while he complained. Katara handed her blindfold to Aang, who tied it quickly but carefully behind her head.
You unfolded your blindfold between your hands. Zuko’s gaze moved once across the cliffs, the bridges, the drops below, then came back to your face.
"You really want to do this?"
“Yes.”
His fingers grazed yours before he moved to stand behind you. Darkness settled across your vision the moment the fabric tightened, and your hands reached forward instinctively and found the front of his robes.
Zuko tied the knot, his fingertips caught in your hair once before pulling back.
"There," he said.
Toph rang the bell.
"Guides behind the markers. Blindfolded idiots in front."
The three pairs lined up side by side. Aang already had one hand wrapped around Katara’s wrist. Suki was physically holding Sokka in place before the round had even started. Behind you, Zuko's hands rested at your waist a moment longer than they needed to, then let go. His voice dropped near your ear.
"Ready?"
You smiled beneath the fabric. "With you? Always."
Toph gagged audibly and rang the bell. All three teams moved at the same time.
"Three steps forward," Zuko said from behind you. "Slowly."
You obeyed, one hand lifted slightly in front of you as volcanic stone shifted unevenly underfoot. Without sight, every sound sharpened into something new: the ocean far below, ropes straining against their posts, and Sokka's voice already carrying from your left.
"You keep stepping sideways," Suki told him.
"I can't see sideways!"
Ahead, Katara and Aang were already moving in near-perfect rhythm.
"Small step," Aang said calmly. "Now right." Katara adjusted without hesitation.
Toph rang the bell.
"Hate to say it, Twinkletoes, but you two are disgustingly in sync."
"I know!" Aang answered cheerfully.
Zuko kept one hand hovering close enough to your back that you felt the warmth of it through your robes whenever you slowed.
"Careful," he said as your foot drifted toward the edge of a stone marker. "There's a gap."
You corrected. "I had it."
"You did not."
Your smile widened as something crashed to your left and Sokka's voice went sharp with indignation
"That was the starting lantern," Suki said.
"How was it there already?!"
The path climbed higher between steaming channels cut into the cliffs. The air grew heavier with mineral warmth drifting up from below, and the footing narrowed. Your body had started the course braced for mistakes, but somewhere between Zuko's steady voice and the brief pressure of his hand steering you around sharper turns, you stopped bracing.
"Two steps left," he said. You followed. "Now duck.”
You dropped just before the swing of a hanging beam passed over your head.
Ahead, Katara laughed suddenly. You turned toward the sound despite the blindfold.
“What was that?”
"Aang forgot I couldn't see and pointed at me instead of speaking," she explained through laughter.
Toph rang the bell. "Temporary setback. Still leading."
"What?!" Sokka shouted from somewhere far behind. "How are we losing already?"
A solid thunk sounded from farther down the course and Suki sighed.
“You’re hugging a post again.”
By the time all three teams crossed the painted marker at the end of the Cliff Paths, breathless and windblown from the climb, the early nerves had burned off entirely. Everyone was moving faster, talking louder, and deeply committed to winning.
Toph rang the bell. "Current standings: Sugar Queen and Twinkletoes leading. Fireboy and Firegirl close behind."
"And us?" Sokka demanded.
Toph considered it. "Surviving."
"THAT'S NOT A RANK."
Suki patted his shoulder.
The second section looked genuinely dangerous to those without the blindfold. Narrow hanging bridges stretched between cliff edges above steaming water while ropes crossed overhead between wooden platforms rocking steadily in the wind. Small bells had been tied along the railings and support lines, chiming whenever the bridges moved too hard.
Toph grinned.
"Oh, this part's going to be good."
Sokka approached with his arms stretched out in front of him, moving with what he clearly believed was great caution.
"I want everyone to know that I'm approaching this with grace, athleticism, and emotional maturity..."
He walked directly into one of the bridge posts. The whole structure shook and every bell on it went off at once. Toph nearly fell off her rock laughing.
"AND WE HAVE OUR FIRST CASUALTY."
"I HATE THIS ISLAND."
Suki turned him toward the correct direction, shaking too hard to speak.
Beside you, Zuko leaned closer.
"Still want to keep going?"
You smiled beneath the fabric.
"Are you asking because you're worried, or because you're competitive?"
"... Both."
The bridges swayed under every step and the bells punished any stumble, and without sight the constant shifting beneath your feet became disorienting. Zuko's hand steadied at your waist as the bridge tilted beneath your next step.
"Slow down. The boards narrow ahead."
To your right, Katara and Aang were already halfway across the first bridge.
"Three steps," Aang said evenly. "Now left."
Irritation flared through your chest.
"Absolutely not," you muttered.
Zuko already sounded wary.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I’ve decided we're winning." You stepped forward before he could answer.
The second bridge was worse, the planks shifting unevenly beneath every step.
You stepped without hesitation and your foot landed cleanly on the other side.
By the time you reached the final bridge of the Crossing Grounds, only two teams still resembled functioning competitors. Sokka and Suki arrived several minutes later soaked from the knees down, one sleeve torn for reasons no one investigated, trailed by the ringing of what sounded like every bell on the course.
Toph rang her own bell in response.
"Fan and Sword are officially eliminated from competitive ranking!"
Sokka tore off his blindfold.
"THIS GAME IS RIGGED."
Suki kissed his cheek.
"You still looked handsome failing,” she said in what was more of a question.
"Thank you…”
You lifted your own blindfold just enough to blink against the light. The mist looked brighter now, the stone cooler after the heat of the second section. Beside you, Zuko checked your face before anything else.
"Are you alright?"
You nodded, then noticed Katara already looking up toward the final stretch above the terraces.
"Oh no…" you said.
Aang laughed under his breath.
"I know that face."
"I'm just saying," Katara replied, crossing her arms, "if we're already winning, it would be embarrassing not to finish."
"We are not losing to you!” you said immediately.
Zuko looked slowly between the two of you.
"When did this get personal?"
"Second bridge," Aang said helpfully.
Higher on the cliffs the last stretch emerged from the mist: uneven stone pillars rising from the volcanic channels below, connected by narrow platforms and hanging lines that swayed without stopping. The Leap. Near the starting marker, a set of fresh blindfolds sat folded beside the ropes. Zuko noticed them first.
"Why are there more blindfolds?"
"The final section switches roles,” Sokka's smile came back at full force.
"No way.”
Toph rang the bell. "Too late. It's already a rule."
"This is perfect!” Katara said, delighted.
Aang accepted his blindfold with a serenity that bordered on unsettling.
Zuko looked up at the final stretch once more: pillars through drifting steam, narrow platforms, ropes over open drops. Then he stepped forward when you held the blindfold toward him. You tied it carefully behind his head, the wind pulling at loose strands of dark hair across his forehead. Up close you caught the slight tension in his jaw.
"We can still back out," you said.
"And let them win?” The corner of his mouth moved. “Absolutely not."
"He admits we're competition," Katara pointed across at both of you.
"We passed competition twenty minutes ago," you said.
Toph rang the bell before either of you could continue.
"The Leap begins now."
Zuko moved carefully at first. Your hand stayed wrapped around his as you guided him across the first platform. He adjusted to every instruction without hesitation, his grip steady, his weight shifting the moment you told him where. The boards shifted as a hard gust swept across the cliffs, pulling at both of you, and you tightened your grip
Behind you, Katara and Aang were gaining. You could hear their footsteps landing almost in rhythm.
You moved faster, both of you finding a pace that didn't feel like caution anymore. The final stretch rose sharply between the last set of pillars, connected by planks barely wide enough to walk single-file.
You stepped onto the first one. The edge disappeared and the world tilted sideways in one sudden, lurching second.
Zuko reacted before you could. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against him in a single motion, turning toward you with the blindfold still tied across his eyes before the danger had even finished registering. The movement sent both of you stumbling together, catching against each other on the platform.
“Thank you,” you breathed out, your hands caught against his chest.
Toph let out a grunt.
“If either of you starts kissing up there, I’m deducting points.”
You started moving again, faster now, side by side with Katara and Aang across the last sequence of platforms while wind pushed hard through the ropes above.
"Step up." Zuko adjusted instantly. "Left." Done. "Jump." His hand tightened around yours and both of you cleared the gap together.
Katara and Aang landed on the next platform in almost the same breath.
Toph's voice echoed up from below.
"THE BABY-MAKERS ARE CATCHING UP.
"We were never behind!" Katara shouted back.
The final platform appeared through the mist
"Three steps," you said quickly. "Then a small jump."
Aang was guiding Katara toward the same finish at nearly identical speed.
"This is stressful," Suki muttered.
Your feet hit the final platform at almost the exact moment Katara and Aang stumbled onto it beside you, both of them breathless from laughing and arguing at the same time.
Toph tilted her head toward the sound before planting one foot firmly against the stone.
Sokka yelped as the rocky platforms carrying him and Suki rose smoothly upward through the mist while sections of the obstacle course folded and reconnected beneath Toph’s bending, pulling everyone toward the final terrace where the four of you stood catching your breath.
Once all of you had gathered onto the main platform, Toph lifted the bell loosely in one hand and rang it.
“Tie.”
Katara threw both arms into the air. “YES!”
"We tied," you laughed.
"Which means we didn't lose.”
Zuko pulled off the blindfold with visible relief while Aang did the same, both of them blinking in the light and the lingering mist.
Toph tilted her head, thoughtfully.
"However..."
Katara stared at her in warning. "Toph."
"... After careful consideration, based on instinctive reaction speed under pressure..." Toph lifted the bell toward you and Zuko. "Extra point to Fireboy and Firegirl for the blindfold catch."
"WHAT?!" Katara gasped.
"I KNEW LOVE WOULD PREVAIL,” Sokka dropped to the ground in celebration.
You turned to Zuko at the same moment he looked at you.
"We won," you said.
A laugh broke out of him completely unguarded as your hands grabbed the front of his robes.
"We actually won!"
"Against all odds," he replied, though the grin spreading across his face made the dry tone impossible to sell.
You laughed and threw your arms around his neck without thinking and he caught your waist to keep you both upright, which nearly sent you both sideways off the platform regardless.
"Careful," he said through another laugh. "You're celebrating near cliffs."
"I don't care, we won!"
Sokka pointed up at both of you with pride.
"THAT'S MY TEAM."
"You cannot assign points based on romance!" Katara protested.
Toph shrugged lazily.
"I can do whatever I want."
Katara crossed her arms while Aang laughed beside her.
"Aang and I could have done that too."
"Yes, look!" Aang agreed.
"Aang, wait—"
He threw himself backward with complete confidence she would catch him while Katara lunged after him in visible panic. A loud crash echoed through the platforms below, followed by the unmistakable sound of somebody hitting at least three wooden beams on the way down.
"...Aang?"
"...I misread the situation."
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚
Sokka had somehow appointed himself official commentator of the entire event, loudly reenacting everyone's failures while the group made their way back toward the terraces overlooking the retreat.
"You should've seen your face when you almost fell," he told you, walking backward along the stone path with misplaced confidence. "Actually, no, you couldn't have seen it. Blindfold. Tragic."
"You screamed louder than I did throughout the whole game," you replied.
"That was a test for Suki."
Suki snorted beside him while Aang laughed, one hand linked with Katara's as they walked ahead. Even Toph looked quite happy, bell dangling from her fingers.
Zuko walked quieter than the others, though the grin at the corner of his mouth kept betraying him whenever Sokka mentioned the victory again.
"You look insufferably pleased with yourself," you murmured.
"I usually am."
You shook your head fondly and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
The retreat opened toward Whaletail Harbor. Bright strips of orange fabric snapped between rooftops while crowded dockways overflowed with people moving shoulder to shoulder beneath painted tide banners. Drums echoed over the water loud enough to reach the cliffs.
Sokka turned the second the bay came fully into view.
"And now!" he announced, spreading both arms wide enough he nearly hit Aang in the face again. "I present to you… the Tangerine Tide Festival!"
Even from this far above, the waterfront felt alive. Fishing boats drifted between the piers trailing paper streamers while children darted through the crowds carrying orange lanterns shaped like koi.
"I know," Sokka said smugly. "Because I planned this vacation perfectly."
"Let's not forget you forged government documents," Zuko reminded him.
"Let's not forget you stayed."
Suki shook her head fondly before looping one arm through his.
"There's dancing near the square later," she explained while glancing toward the town. "And lantern boats after sunset."
"Oh, I remember those!” Aang said with excitement.
Toph tilted her head slightly toward the sounds rising from below.
"There's definitely food too."
"There's always food," Katara said.
"How it should be," Toph replied.
You leaned against the railing while the ocean wind tugged loose strands of hair free around your face. Zuko's shoulder brushed yours as both of you looked down toward the festival.
Hurried footsteps echoed along the terrace behind the group. You turned alongside the others just as two Air Acolytes came up through the paths leading deeper into the retreat, robes still settling from how fast they had climbed. Their expressions carried the specific kind of careful calm that meant the opposite of calm, and the laughter around the group faded without anyone consciously deciding to stop.
Aang straightened first.
"What happened?"
The older acolyte bowed quickly, still catching his breath. "Avatar Aang. We didn't want to interrupt the preparations unless it became necessary." His eyes moved briefly toward the town before coming back to the group. "There have been disturbances near the western sea caverns."
Toph's expression flattened.
"What kind?"
The younger acolyte answered, fingers tightening against his sleeves. "Fishermen reported hearing voices beneath the cliffs after sunset. Several guidefires along the lower docks extinguished on their own. And earlier this evening, two acolytes stationed near the old cavern shrines never returned from meditation."
The distant celebration continued drifting upward, indifferent against the growing tension.
"How long ago?" you asked. "Since anyone last saw them."
The younger acolyte glanced toward you.
"Just before the evening bell, Fire Lady. Two hours, perhaps a little more."
Two hours was long enough. You looked toward Zuko without meaning to and found he was already doing the same quiet calculation behind his eyes.
"The western caverns are adjacent to the old harbor tunnels," he said. The words came clipped and precise, already mapping the routes in his head. "I saw it on the way here. That network runs deep."
The older acolyte nodded once.
"Yes, Fire Lord. There's a shrine complex beneath them. The locals believe the sea routes there were once protected by a spirit bound to the island itself." He hesitated. "Construction crews expanding the lower docks may have broken into part of the caverns several weeks ago."
Aang exhaled through his nose while Katara's hand found his arm beside him.
"A spirit disturbance," she said. "On a populated island. During a public festival…"
"If the shrine network reaches beneath the docks, the disturbance could already be spreading through the lower caverns," you said. "And if people are gathering above them for the festival—"
"The lower access paths," Zuko finished immediately. "Some of them run directly over the tunnel entrances."
Aang's gaze shifted toward the glowing town.
"The missing acolytes are what I can't ignore," he said. "Whatever else is happening, there are still people down there."
Sokka had gone noticeably still. He looked between the festival lights and the group gathered on the terrace.
"So…" he said carefully. "We're not doing the tidefire boats."
"Sokka," Suki warned.
"I'm establishing the situation." Sokka crossed his arms. "Are we going now or waiting for something worse to happen first?"
Toph crouched and pressed two fingers against the volcanic stone beneath her feet.
"Something's been wrong under the western cliffs all day," she said. "I thought it was just the island settling."
The wind carried the faint noise of the crowd up from the waterfront. You thought about the cavern network beneath the cliffs, the missing acolytes, the broken shrine tunnels now sitting beneath a crowded festival.
"We should move before it gets darker," you said. "Whatever's happening down there, visibility is only going to get worse."
Aang looked once around the group the way he always did just before he stopped asking and started moving.
"Take us to the caverns."
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚
note: thank you so SO much for the response on part 1, it truly made my entire week. lmk if the games bit are understandable bc it was a headache- idk why I keep doing this to myself lol. i hope you keep liking the series. thank you for reading! Xx
🏷️my dear taglist (still open for ppl who want to be tagged in part 3): @sereaylia @newseldarya @winter-lemon @clockworkgraystairs @eepypupy @solarlovesxyz @sainz0fthetimes @radicaldualism @littlemiyastars @pdacex @saintfaux @keropiiko @potao-o @thestupidgirlakira @1iluvvocattoss @maee67
