nothings funny to barou when you’re having a bad day. his teammates try joking around with him at practice and he says the world would be better off without them in it
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“Financial sponsors this, settled debt that,” you pause and give Zhongli a brief teasing glance before returning to your gaze over Luhua Pool, “are you accepting money favors from others, Morax?”
Your tone remains light as you verbally prod at your companion, but he can easily sense the underlying trepidation beneath your words, knowing your natural tendency to pad small concerns heavily with humor even dating back to many centuries ago. Thus, his fingers interlock with yours posed idly besides you, squeezing gently.
“Are you worried about what I’m offering in exchange?” he asks.
He’s teasing you too, and before your aghast look can persist he pulls your hand to his lips, eyes closing as he kisses the back of your hand softly. The tenderness quells you as usual, your heart as still now as one of the sculpted terraces. Your knees raise, pulling your bare feet out of the warmth of the curated pool - your connection with water is never lost - and you lay your head on your shoulders. As Zhongli looks at you again, this pose is familiar too, and it is as if the two of you are again amongst the adepti.
At the time, you’d always considered yourself an onlooker, a foreigner encroaching in an existing and enduring territory, but to him you were always in some part the center.
And you’ve endured.
“You’re not replaceable,” he adds.
Your complexion deepens, embarrassed. Caught even.
“Stop, I wasn’t-”
Zhongli smiles, which only makes it worse. Your legs fall into the water again, and for a moment you consider dissolving into bubbles again, becoming one with the pool.
Then you recall that that’s how you left him once, with an unsure return.
“I’m not accusing you of trying to replace me,” you whisper.
“I see. Now if you stayed in Liyue, however-” despite your closed posture, he is still a dragon with a coveted horde, and he leans in close enough to indulge your senses with a comforting smell of wood, incense and something heartwarming, “- I suppose I wouldn’t need a single other thing.”
You laugh, but his arms have already enclosed around you.
“It would be nice to have a bottomless wallet by your side, now wouldn’t it?”
“Haven’t we established I fare well financially without you?” he answers. His chin digs gently into your shoulder.
“You don’t know anything about money.”
“Money is but a trifle to me.”
“It’s named after you.”
“Which is why it’s not my master.”
Turning slightly in his hold, you raise your eyebrow at him.
“Is there anything that could master you, Morax?”
His eyes twinkle for a moment but he says nothing more, closing his eyes as he snuggles closer, enjoying the sunset just a bit longer until your departure.
being secretly risque with zuko in between his duties...
⨳❁⤘ oral [vag receiving] ; greedy zuko; he talks you through it
mdni!
Of course being the fiance of the Fire Lord has a lot of perks; good food, comfy sheets, long warm baths filled with all the oils and flowers imaginable. But it’s not all rainbows and flowers, there are also interruptions. Matters are always important, something is always urgent and something is always demanding Zuko’s attention.
So you have to be creative and discreet. He claims he needs to take a walk to ponder about how to answer that important letter from the Queen of Earth but he is between your legs, your legs perched atop the cold steel from his armor as he hastily removes whatever garnet is in his way. He exhales in relief when he can finally press his cheek against the soft skin of your inner thighs.
Your hands caress his face gently, thumb tracing the skin of his scar in that soothing manner that still manages to make him feel like an exposed flame to your touch, to your tenderness and the way your eyes seem to burn with the same fire than his. You’d love to be able to run your fingers through his silky threads, to be able to reach and really dig into his scalp as he dives in, the flat of his tongue opening you up for him in the way only he can.
You need to reach for the floor instead, fingers trying to grab a hold of the empty air as he begins lapping at your folds.
“How long do we- ah” your question is interrupted when he flicks your clit expertly, his eager tongue gently tapping against the sensitive bud.
His voice is raspy as his lips keep pressing against you as he answers. “Not enough”.
He hates it, hates that he can’t take his time with you, that he has to rush instead of being able to savor you slowly, thoroughly, just like you deserve. He’d like to be able to stay right here all day long, until you are so overstimulated that you can’t think of anything else that isn’t the way he is making you feel. He’d like to be able to take his time, to see the way your body shudders and bends for him, until you’re all messy breaths and incoherent babblings, until your eyes are glossy and his name is the only thing you manage to say between the relentless way you keep coming apart for him.
Your juices are covering his chin, and you are rutting your hips against his face, it drives him forward as he continues his assault, as he gets drunk in the way you taste, in the way you are whispering, begging for him to not stop. Of course he won’t, he couldn’t. He needs this just as much as you do, sometimes he wonders if even more.
The need to feel you, to see your face as you come undone around him keeps him moving, it runs through his blood with the same strength that the fire that tingles on the skin of his fingertips. You’re close, he knows, he always knows; one of his hands reaches for your own as he presses against you, the slurping sounds echoing on the empty wing you’ve decided to use today.
Your legs are shaking and he can hear that you’re trying to say something but all you manage to get out is a sob.
“I know, just let it happen... let me see you”.
He feels it, your fingers tighten around his own and your hips raise against his face, he continues as he feels you coming. Greedy, he allows it. He allows himself to be greedy when it comes to you. He keeps lapping as you continue coming, and when he sucks gently around your clit, feeling you trash around him he smirks against your folds.
He is rock hard inside his robes. There’s no way he’ll be able to focus on any sort of diplomatic answer right now but he knows he should be heading back. Someone might start looking for him soon and he isn’t eager for the chamberlain to be aware of this hiding spot.
You lift yourself upon your elbows, chest heaving as you try to even your breath. You already know he is about to leave, it fills him with guilt, like a sour sip of a bitter cup of tea..
“Can’t you stay just a bit longer?” Your voice and the look you’re giving him are almost enough to make him bend. He reaches for your hand and places the softest of kisses against your knuckles while looking up at you. With that look that says 'I'm sorry´.
You bring his face towards you and he complies without an ounce of protest, you fix the strands of his hair that got tangled while he was deep between your legs. He reaches for a kiss, his eyes closing and his heart beating fast as he feels you melt against him.
“I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise”.
It’s your turn to smile into the kiss, because you know it’s true. You might have to steal these moments, but he’s all yours at night, behind the privacy of his chambers that have become yours, and Zuko has never been anything but thorough.
i think being the partner of bakugou is learning to accept you’re in a relationship essentially with two people.
you’re in a relationship with pro hero dynamight, the guy who still snarls at camera crews for being too close. the guy who’s hands sometimes cause more destruction than intended. the guy who jumps up and down the hero charts like he’s on a trampoline because the public can’t decide if they love him or hate him for how crass he is
but you’re also in a relationship with bakugou katsuki. the man who is quiet in his own home, who watches you closely and learns your patterns, your routines. who leaves you a glass of your favourite drink on hot summer days. the man who smiles freely and speaks in a soft tone no one thought possible. who will always, no matter what, leave you with a kiss on the lips and forehead before he has to become a public spectacle.
It's reader’s birthday and Aomine decides to treat her to a really cute day at home. They watch movies, take a bath together, he cooks them dinner, and afterwards, they have romantic and rough sex. He calls her princess and takes care of her and all that good fluffy stuff. Just wholesome birthday goodness.
(This story is also on AO3! Here’s the link!)
“Itwasn’t really that disturbing,” you say through a mouthful ofpopcorn. “I’ve seen much worse.” You look at Aomine who’soccupying the space at your side and nearly choke on the snack beforeit makes its way down your throat. He’s sitting with poor posture,his feet digging into the edge of the couch and his knees spread openlackadaisically. His mouth is slack and his complexion has gone ashyunder a veil of unwelcome emotion. “Daiki, are you okay? It can’thave bothered you that much…” Aomine exercises his jawbriefly before closing his mouth and sweeping his tongue over hislips, his gaze still a touch too vacant to be anything but areflection of his distance. “What did you say?” he asks, finallyturning to face you directly. He slides back against the couchcushions and absentmindedly scoots closer to you. “You’rescared!” you exclaim over the dramatic crescendo of the movie’s endcredits. “I am not!” Aomine counters, sliding his feetoff of the couch and down to the floor. “I just liked the firstmovie better, that’s all.” “I should have known better.You never could make it through a scary movie without feeling theaftereffects,” you tell him, the truth of the statement weighingheavy on implication. “It wasn’t fair of me to make you watchthis.” “I’m not that scared!” Aomine argues, running ahand down and over the back of his neck. “I’m not a kid. ‘Sides,it’s your birthday, I told you to pick what you wanted.” A loudnoise penetrates the walls of the living room and Aomine joltsviolently, then frowns when he realizes it was merely the sound of acar door closing outside. “Okay, maybe I’m a little rattled butit’s nothing more than that. I’ll forget about it soon enough. Itwasn’t even good.” You smile softly and run a handthrough Aomine’s short strands. “Being scared after watching ascary movie is normal. It doesn’t make you a kid and itdoesn’t make you any less macho. It’s okay to be honest with me.You’re just not good with this kind of thing. We’ll stick with actionfilms and dramas from here on out.” Aomine leans into yourtouch and his eyes dip half-closed as a result of your affection. Youdrag the edges of your nails down the line of his scalp and you thinkyou can almost hear him purring somewhere low in his chest. “I’malways honest with you,” Aomine says, his voice thick with honeyand slow like molasses. “This is coming from the boy whotold me that he was suffering from an arbitrary bout of insomniaafter spending two nights unable to sleep because he playedSilent Hill. We allhave weaknesses and you don’t like anything that relates tohorror—just admit it.”Aomine groans and lifts his headjust enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are heavy-lidded and thelines of his lashes are thick and dark beneath the shadows playingtag across his face. “Do you really need me to deprecate mymasculinity to please you? Would it make you happy?” He leansforward and ghosts the shape of your lips with the soft of his own.“You know what I think? I think you’re a sadist.”
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oooooo imagine fucking zuko and afterwards you can’t find any of your clothes, so he just wraps you up in his heavy fire lord robes instead. the fabric is still warm from his body and smells like him—smoke, cedar, and something royal.
he can’t stop kissing you everywhere, soft lazy kisses along your shoulders, your neck, your collarbones, murmuring how beautiful you look in his robes.
then he runs a bath for you, heating the water with his own fire until it’s perfectly hot. you both sink in together and you end up giving him a slow, slippery handjob right there in the tub.
his head tips back against the edge, eyes half-lidded, long hair sticking to his damp skin as he lets out these low, wrecked moans, completely letting you take care of him.
and after he comes he just… falls asleep in the tub lol
i think zuko starts off so shy and dorky and sweet during sex… face all red, ears burning, mumbling quiet little “is this okay?” while he’s barely holding it together.
but after a while? he really grows into it.
he gets more confident—fucking you deeper, faster, putting you in positions you never thought he’d even consider. suddenly he’s gripping your hips, flipping you over like it’s nothing, voice low and a little rough when he murmurs against your ear, “you think you can take more for me?”
he even starts getting charming and teasing about it—that rare, smug little smirk appearing when he sees how wrecked you are, softly taunting, “what’s wrong, princess? too much for you already?” while he keeps going harder.
he still blushes… but now it’s because he loves how desperate you sound for him.
fang i can’t stop thinking about chigiri making you feel sooo embarrassed and shy and liking it when you hide your face from him
it gives him such an obvious like... delight to see how easily he seems to make you melt. you always feel cornered by him somehow. you make a joke about it once or twice about feeling like a prey animal around him and he has this airy amused laugh but he doesn't quite deny it. he likes making you repeat yourself when you've said something embarassing just to push your buttons a bit. he's sweet to you to make up for it but he looovesss seeing you get all shy
The night after a full moon always came with consequences.
They were bruise shaped. Violet and lavender and seafoam green, littered across skin like an unwanted reminder. Scratches that would fade to new silver scars and aches and pains deep in his bones that made Remus feel sixty eight, not twenty eight.
It was the only time he’d soak in the tub instead of taking a shower, something he’d usually deem much more proficient. But a new night came round and the threat of the moon was no longer in the sky. It made the air feel lighter and the feeling of sinking into the hot water, honey scented and filled to the brim, was overwhelmingly good.
It was even better when you slipped in too.
Without speaking, you stood in the doorframe to the bathroom you shared with your boyfriend, overgrown plants on the window sill, steam and condensation making the tiles on the walls glitter. Remus peered at you from under his lashes, strong arms braced on each side of the old claw foot tub, head resting against the porcelain.
You raised a brow at him, a question. You touched the hem of his shirt you’d thrown on, bare legs underneath. An offer.
Almost immediately, Remus nodded, sitting up and playing the water lap at the sides, the only sound in the room as you walked in, taking off your shirt as you went. The plaid joined Remus’ clothes on the tiles and you hissed on entry, scalding water licking at your calves as Remus watched your bare figure, eyes sleepy but intent on catching each curve before they disappeared under the bubbles.
You hummed as the boy reached for you, not trying to hide his need as he coaxed you onto his lap. The tub was just big enough for you to settle your thighs on the outside of his, your arms winding around his neck as you let your bare chest press against his.
Another soft noise from your lips as Remus nosed at your cheek, an overwhelmingly affectionate thing that made your heartbeat a little faster. You smiled, turning so he could kiss your jaw, your chin. You dipped your head before he could catch your lips, brushing your lips over the fresh bruise that marred his cheekbone, the scratch on his shoulder you cleaned the night before.
Your boy was bloodied and beaten, but he looked as pretty as ever.
“Lemme kiss you,” Remus complained without any heat, his wet palm coming to cup your chin. “Babe.”
Your nose brushed his, gentle with him like you always were after a rough transformation. Any transformation, really. “Your poor lip,” you reminded him softly. The split in his bottom lip hadn’t stopped bleeding, still reddened when he woke up that morning, causing him grief as he tried to sip his coffee. “I’ll hurt you.”
Remus shook his head. “No, no you won’t.” His hands dropped to your waist, squeezing. He rocked his hips as well as he could under the water, in the small space. But it was enough to let you feel how hard he was, hot skin against yours, the slide and fizz of the bubbles between you. “Need you, y’know.”
You nodded, water clinging to your lashes where Remus had drawn a line across your brow, touch sweeping down the apple of your cheek, the slope of your jaw. He kissed each part, every bit of him warm, lips included. “I know,” you told him.
So you rose onto your knees, one hand on Remus’ shoulders so you could steady yourself and the boy made soft gasping noises as you lined his cock up between your thighs, the head of him pressed to your cunt. You didn’t ask for his fingers first, none of the teasing he’d normally insist on before you took all of him. You wanted that stretch, the tight, hot burn of it. A little bit of pain clashed with the pleasure and you groaned as you sunk down, your noise levelling out to nothing, lips parted as you watched Remus fill you up.
His hands were still on your hips, tighter than ever as he tried to keep himself together, head falling back to the rim of the tub, fighting to keep his eyes open. His thumbs were pushing circles into the soft of your tummy, his jaw clenching before his mouth dropped open in a punch out breath.
When you were finally seated back on his lap, his cock snug inside of you, you swept a damp hand over his hair, pushing back the mess of curls so you could see his eyes. Full of adoration, an astounding amount of love that made you ache.
“Yeah?” You asked him. You weren’t sure what the question was, but Remus seemed to understand, because he swallowed thickly and nodded.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
The water sloshed around you when you moved, lifting slightly onto your knees again, only just, before you sank back down. Small waves on the side of the bathtub, water rippling around you both that would surely end up on the floor but you didn’t care. Remus let out a groan as you rode him, each movement slow and deliberate and you could feel every inch, every ridge of his cock. It made you teary, how full you felt and maybe Remus could sense it, ‘cause he sat forward and gathered you in his arms, ignoring the throb from each bruise.
If he had you, it was fine. It was bearable. More than bearable.
“You’re so good to me,” he whispered, ducking his head to mouth at your chest, tongue finding a nipple so he could lick broad stripes over it. “You’re so fucking perfect, sweetheart.”
On a normal day, you’d protest, bashful and hot in the cheeks. But you could only whine as Remus dropped his hands to your ass and squeezed, coaxing you to rock yourself over him. Water and bubbles spilled over the edge of the bath, but neither of you cared. The boy moaned into your neck, sucked bruises onto your skin that would match his, pulling at your ass cheeks until his wandering fingertips could feel where he was slipping in and out of you, the pink, wet parts of you that was stretched tightly around him. It made his hips stutter, it made him sink his teeth into the slope of your shoulder.
“M’not gonna last,” he admitted, his energy was already gone. He’d hardly slept. But this? He needed this. “M’sorry, fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.”
You nodded, hands running over his hair, his neck, his jaw, holding him there so you could kiss him as gently as possible. You whispered, voice soft, “s’okay, handsome. Come for me, yeah? Come inside me, okay? Want to feel you.”
summary: zuko's straight-forwardness in appreciating the attractive qualities of the lone stranger saved by aang has you curious on whether you could get him to spill on what he thinks of you. (no major movie spoilers)
"He's very attractive." Zuko admits, eyes unblinking as he stares at the unconscious stranger.
The entire team whips their heads to stare at Zuko in unconcealed shock.
"What?" Zuko mutters, gaze lingering on the surprised expressions casted onto him, before eventually landing on yours. "He is. It's all in the bone structure."
You blink, unable to process his straight-forward words that landed on you like a gut punch. You've never considered it, the fact that Zuko also found others attractive.
It seems like a completely, silly notion now that the thought has verbalised itself in your mind. Of course Zuko would notice if others were considered attractive. Maybe it just never occurred to you in all your years of knowing him—of also finding him—
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away from his prying gaze, confusion alight in his eyes from your taken-aback expression.
If he's unconsciously considered the attractiveness of this stranger... has he ever—no, this should not be your priority. It doesn't matter what he thinks of you, it's not like it would change a thing. He's practically admitted it non-verbally through that monotonous admission of his, that a person's looks is assessed by him in a completely, impersonal standpoint.
Bone structure? You shouldn't be curious. Knowing Zuko, he might accidentally insult your structure if you asked.
The curiosity does not disappear. In fact, it digs deeper and deeper into the crevices of your mind—subconsciously affecting your attitude around Zuko.
It doesn't help that it's painfully obvious that he's noticed your strange behaviour ever since his comment. Once, when his hand had come up to your shoulder to alert you that everyone was boarding the ship—and your entire body jumped in response. Again, when you completely blanked out when he asked if you would like some firecracker buns.
It's not like you wanted to hyper-focus on his observation on purpose. It's just that after years of knowing him and pushing down that sub-concious attraction—of not allowing yourself to even see him as anything more than the Zuko you know, the rebound impact of all your resurfacing emotions combined with his lingering presence is far too much.
Zuko isn't the type to beat around the bush either, one of the rare habits his uncle hasn't passed onto him. In a moment of needed reprieve, your attempt at regaining your composure fails spectacularly when you find yourself in a stand-still, cornered in the back of the ship—one firecracker bun in his hand as an offering.
"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?"
Zuko's gaze is akin to a puppy's, wide-eyed and brows furrowed. Afraid that he's done something wrong, overlooked the choice of his words once again and destroyed the atmosphere without realising.
Straight to the point as ever, you'd appreciate it more if he had given you a few more minutes to come up with a reasonable excuse. Something more plausible than 'Do you find me attractive?', a lingering question that should've remained buried in the soil that you departed from nearly an hour ago.
"Not exactly." Taking the firecracker bun from his hand, the crumbs coat your fingers. You needed something to muffle your words, anything to distract you. It's easier to focus on the lingering spice that melts into your tongue, rather than his unblinking stare.
"So—I did say something." His mouth parts, a slight tilt downward in the corner of his lip. "Or I've made you uncomfortable."
There was no winning with him. Swallowing your last bite, you brush the crumbs against your sleeve, the slouch of your posture a key sign of surrender, your invisible white flag waving at the sight of his increasingly dubious expression.
"The first one." You admit with a sigh. "Earlier—"
He leans in subtly, a habit he does when he's listening attentively, and the luscious wave of his bangs brushes against your knuckles. His amber eyes pierce through you, and the words practically die off your tongue.
Why is he looking at you like that?
It isn't fair that he has such an effect on you. You still remember the old days, when he had a worser temper instead of the softened expression that lingers warmly on you. Plus, that horrible haircut, a singular ponytail with the rest of his hair shaved off forever engrained in your mind. Even recalling the image doesn't help calm your thundering heartbeat when the Zuko in front of you is so—overwhelming.
"You were saying?" He prods gently.
You swallow, averting your gaze. "When you mentioned... about attractiveness. Was that like—a spur of the moment kind of thing, or do you have a first impression for everyone you meet?"
His brows furrow for a moment, before recognition lights his golden gaze. "Ah—that."
"Right, that." You feel the seat warming beneath you in your embarrassment, a hallucination of senses in your sudden need to escape his assessing gaze. He barely even remembers his comment, and here you are, still obsessively prying over it.
"I was only answering Toph's question." He states. "No one was stating the obvious."
"The obvious." You muse. "Do you assess the attractiveness of everyone you meet?"
"I suppose it depends." He mutters, hand rubbing over his chin in consideration. "If it was during a battle, I wouldn't be prioritising on considering the opponent's appearance. As compared to someone knocked out on the ground, it gives me plenty of time."
You barely resist a snort. Only he could treat a topic like a person's attractiveness like one of his battle strategies. "I suppose you didn't have time during our first meeting then."
As soon as the words leave your mouth, both you and Zuko freeze. Your lips clamp shut, an immediate wince shuddering through your frame. Cat's out of the bag, you suppose.
"Never mind." You wave it off, your own laugh echoing much too loudly through your ears. "It wasn't like I was wondering—well, maybe I was. You just sprung it out of nowhere earlier, and I got... curious. You don't have to answer—"
"I did." He cuts you off unceremoniously.
You blink, his vague words echoing in the thin distance between the two of you. "What?"
He swallows, and for once, he's the one flustered in this conversation. "I did notice, during our first meeting."
No way. Your first meeting with Zuko was anything but pretty. You remember being covered in sweat, grime, and ashes coating your clothes as he shot flames at you from his palms. The twisted grimace on his face when you had him writhing under your grip, as he loudly declared his revenge on you, rupturing your eardrums with all his yelling.
"You mean—" You barely resist a grin stretching on your lips. "—when I pinned you down on your airship, and you were spitting death threats into my ear."
"Yes, that." His long locks cover his ears now, but you can bet the rims are reddened from the reminder. "You were formidable."
Formidable. No, that wasn't enough. His sudden focus on the floorboards of his ship made it obvious that he was simplifying his observation.
"I was gaining the winning hand." You state out-right, disbelief coating your tone. "And you had time to notice?"
A restrained sigh escapes Zuko's gritted teeth, already regretting his slip of tongue.
"What of the angle? Does the Fire Lord recall my bone structure during our first battle too, when I pinned you to the floor?" You tease.
He scoffs in a light-hearted manner, shoulder lightly bumping into yours. "It was the first time anyone had pinned me down. I wasn't exactly given another view to look at."
"Was the view bad then?" You prod.
"Not at all." He answers absentmindedly—quickly without hesitation.
Your lips part, speechless. Zuko immediately separates his shoulder from yours, a bashful expression overtaking his features.
"Objectively." He states hurriedly, waving his arms. "I was expecting to find the Avatar at the time, not... you."
The way he says it, the almost breathless note that leaves his lips. You devour it hungrily, now being the one to lean in, prying.
"And how did you find me, Zuko?" You ask earnestly.
He huffs in defeat. His softened gaze finally meets yours again, his eyes roaming over your features, ones that he's familiarised with for years, and yet... it still takes the breath out of him. "...You were the most beautiful person I've ever sparred with."
Oh... wow. You didn't expect that.
"You were threatening to kill me." You recall in disbelief.
"I was multi-tasking." He mutters, ashamed.
Your intended snort escalates into a cackle, unable to contain yourself. "I would have never guessed that from the way you glared at me. So full of shame—and destroyed pride."
"What about you?" He asks in a hurry, though his tone drops towards the end in hesitation—hinting his regret in the wrong change in topic. He grimaces, gaze dropping to his tightened fists over his lap. "...Did you find my scar hideous?"
Surprise colours your features.
Immediately shaking your head, you're at a loss for words on how to convey just how off-course he was on his guess. How could you ever find Zuko hideous? Your heart barely survived your visits to the Fire Nation, not when their own Fire Lord always insisted on attending to your presence personally, even when it arose suspicion of your shared bond with him, to have him so easily distracted when you arrived on his lands.
Even now, he's overwhelming your vision. Healthy muscles that are barely hidden under his clothes, or the hair he's refused to cut ever since his youth that now flows lusciously down his broad back. His amber eyes that glint golden when the sun reflects his irises, and even the conjured image of the way his arms move when he's fire-bending.
He's— "Beautiful."
By the time you realise your second slip of the tongue, Zuko has already blinked once, caught off-guard.
You purse your lips, finding this conversation to be as riveting as it is a weaponised self-attack. "Objectively speaking. You're attractive, Zuko."
"Objectively." He repeats slowly, amused that you're using his own deflecting choice of words.
"Fine, like really attractive." You deadpan. "It's annoying, because I'm supposed to be focused on the mission, and you're just... standing there."
It was the truth. You couldn't be the only one who noticed it. His subtle change in demeanour over the years, how he carried himself into a room now instead of randomly announcing his arrival at the worst timings. Even Sokka noticed.
He snorts, and the sound deflates the tension in your chest. "Funny, I should be saying that about you."
You gasp, expression aghast. "You're joking."
"It is not honourable to lie." He shrugs. "You've always been the most magnetic in my eyes. I can never find myself looking away from you."
You grow quiet, the genuine sincerity in his words leaving you defenseless. Have you been blind all along? Is that why he always sent letters—asking you to visit his nation for purposes other than meetings? Or why he sought for your company constantly during this entire trip, despite it being the first time the entire set of Team Avatar being together in months?
You had been too focused on what was comfortable and familiar, to teasing and prodding, that you never considered this.
"For the record." You whisper, leaning in to truly look at him. "I never found your scar hideous. You were always beautiful to me, Zuko."
He swallows, something intense flickering in his gaze—but too fleeting for you to catch onto it. Maybe it had always been there, when his eyes linger on your form when he accompanied you in his palace gardens, or even back then, when he was a banished prince who sought for you, even with a grimace on his face.
"That haircut when we first met, though?" Your smile breaks out into a toothy grin. "Absolutely hideous."
The softness in his gaze falters, before a groan rumbles past his throat. "Will you ever let that one go?"
"Never."
He lets out a low breath, drained of his energy. "I admitted to finding you attractive, and this is my repayment?"
"Who's finding who attractive?"
Sokka's voice strikes a jump in your shoulders, and Zuko's in an impressive halt, frozen completely after being caught red-handed.
"Ah, between the two of you—" Sokka whistles. "I was wondering who was going to break first. Congrats, love-birds!"
"We're not—" Your voice clashes with Zuko's. "This isn't—"
You sneak a glance to Zuko, and his hand is already covering half of his face, his embarrassment shielded by the shadow of his large palm.
Sokka's confused gaze switches between the two of you, blinking slowly.
"Ah, couple years too early?" Sokka shrugs, before clicking his tongue. "That's rough. I'll check back in with you guys in another time." Making his way back towards the front, he shouts once more to prove his point. "Just don't let me catch you guys making out or anything, I'll need to poke out my eyes for that one!"
"...We better restrain him before he starts blasting it as news to everyone." You groan.
"Agreed." He mutters.
Right as you made your move to leave, Zuko's hand grips yours—stopping you.
You lift your head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"
His Adam's apple bobs up and down, consideration clear in his expression before he decisively leans in. His voice is a warm hush, soft and intimate when he whispers. "For the record." Your own words echo back to your ears in the low hush of his voice. "I wasn't only referring to our first meeting when I said that you're beautiful."
His smile quirks up into something tender, a secret expression reserved only for you. ...At this rate, your curiousity was really going to be the death of you.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
a/n: i need to write more firelord zuko stat. he looks so good and still so awkward my childhood crush has been reignited.
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Hi hi could we please get shy!reader with Sirius where she’s just absolutely exhausted and wants him to brush her hair for her after she gets out of the shower? Love u xx
thank you for your request! sirius x shy!fem!reader | 1k
You can barely get dressed after your shower, the heat of the bathroom having lulled you into a near comatose state. You drag your soft cotton trousers up the length of your tacky legs, fighting to pull the waistband over your stomach. You almost fall, body listing naturally to the side, but save yourself with a tired arm.
"You're taking ages."
You smile at the sound of Sirius' light teasing.
"I'm almost done."
"Good. My lap is feeling much too empty today."
He's delusional if he thinks you're going to sit in his lap. You rub at the ends of your hair with your towel and breathe in the creamy smell of your conditioner, tilting your head to the side to peek at your boyfriend where he sits near the open bedroom window. He's smoking.
He snuffs out the cigarette in his little ashtray and covers it with a clinking lid to hide the smell. He looks up, and you know from the settled, unsurprised laxness of his eyes and lips that he'd known you were there the whole time. He'd let you watch him, and now he watches you.
"I gotta tell you something," he says, wiping at the tip of his fingers, his only tell. Whatever it is he's going to say, it's gonna fluster you. Sure enough, he continues, "Every time you get out of the shower with wet hair I feel like it's the first time I'm seeing you."
"Do I look alien?" you ask, secretly worried.
"You look stunning, but that's not the point."
Charmed, you move to the end of the bed and climb over the sheets on knees, pyjama trousers riding up your calves. Sirius meets you where you're sitting, angling himself adjacent, and tugs them down absentmindedly.
"I don't know. I just love the way you look when you have wet hair, and," —he inclines his head like you're telling secrets— "when you're tired."
"I'm not tired," you fib.
"I believe you."
He obviously doesn't. You're both liars smiling at one another, waiting for the other to break. You look away first, dropping the damp towel from your hair into your lap. Your shoulders rise unbidden, your reluctance clear even when you haven't spoken it aloud. You don't want to finish getting ready for bed.
Sirius hasn't touched you yet, but he will. His hand closes around your ankle, climbing up under the trousers he'd only just corrected. You melt veritably.
"Will you brush my hair?" you ask, closing your eyes.
"Yeah," he says. "Course."
The nightstand drawer opens, wheels running over tracks. You listen to him fish out your hairbrush and some softener, and your skin practically burns as he settles behind you. He pulls you toward him with gentle but undeniably strong hands, his forearm lingering where it presses against your ribcage.
"I knew you'd end up in my lap," he says.
You smile despite yourself and cover his hand with your own. His fingers are long and deft beneath yours.
After a quiet moment of this he pulls away and starts to brush your hair. He makes it a long process with how softly he goes, never once tugging at tangles. He rubs product in your hair, wipes his hands quickly on the towel, and then brushes it through. He perseveres until every strand of hair is brushed, soft and still damp. You meant to talk to him as he went, ask him how his day was, but the feeling of his hands on your neck, your shoulders, the bristles of the brush against your scalp, and the heat and steadiness of him behind you — Sirius is a quiet safety.
"How's that?" he asks in a murmur.
"Thank you."
"You haven't looked yet."
"Do I need to look?" you ask, turning into him just a smidge.
Sirius takes the hint, setting the brush aside so he can accommodate your weight. He drops his face into your shoulder with a groan.
"Yeah," he says. He kisses your shoulder gently. "I've made a right mess of it. But a bird's nest is with the times. I mean, look at James."
You laugh. You're in a skewed position; you don't want to climb completely into his lap, so you twist as much as you can and hug him until he hugs you back.
"You're not nice to James considering how much you love him. I hate to think of what you say about me when I'm not around."
"I say worse."
"I knew it."
"Much worse." He pets your hair.
You know he's joking. James had texted you once to ask if your ears were burning, because Sirius had been 'waxing lyrical about the shade of your eyes for the last five minutes', and no offence or anything but James already has a sensitive stomach.
Sirius is lovely. He sings your praises and he brushes your hair and he holds you as he holds you now, like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do.
"Thanks for brushing my hair," you murmur.
He pulls away from you enough to see your face, tucking a silken strand behind your ear.
"You're welcome. I knew you were tired. You had a long day, sweetheart."
"I did, but… it feels worth it."
"Yeah?" Sirius asks, a familiar smugness creeping into his tone.
You shrink at the sound. Not because you don't like it, the opposite, and you both know it. He can get you exactly where he wants you with one word.
He laughs as you slide your face back into his neck.
barou does not let you get on top very often but when he does its nice bc you just get to cling to him chest to chest, your face buried in his neck, while he gently rocks you back and forth for as long as u want
ohhhh he, in his own words, desires to be loved so badly as being loved would make him see himself as human. but he’s never been loved and rejects love and attention when given out of the kindness of someone else’s heart. he’s horny over faces of despair but describes his ideal partner as someone full of love. lives wanting love and DENYING himself love because he doesn’t know how accept it when given. he hasn’t ever been loved before, how would he know how to take it when given?
juni… how do we feel about kaiser and the color pink :3c?
lore beloved i should have seen this one coming...this menace is haunting you!!! this is a little odd but i hope you like it!
event closed!
—
kaiser cuts through you like a scalpel.
he likes it that way, you think—likes slitting you open under the knife-blade of his gaze, peeling back your skin to expose the pink of your insides.
(kaiser's way of knowing you has always required stitches.)
it's delicate surgery, but he's an expert in it. an expert in you. he knows you down to your very bones. he takes you apart and puts you back together again, leaving his fingerprints on a little bit more of you each time.
but you leave your fingerprints, too.
his skin is hot beneath your fingertips; the flush of his cheeks is light, the pink of a ripening peach. you cradle his face between your hands and run your thumbs over the ridge of his cheekbones.
"love you," you whisper.
something passes over his face like heat lightning. sizzling and brief, a flash between clouds. it sears across your vision.
he kisses you before the after-image burns out. it's not soft.
you don't need it to be.
you kiss him back sweetly, a lamb beneath the knife of his tongue.
hello lovely, I was wondering if I could ask for a soft remus request. maybe loser!reader where someone made them feel invisible and remus comforts them? I hope that makes sense ily <3
ily ty for requesting!! <3 fem, 1.3k
“Come on, poppet,” Sirius says in one of his teasing tones as he puts a hefty looking glass of pale ale in front of you, “cheer up and get sloshed.”
“Oh, I really don’t want to drink tonight,” you say, surprised he’d get you something.
“That’s for me. This,” —he puts a short glass to the pale ale— “is for you. From him.”
You look up from the dark table to spy said him across the way. Remus stands behind the bar with a relaxed smile, arms holding himself up and biceps just that little bit tight against his sleeves. You send him a shy smile.
It’s an ice cold mix of your favourite. You send him another smile as you drink it, not sure how to cope with the fact that he’s still looking at you when you do. He raises his eyebrows a touch before a customer steals his attention.
“He should really quit,” James says happily. “He’s enabling me.”
You push the bowl of roasted peanuts toward him. “Abstinence,” you say. You’re still feeling wobbly, not quite happy, but better to move forward then dwell on things. Plus, Remus’ nice smile reminds you that he’s on your side.
“Remus gives you a Help to Stop card every time you buy a second round,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes.
“But Marlene lets me drink as much as I want.” James waves at her. She blows him a kiss from the table she’s bussing two chairs over. “Bad place. Takes advantage of me. And there’s too much riff raff.”
You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. “Right.”
They chat to each other enough to make up for your silence and Remus’ absence. He’ll be off any minute now, joining you for a quick drink if he’s awake enough to manage it before you head home. You can’t bring yourself to watch him, knowing he’ll be chatting, giving pretty girls polite smiles and prettier boys their refills. He can be charismatic when he wants to be. He’s a natural flirt deep down. You hope he doesn’t flirt with other people.
He wouldn’t.
Or maybe he would? You’re not exciting like that.
“Penny for your thoughts, lovely girl?”
He says it quietly, pressing his pet name into the side of your head as he slips into the chair next to yours. Suddenly he’s here. He sneaks up on you too often.
“Not worth the penny,” you murmur back.
“I don’t think that’s true. Do you want another drink? I’ve closed my line, but I–”
You shake your head, not having finished the first one he sent over. He smells like the too sweet cloy of beer, but his breath is minty on your cheek. “Fine, be that way. You make it hard to spoil you.”
“Yuck.”
“Ew,” he agrees. Remus gives the top of your shoulder a gentle shake. “Not feeling well?”
“She was attacked, Moons, I told you this,” Sirius says.
You glare at him as Remus says, “Mm. You okay?”
“I wasn’t attacked, that’s– you know. It was the opposite of an attack. I was–” Ignored. You attempt to shove it down even as the memory surges up, the heat of knowing you’d been deemed a loser, the shrug off, the giggling. “Sirius.”
“What? If I didn’t tell him he would’ve been pissed off with me and you know I can’t afford butter right now. I need my toast fix.”
James and Sirius are nice, good guys, but Remus is the only person who can really make you feel better. He knows it. You all know it. But it’s too embarrassing to divulge the details of what happened. You’d told Sirius and James in a strange flustered panic as you sat down, and you don’t fancy telling the story again.
In the bathroom, there had been a group of girls taking photographs. You didn’t know them, but they were around your age, beautiful, and giggling at not being able to fit in one photograph.
I can take it, you’d offered. That way you can all be in the frame?
One girl smiled at you but the rest didn’t even look up. You know you’d said it loudly. You seem to have this effect on people. Total invisibility.
“Can’t afford butter, can’t afford his own pints,” Remus says, reaching under the table to touch your thigh. His fingertips dig into the softer part of the inner thigh as he brushes downward to your knee. “Next I’ll be paying his rent.”
“It’s the least you could do,” James says. “Do you think they’ll put the rugby on if I ask?”
Remus stands and beckons for you to come with him. “Where are we going?” you ask.
“Home?” He holds out his hand for you to take. “The shop first.”
He twines your fingers and waves to the boys. You’ll see them again in an hour or two when they come home, but as soon as you and Remus leave the pub, you might as well be all alone in the world. It’s dark as pitch despite the early evening hour and twice as cold, wind like needles thrown at your hands. Remus puts his open hand out to pull your empty one into his side. It’s a funny way to walk.
“Are you terribly upset?”
“Mm… no,” you decide.
“James said you,” —his voice turns soft and careful— “looked a little bit welled up. Like you might cry. It’s okay if you were upset.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Dove, if you were to be believed, everything is embarrassing. But you’ve never done anything to be embarrassed of.” You take your hands back. “Oh, except that.”
You laugh as he snatches your hands back, your laughter whipped away with the mean winds as you make your way through the alley that leads to the small corner shop on the way home. “No one sees me like you,” you say.
“People are fucking rude,” he says with a shrug. “They could’ve at least said they were fine.”
“I don’t know if it’s rude–”
“It is–”
“I’m a stranger and they were probably fine without my help. But it was weird to have nobody say anything. It made me feel so silly.”
“If it were you,” Remus says, weight in his words as glances at you from the side, his hair dancing away from his ears, “you would’ve looked them in the eyes and said no, thanks. You would’ve acknowledged them. It’s not kind to treat people like they don’t matter.”
“I don’t matter.”
Your weak tone slows his pace.
“I mean, not to them,” you correct.
Remus slides an arm over your shoulder, humming from his chest. “Yes, you do,” he says, kissing your cheek, “of course you matter. You’re everything to the people who love you. You’re more than that to me. Please don’t think otherwise.” He presses his lips and chin to your temple. “Yeah?” he asks quietly. “You matter, dove, you do.”
“Why does this happen to me so often?” you ask in a similar quiet.
“You’re not like everyone else.” He grins at you. “We’re not like other people. Thank god.” His lips press again to your cheek. “I hope all their pictures turn out shit.”
“Sorry if I’m overreacting.”
“I think you’re underreacting. I think I should go back and have them banned.” Remus gives you one last kiss before he steps back, ushering you down the pavement to the neon lights of the corner shop. “But I’m going to buy you some chocolates instead. Is that alright? Should I go back?”
He starts walking back the way you came. You catch tight to his hand and force him into the shop before he can get too far away.
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thinking about firelord zuko who very quickly discards tradition as soon as you’re married.
he never walks ahead of you, always a few paces behind like he has a better view or he’s appreciating a sight only to be seen once in a life time. your fingers stay interlaced beneath heavy cloaks that bare the emblem of his home nation, but nowadays yours is stitched into the fabric with threads imported from your own. right above his. right above his heart.
zuko who’s shadow takes shape in the darkness, allowing your light to filter through a room full of opinionated others. he knows the extent of your capability extends beyond the wildest dreams, far greater than those who stand around you waiting for the crack in your visage. you’re strong, even if you stand a few heads shorter than him, your voice is loud and oftentimes the most correct in a room full of static and noise. he’d never let you feel less than, he never speaks for you, lips only parting to clear the buzz in the air and to allow attention to fall to you.
fire lord zuko who insists on being your right hand at every table — leaving you to take a seat at his head. he can’t stand the thought of eating meals at opposite ends — where the distance makes him feel lost, too far from home. he eats to your right where he can listen to the mundane up close, watch the way your lips curl around bites of food or a the words that make up tale from your tribe. he listens like the world has stopped for the two of you, like a nation in need of rule can wait another day for its lord and his princess.
in a similar fashion, he tends to you like a devout follower. even if there are handmaids and tailors and people to help. every door you’ve ever walked through is held open by him. for you. he lifts the straying edge of your train with a certain reverence, treating extra fabric like it’s an extension of you. zuko twirls the braids into your hair in the fashion that you like, undoes the lacing strings of your attire with fumbling fingers that only know the roughness of flames after a late night — because even though his mess of your garments is embarrassing, it makes you laugh in a way that warms him like honey notes in milk before bed.
zuko preps the water that laps at the tension in your shoulders and eases it away with hands that move like molten lava. rose petals bob along the surface, perform twizzles in the ripples of water that ebb around the lines of your body. worn down by work, diplomatic duties but tended to by unspoken love and adoration. zuko sinks into the tub behind you, bare and warm — his chin on your shoulder and face in your neck because that’s the only place he’s found safe enough to call home.
when you’re married to zuko, life is not instantly easier and the traditions of others still find their way into your relationship as performative duty… but he carries part of the load. he makes it simpler for you, because loving you, is simple too.
I know princess reader is all the rage, but please consider the servant reader x knight:
You decide to bed him, hoping it will get him off of your back. Perhaps once he has had a taste, he will give up and go on to a different girl.
You propose the idea when you're alone in the kitchen with him, cleaning.
"You want me to bed you?" he asks, eating scraps that the royals barely touched.
"Only if you want to."
"You must've heard the rumors, then."
You pause before wiping down the counter.
"I've heard some things."
"From the ladies, I presume."
"Yes..."
"Have you considered that perhaps the rumors are not true?"
"I find it hard to believe that that you haven't bed at least one of the maids—"
"Or," he starts, holding up his hand, "perhaps the women have just been speaking to the stable boys? Perhaps the squires have seen me while I bathe and spread rumors to entice the women of the grounds."
"So you have not bed anyone?"
He pauses, rolling his shoulders.
"Not here."
"How many then?"
His tongue presses into his cheek.
"Two. One when I was young and foolish, another I intended to marry but she died from the plague."
You hum, nodding slow.
"And you? How many have you taken to bed?" You think.
"One. I also intended to marry him, but he died in battle." He nods, twisting his mouth. "So, you do not wish to bed me."
"I never said such a thing, my dear lady." He rises from the table. "I only want to bed you if you fancy me as I fancy you."
You swallow. He towers over you, making you feel so small in comparison.
"I cannot promise you love," you mutter, barely able to meet his eye. "I can only give you the night."
He's quiet. He seems to be thinking as he searches your face.
You guide him to your quarters, tiptoeing past the other servants' rooms before finding your own, locking the door behind you. You light a candle and covers the window.
He is undressing you before you realize.
When you are in bed with him, he is attentive, gentle. His hands are rough and calloused, but he touches you as if you are a teacup. Lips move their way up your legs, and you shiver at the contact.
When he presses his lips to your mound, you jolt.
"S-Sir!" you yell in a hush. "Where are you putting your mouth?!"
"Here," he says calmly, pressing a thumb to the lips of your cunt. "Where the heavens part."
"B-But why sir? Why would you put your mouth there?"
"Did your past lover never kiss you here?" he asks, eyeing you. You shake your head and he smirks. "Then I shall be the first to taste you from your fountain?" He inches closer, pressing his nose into you. "I hope to be the only to have you like this."
His tongue is sinful. It wiggles and squirms, pulling pleasure from places you did not know could feel so good. And when he sucks you into his mouth, by god, you see stars.
You unravel on his mouth more than you ever have in your life. You didn't think it was possible to feel such pleasure, and he hasn't even taken out his manhood.
When he does undress, your eyes widen.
"It won't fit."
"It will, my lady. We will make it fit."
And he does. He does make it fit after he stretches you with his fingers, your pleasure leaking down your ass.
You feel so, so full when he pushes inside, hands pushing against his shoulders. He shushes you when you whine, kissing along your neck.
"You feel divine, my lady."
"I feel as though I may burst." He chuckles low at that.
"Strange. I feel the same."
When he moves, you have to cover your mouth to quiet yourself. His thrusting does not falter no matter how you squirm beneath him. Each pump of his cock has you seeing white, eyes wide and rolling.
"My lady, my darling, my princess."
And it all comes crashing down. You realize that he is not there for you. He is using you while he thinks of the princess.
You feel sick.
"Please, take it out."
"What is wrong, my sweet? Your eyes are filled with tears. Does it hurt?"
"I do not want you here anymore."
"What has happened, my dear? Why are you being so cold?"
"Why do you care? Did you only agree to bed me so you could think of the princess? If you want her so badly, just go to her!"
He stops your hands from hitting him, pressing them down to your cot.
"My lady... do you think I was thinking of the princess?"
"You said 'my princess'."
"I..." His eyes search your face. "My lady, I was calling you my princess."
You blink, tears falling.
"W-What?"
"You are my princess. You, only you. I do not care for that detestable girl."
"You... You should not say such things about the princess—"
"Damn the princess. I do not care for her. I have never loved her or wanted to bed her. I am not with the princess, but I am with my princess. Do you understand me?"
You nod, in shock, gasping when he presses into you.
"Good. Now, may I return to pleasuring my princess?"
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