Gojo Satoru had endured many trials and tribulations as the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Being cursed and sealed were practically part of the job.

He just hadn't expected to end up being cursed and sealed in such a unique and perverted way.

Regaining consciousness to find that he was trapped inside of a sex toy in some remote warehouse had been…upsetting, to say the least. Satoru couldn't recall exactly how it had happened. The last thing he remembered was fighting Ryomen Sukuna in a battle to the death.

Actually, Satoru had expected to die in that battle. Maybe he did, and this was the universe balancing out his past life as the richest, sexiest, strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Not that the theory made much sense. He definitely still had his Six Eyes, a veritable blessing considering his current form had zero real eyes. It was strange because he could still sort of sense things, just not with the acuity that he had been able to with a human body.

Taking that into account, it probably was some kind of fucked up, lewd, Prison Realm situation.

Luckily, Satoru had trained for this.

Being alone in the dark for what was conceivably eternity was fine with him as long as Sukuna wasn't loose killing everybody he cared about. Satoru could rest easy in his silicone shell knowing that he had done what he had set out to do. It was almost peaceful, like he really was dead.

At least, it had been peaceful…until some dickhead took his box and threw it (with notably excessive force) into the postal system.

Getting flashbanged by the overhead light in your apartment was almost as annoying as the swirl of disappointed energy on your face.

What was worse, however, was the ominous number hanging over your head.

500

Whatever that meant.

"Blue?" You muttered. "That wasn't even an option."

Satoru rolled his metaphorical eyes. What kind of weirdo doesn't like blue?

He could actually feel your touch, although the sensation wasn't tied to any identifiable part of his body. Still, after years of near-constant Infinity, it was admittedly nice to actually feel the warmth of someone's skin.

It was only when you began to carry him to your bedroom that reality sunk in.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, had been reduced to a single woman's cheap rose toy.

Damn.

At least you seemed cute.

Given that he had never been a rose toy before, Satoru wasn't exactly sure how to behave. He wasn't particularly happy with his situation either—Satoru had stopped having meaningless hookups years ago.

He was still kind of trying. Sort of. At least as much as he would if he was pressed against any stranger's genitals. It didn't help that he kept getting distracted. There was something oddly familiar about your cursed energy, something that kept pulling at his attention while he was trying to figure out how to vibrate.

That only made your frustration with his 'malfunctions' more infuriating.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted such a sketchy site." You groaned. "I guess it was stupid hoping for something powerful. I should just toss this thing in the garbage."

As it turned out, an eternity in a landfill was actually a pretty good motivator.

It definitely had nothing to do with your implication that Satoru was weak.

Satoru got to work, kicking himself into high gear. He still wasn't used to his body being like this, but a little imagination seemed to go a long way. It was just like eating pussy. Almost. There was definitely a suction element to it.

And he actually got the hang of it, feeling a little smug when you started to whine and seize up. Sure, he would have preferred some 'Ohhh~Gojo~!' or at least a 'thank you', but he was trying to temper his expectations.

You came pretty quickly, all things considered, soaking what Satoru imagined would have been his face if he was a man. Usually an encounter like this would have left Satoru feeling profoundly empty. While he certainly wasn't thrilled about his circumstances, there was a strange sense of accomplishment blooming within him.

Maybe that would kick in soon, though, because you were about to drop him in the top drawer of your nightstand. Satoru found himself conflicted. He had been resigned to the darkness before all of this, but now that he had other options…well, he was starting to hope you might forget to put him away sometimes.

It was just before you closed the drawer that Satoru caught a glimpse of something odd. The number floating over your head had changed.

499

Fuck.

Satoru felt what might have been his heart sink. If his hunch was correct, he wasn't getting back to being human any time soon, and the journey was looking to be anything but quick and simple.

This woman better be horny.

Your rose toy was more effective than anything you could have ever hoped for.

You'd had a bit of a rough start, but once you figured out how to use the thing, it had resulted in a quick trip to the most absolutely bananas, batshit insane, mindblowing orgasm of your life. The rose toy was a godsend, and while you never did figure out how to try all the different settings, the one the toy was stuck on did the job just fine. It was hard not to think about it while you went about your business that day, your mind wandering back to your rose toy over and over again.

You couldn't wait to use it again…and maybe once or twice more after that.

It had been a crackpot theory at first, but the number ticked down every time Satoru made you climax, and as that number got lower, Satoru began to feel more and more like himself. He had become better at sensing his environment, although most of the time there wasn't much of anything to sense inside your nightstand.

Maybe it was a curse, or perhaps Satoru had accrued some kind of sex debt he wasn't aware of…

Regardless, it seemed that the strongest sorcerer was stuck as a rose toy for the time being.

Sometimes it was difficult to not resent you. Objectively, Satoru knew that it (probably) wasn't your fault he had ended up like this, but knowing that his being freed hinged on how frisky you were feeling made it difficult to not feel impatient when you weren't in the mood.

Most of the time you were consistent. Satoru could expect you to use him before bed, and maybe a little extra on the weekends or if you were feeling stressed during the week. He tried to make it good for you, not because he cared about how you felt, but rather to entice you into going another round.

However, after a few months Satoru felt that he had really gotten to know you, and he started to feel a little invested in your pleasure. It was him doing all of this for you, after all. As the orgasm debt went down, Satoru began to get more sensation in his 'body', and as a result, he started feeling unusually aroused by your sessions together.

Satoru was fairly certain that it wasn't possible for him to cum like this, so essentially he was being edged continuously. He was kind of into it though; he wouldn't have been Gojo Satoru if he didn't have a complicated relationship with restraint and denial. It almost felt intimate, like you were teasing him with his eventual release.

That release being freedom of course. Satoru wasn't expecting you to get him off after he magically emerged from your rose toy, or whatever bullshit would happen when this weird curse was finally broken. It would probably freak you out enough for there to suddenly be a man between your legs; Satoru didn't need to make it worse by creeping you out immediately after.

But it was hard to not fantasize about it, especially when he already knew so much about that version of you.

How easy it was for him to get you wet, the way you looked when you were right on the edge, the little sounds you made when you got close and the way they disappeared entirely when he really made it good for you…

Satoru wasn't even halfway through the debt when he finally realized that things were going to be much more complicated than he had initially expected.

He liked you. A lot.

Satoru couldn't help misinterpreting your attachment to him as something more than a woman's affection for modern convenience. At times, he found himself deliberately fantasizing about being in your bed as more than just a masturbatory aid…although there were plenty of times that he considered still being your masturbatory aid, but as a man instead of a rose toy.

His delusions only became worse when you took him on vacation with you.

Satoru could sense the mix of embarrassment and stubborn defiance coming off of you when you were pulled aside specifically because he set off the scanners at the airport.

"No, you can't take it—" You said firmly. "What are you trying to imply? It's clearly my sex toy."

Hearing you call him your sex toy may or may not have made Satoru nearly start accidentally vibrating right there in the agent's gloved hands.

As time went on, seeing the number hanging over your head go down became less about being free of his plastic prison, and more about being able to have you for real. It might have just been the continuous edging, but Satoru was becoming obsessed with the idea of taking you out on a date before bringing you home and absolutely railing the shit out of you. While Satoru wasn't opposed to the romance of missionary or the animal experience of taking you from behind, what he was really craving was throwing your legs over his shoulders and looking directly into your eyes while he sank himself all the way inside your cunt.

He would settle for just about anything if you called out his name though.

You loved your rose toy. Your attachment to it might have even been a little unhealthy, but it didn't matter because you didn't see a therapist, so there was no one with real credibility who could tell you that.

None of your friends believed you when you told them that it literally never needed to be recharged. Everyone you had recommended it to had followed the same link but received something decidedly lackluster. Searching online yourself had produced no explanation either.

Crazy or not, you had gotten it into your head that your rose toy was special.

Your friend, and the only medical professional you planned on speaking to about it, Ieiri Shoko, was the sole person who heard you out about it.

"Maybe it's cursed." Shoko sighed, taking a drag of what must have been her six or seventh cigarette that evening. "You could have it exorcised—I know a guy."

"And risk ruining the best thing I've ever owned?" You scoffed. "No thanks, I think I'll take my chances."

You shook your head. Whatever was up with your rose toy, it definitely didn't feel like a curse.

Satoru's days started to blur together, an endless cycle of darkness and pleasing you. His most exciting days outside of the occasional weekend trip were the times you forgot to put him back in your nightstand, and he wasn't exactly proud of all his time spent watching you sleep.

Whether or not he sometimes vibrated in the middle of the night to wake you up in hopes that you would use him to put yourself back to sleep…well, that was between him and the theoretical sex toy god.

It was just after the counter over your head hit double digits that something at work started to really stress you out, and you began using Satoru at such a rate that he actually started to become a little concerned. He felt for you, really identified with the feeling of having the world on his shoulders.

Sure, there was a big difference between end of quarter pressure and the literal entire world counting on you, but Satoru empathized all the same. You would feel better soon enough anyway—Satoru had plans to really help you relieve your stress once that number over your head hit zero.

That had been the plan…until your work troubles became so severe that you stopped using Satoru entirely.

It was a predictable spiral. Your life had gotten out of control, first to a manageable degree, and then to an absolutely unmanageable one. Your typical methods were starting to feel a little excessive, so you decided to give your poor rose toy a break, and things had only become worse from there.

You hadn't meant to completely abstain—it just happened.

Truthfully, you would have preferred to get back to your routine, but you had some kind of mental block. The idea of getting yourself off was in your head almost constantly—you just couldn't bring yourself to actually do it.

The pressure at work got so bad that you decided to try something different. It would be a drastic change, but it might help you kick-start your usual habit. You felt weirdly bad about it, like you were doing something wrong by buying yourself a new toy, but it was the only thing you could think of trying.

Frankly, a nineteen inch dildo was excessive, but honestly it was the absurdity of it that really cheered you up. You had found the silly thing on the same sketchy website that you had purchased your rose toy, so you had unreasonably high hopes about how it would work out.

The package came fairly quickly, a blessing considering you really needed to get your hands on it while you still had the motivation to try it out.

It was just as ridiculous as it sounded. Massive, thick, and surprisingly lacking in floppiness for its length, you practically skipped all the way to the bedroom with your new monstrous, light pink dildo and complimentary bottle of lube in hand.

Satoru knew what was happening as soon as you opened the front door—he just didn't want to believe it.

You had been giddy all day, happier than Satoru had seen you in a few weeks. The number 10 floating above your head had been taunting him the entire time, and he had foolishly allowed himself to feel hopeful right up until the moment you brought that infernal thing inside.

A new sex toy. A massive dildo, one you seemed to be completely enamored with, one that had an unmistakable, malevolent presence.

Satoru wouldn't have believed it if it weren't for his own situation.

In your hands, your upsettingly eager hands, was the one and only King of Curses.

Your new dildo was Ryomen Sukuna.

man idk either

Honestly, the entire reason the four of you had even gathered at Kenma’s apartment in the first place was for gaming. Kuroo, like always, had managed to irritate Kozume for days, twisting some farfetched tale that his newfound fling had wanted to try fps. So, he agreed to show her the ropes. That was until Kuroo placed his fucking hands on her hips, guiding her ass into his crotch until both of their eyesights couldn’t fixate on anything but each other’s skin. 

Which unfortunately left you and Kenma alone with a story game you’d convinced him to try. At first, it was exactly what he expected — exactly like you explained: long, choice driven, full of tension and consequences that followed the same notion of a butterfly effect. It was as though one wrong move, one missed clue, and a character died. There were no second chances. No sense of safety when making such impactful verdicts; all the storyline did with your opinions was shift the outcomes, forcing a new wave of obstacles that only hastened anxiety. 

Such an odd game of choice… though, it did surprisingly keep his attention away from the two imbeciles mouth fucking on the floor. So, that was a win.

Well, until the romance came. The sappy moments between fictional characters that overrode any achievement the two of you had accomplished. You managed to escape a monster? Eh, anyone could do that. You became mayor of the town and saved at least half the population due to your studious objectives? So what.

It was like the hours worth of dialogue options, the tiny decisions that somehow affected communities and personal growth didn’t matter. For fuck’s sake the main character nearly died three separate times and still the game wanted them to care more about whether they held someone’s hand at an opportune time.

It was like he was surrounded by unfettered lust; both the game and Kuroo made him miserable. There was no escape from such coitous actions; writer ploys, hormones… affection was everywhere. Couldn’t horror and mystery just rest on unsolved enigmas? Sure, Kozume could swallow Tetsuro ruining his floor with sweat, but a game built on strategy and decisions… that felt almost churlish.  

Yet, still, here he was — letting the two of you play through such a dumbfounded game, allowing your body to position itself near the edge of the bed with his controller in hand. Kenma leaned against the headboard beside you, eyes fixed on the cutscene unfolded on the screen. And finally, after what felt like fucking forever, the main character sealed their choice of love with a makeout session. 

Kenma rolled his eyes, puffed out cheek rested atop the grooves of his fist. I mean, c’mon, who would even fall for that? Probably an idiot — his eyes followed upwards, the glimpse of your kicked feet glinting in the corner of his eyes. “Finally,” you groaned. “That took, like, two hours of decisions just to get to this point.”

He couldn’t believe it. You had seriously based the majority of your decisions to get to this point? A mundane scripted sequence that only blasted shitty music to get an emotional rise. And their tongues… gross — all tangled together like they couldn’t function without devouring each other’s insides. 

Stupid storytelling. 

“What happened?” Kuroo poked his head from above, his girlfriend whimpering softly from the lack of attention she inadvertently received (so fucking abhorrent — he better dump her asap). “Wait. I thought we wanted Mira to end up with Asher.”

“That was before we found out he spread the rumors about Maeve.” Kenma affirmed. “So our decisions have been pinpointed on Kole since then,” his eyes glazed over his friend's enmeshed body. Idiot. “You’d know that if you paid attention.”

Kuroo furrowed his brows, palmed hands braced on either side of his lover's head while his eyes lowered at the frustrated setter. “Well sorry that I’m entertained over here.”

“I hope you get mono.” 

You snorted at Kenma’s declared medical curse, the sound quickly joined by Tetsuro’s girlfriend. And if on cue, she peered her head just below the captain, irises fixed on Kozume’s exasperated glare. Yeah, he was definitely not letting her come back. Still, she seemed oblivious to the setter's attempts to cut their intimacy off, pressing her lips against Kuroo’s which earned a short grunt from the depths of his throat.

Kenma was fucking baffled. I mean, what was so pleasurable about kissing anyway? It was just two people pressing skin against skin. There was no way it felt good (if you get his gist). Yet, here his friend was, acting like his life depended on such foolish acts. 

“If you keep staring like that, you’re gonna come off as a prude.” Kozume pushed his exasperated expression towards you. “Don’t get mad at me! Just saying…”

“I don’t get it.” Kenma grumbled, layered hair pushed back to take another look at the two bodies in constant movement. “Why do they have to keep kissing?”

“Because it’s cute.”

Cute? What part of it was cute? From the outside it looked like they were about to eat each other’s skin. “It’s disgusting.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you Kenma, it’s—” Kuroo was cut off by faint vibrations, a sound trickling near the middle of his girlfriend's shorts. “Babe… is that your vibrator?” 

Okay. That crossed a line. Even your cheeks heated at that comment; something Kenma awkwardly took notice of. “Oh,” she said casually, reaching deep into her pocket. “It’s my roommate. She texted that she needs me.” 

The tension dispersed after that resolute; soft chuckles and relaxed postures echoing across the room. Even Kenma visibly eased, a quiet and relieved sound murmured under his breath — a string of thank yous uttered to the universe.

Kuroo’s girlfriend didn’t seem to mind the thirty seconds of embarrassment however, already stepping back toward the door while Tetsuro followed behind her with exaggerated reluctance, still complaining the entire way like he hadn’t just spent the last four hours attached to her face. And when the front door clicked not even ten minutes later, Kuroo stumbled in like he’d been personally betrayed by every higher being for getting cock blocked. 

Little did he know his anger should’ve been directed towards her roommates' need for support. That’s what he gets for dating a freshman. 

“You still up for the game?” you asked.

But Kuroo didn’t respond properly. Instead, he made it exactly three steps into the room before collapsing face-first onto Kenma’s air mattress with a dramatic groan. “I’m emotionally drained,” he declared. And within seconds, his voice softened into something incoherent, phone slipping from his hand as his breathing evened out. “Don’t do anything… fun… without me…” he mumbled, already half-asleep — just like that, he was out cold, sprawled across the blankets like the sole reason to be at Kenma’s was just to face fuck his girlfriend.

“I hate her.” 

Your palms pressed against the bed, pushing your torso sideways to get a better look at the setter next to you. His brow was raised, the edge of his lip downturned in pure repulse to the memories of displayed intimacy. “Huh. If I didn't know better, I take it you haven’t kissed anyone, Kozume.” 

“Huh?” His cheeks seared with red; something he tried, and failed, to hide with his hair. “That’s… not the reason why. Besides, I’ve kissed someone before.” The ends of his fingers pulled at the drawstring of his hoodie, fabric pooling around his wrists due to your blatant declaration. Kenma wasn’t embarrassed about his inexperience, that much was certain. But for you to just expose his personal information… like it was normal? Now that — that made him retreat.

“Only one?”

Kenma’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Stop acting like it’s odd or something.” 

“It’s not odd,” you added quickly. “It’s just… Kuroo, as uh we can see, is like always tongue deep in his girlfriend. I just thought maybe…” Your face warped promptly at your own thoughts. “Okay, don’t laugh. Just hear me out.” Kenma disregarded your comment entirely, chuckling lightly at the way your ears turned a soft shade of pink. “I just mean — he obviously thinks it's incredible. So I figured maybe he would’ve, I don’t know, dragged you onto a double date or tried getting you to kiss someone too.” 

“I would die if he did that.”

Yeah, honestly, it was a stupid notion. There was no way in hell Kozume would ever follow Kuroo's egregious plans. For fuck’s sake it took you months just to get him to talk to you in English class. Let alone sit near you. “Look, all I’m saying is if you kiss someone you’re close to, you’ll probably understand why Kuroo can’t stop putting his lips on another girl. You can’t disregard the whole making out just cause your first kiss sucked.” 

Kenma stared at you from beside the headboard, fingers still curled loosely around his hoodie strings. “Uh, and who would that be?” The room fell silent after that; the only noise coming from the forgotten game in the background, the characters voices incoherently reiterating the coded dialogue the developers inputted. And of course, Kuroo’s snores. “Do you have someone in mind?” 

Fuck. Now it was your turn to hide — head pushed to the right to keep your eyes peeled away  from the setter. Originally, there was no intention behind your comment. The declaration purely based on the notion of an unknown female. But you had to admit, it did sound like you meant yourself. And really, the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. If Kenma were to have a better kiss, the most plausible outcome would be with someone he knew. Someone he was comfortable with. “Why don’t you,” you paused, left hand coming up to press against your cheek. “Kiss me.”

“Oh.” His torso leaned forward, head tilted and hung low as he eyed your tense posture. “Okay.” 

Really, it was that easy?

Okay, no, this is good — you’ll just take the kiss… slow. You heaved your body upwards, feet tucked beneath you as you scooted closer to Kozume, the boy whose hips still slouched against the headboard as he watched with cautious eyes. And for a second, neither of you moved. The two of you just stared, fixated on each other as if this was some ridiculous side quest triggered by a stupid captain who couldn’t keep his mouth off his own girlfriend.  

But you’d be damned if you backed out now; especially with the way his attention had drawn on you, like the entire concept of affection had suddenly narrowed down to you specifically. And really, what kind of friend would you be if you didn’t let Kenma experience firsthand why people got so addicted to kissing in the first place? So, despite every echo of denial in your brain, you leaned forward, pressing the rounds of your lips against his. 

Kenma stilled; his eyes wide and body trembled with nerves (or was it anticipation?). Either way, his eyes eventually shut, his movements promptly following suit of yours — slow pace, no tongue. Just pure inexplicit intimacy. 

And for a while, just your mouths moved in tandem — until Kenma’s fingers innately sunk underneath the hem of your shirt, rough fingertips brushing against the skin of your waist. Honestly, he was better than you had imagined: His lips would consistently follow yours, head swiftly adjusting whenever you deemed it necessary to shift sides. Even his grip would unconsciously tighten when you moved away, hoodie sleeves bunched around his wrists while he tried tugging himself closer between every gasp for oxygen.

Really, you half expected the boy to deepen the kiss with the way he seemed so eager… until he pulled away, golden eyes peering at your flushed cheeks and pouted lips. Only, this Kozume seemed different than before. His pupils, which were now blown wide, looked almost half dazed, like his brain hadn't really caught up with what just ensued. 

Huh, maybe he just isn’t a fan of kissing in general. 

Nonetheless you still opened your mouth, prepared to ask the stunned setter if he could discern Kuroo’s reasoning now for such a public display of affection. But Kenma didn’t wait for the words to leave your mouth. Instead, he kissed you again: This time needier, sloppier, as if something in him had finally clicked to the idea of how much a turn on lips could be. A soft sound escaped your throat when his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you forward until your legs slid across either side of his lap. The sudden closeness dragged a shaky breath from both of you, mouths parting briefly just to breathe before reconnecting again. Even his hips ground upwards, the pure feeling of ecstasy just from kissing now prevalent in his own sweatpants. 

God, how did Kuroo do this everywhere? Did he truly have a boner each time and just hid it? 

Your fingers instinctively twisted into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging his torso forward until he had no choice but to switch positions; his frame now towered above your sprawled out body. Still, Kozume wasted no time in pushing his pelvis back against yours, grinding in slow, deliberate circles until a string of groans vibrated against your lips. 

Truthfully, it seemed as though the poor boy was utterly lost in bliss — the very same feeling his friend had for the past four hours. And now? Now Kenma was pissed; because why the fuck wasn’t he having a makeout session for half the day? 

But you didn’t mind the switch-up of your friend — the way he pressed eagerly against your shorts. Nor did you mind the string of saliva sealed against your neck every time he became too overwhelmed with kissing — the neurons of his brain not able to compute such a surge of hormones.

Frankly, Kenma was going to lose it. The way the hem of your underwear exposed itself from the constant tug and pull of his hips, the gasps you exuded from each push between your legs… Yeah, he wanted this to go farther. Who cares if Kuroo was in the same room. 

Honestly it was too bad girls didn’t just carry around their vibrator like Tetsuro assumed… eh, he could always just use his controller.

Hell, you had even gained a thing for Sokka for a while, and not once had you ever thought of Aang as a romantic interest, despite his many 'advances'.

You saw it then, in the way he would seek you out, always hanging around you, asking for your advice on waterbending, even though Katara was right there, the one person who actually knew combat waterbending, unlike you, who could only heal.

So you did your best to push him toward Katara, trying to free yourself from the burden of his feelings.

It had worked.

And how you regretted it.

Because the man who stood before you now, grinning ear to ear at the sight of your arrival, was someone you no longer recognized.

After the war had ended, you returned home to the Northern Water Tribe, where you were praised for your contributions in the war.

Which is why you had taken to teaching the younger female generations the beauty of water, passing down your learnings from Katara and Aang.

The elders had not been too pleased at your notion, but they didn't stop you either, reminding themselves of what Katara had changed within the misogynistic hierarchy of the tribe.

You spent those years teaching, learning, advising, not having much contact with your friends other than the letters you all exchanged.

Katara and Sokka would visit now and then, but the Southern Water Tribe girl stopped once her free time was redirected to developing Republic City. Sokka continued to visit with Suki, mostly to pay respect to a certain moon spirit.

You weren't in touch with Zuko, never having gotten too close with him. And Aang would send you letters more often than you had expected. But even those reduced over the years, only showing up on birthdays.

So now, nine years later, you finally decided to give a visit when you received an invitation from Aang, planning a reunion on the occasion that Republic City was an year old and flourishing.

You had agreed, because you wished to see your only actual friend you had made on your journey.

Toph.

The blind bandit had formed an unusual bond with you, mostly built around constant jokes and taunts towards the rest of the group.

So when you saw Toph upon arriving, you hadn't expected Aang to be standing there beside her with the others, towering over everyone else in his newly acquired form.

You couldn't even think straight as Aang and Katara led everyone to the inn all of you could stay in during your time there. After settling your stuff into your rooms, Aang had taken to showing all of you around.

You heard him for everything he had to say, paying more attention to him than you ever had. Your eyes hadn't left him once, watching him light up every time he spoke, waving his hands around animatedly towards all directions.

Fuck. His hands.

Asking what you would do with them was a stupid question, because what wouldn't you do?

You'd have them pressed to your tits all the time. Those warm hands that have mastered every element to the point of second nature, swirling wind, bending the earth, doing everything imaginable with ease.

How trained he would be with those hands. Maybe he would put his learnings to good use on your pussy, mimicking the elegant motion of his fingers over your clit as he kept you stuffed to the hilt, hopefully using his other hand to clamp your mouth shut.

Maybe he'd even let you take his fingers in your mouth, sucking and drooling around them to divert your attention from the fullness of his cock.

Your thoughts didn't let up even as night fell, by which you had completely soaked through the fabric of your underwear. The group had split up to retire for the night, holding a proper get together party at Katara's home the next evening.

The time before the party had been given to everyone for sight seeing, but you could barely make it out of bed, the previous night spent restless as a certain airbender plagued your mind, making your reach for your pussy for most of it.

What's worse is that you had to keep your moans to the lowest, too scared that Toph might sense you out from wherever her room was in the inn.

You never truly understood the extent of her power, you didn't even know if something like this would even be possible for Toph to sense, but you sure as hell didn't want to take any chances.

Before the get together, you had sat in front of the mirror to gather your thoughts. You had chosen to wear a henley much like what Toph had worn the day before, while beneath it you had put on a rather bold choice.

You had first seen Suki wear a miniskirt during her visit with Sokka at the Northern Water Tribe. Her choice of clothing was something you had questioned, trying to understand why she would wear swimwear while visiting such a cold place.

She had only sighed, explaining to you the growing trends of fashion in the newly developing city.

On her next visit, she had brought you your own.

You never wore it before, given the weather, but you had packed it, figuring the warmer weather of the city would make the skirt more bearable.

Arriving at Katara's home was hell, because not only had Aang opened the door on your arrival, he was bare from the waist up as he did so.

The blood had rushed straight to your cunt, trying not to blatantly look at his abdomen, or the hard planes of his chest.

"Wow, did your clothes run away?" You joked, craning your neck to look him in the eyes, not daring to avert your gaze elsewhere.

"I spilled my drink on it." Aang huffs, pouting a little which only made things worse on your end, wanting to bite his cheeks that puffed out a little.

"You didn't think to Air bend and dry it?" You ask, trying to remain composed even as your breath hitched, walking through the door as you stood close to him.

"That doesn't remove wine stains. Katara threw it in the wash." He answered, walking beside you as he led you to the stairs.

"You're drinking?" Your voice came out shocked.

"I was going to, but then Sokka bumped into me." He sulks yet again.

"I thought...Air Nomads do not drink."

"Well...I don't. But everyone has been asking me to try it once, so I agreed to do it today."

"Looks like I came on time." You tease, trying to meets his eyes but failing when he gave you the cutest smile ever.

You both had made your way upstairs, and you were very aware of just how short your skirt was. You wondered if Aang had looked at your ass as you walked in front of him, or had he diverted his gaze out of respect.

Either option had you pressing your thighs together, not daring to turn your head to see where his eyes lingered.

"Hey! You wore it!" Suki's voice had greeted you the moment you entered the room beside Aang.

She was talking about your skirt.

"Yeah. I have no where else to wear this." You had answered with a smile, looking a the spacious room, a low table in the center with food already set on it.

"It looks great!" Katara compliments you, to which you smile.

"Thanks!"

"Yeah, cute outfit!" Aang chimed in from behind you, making you turn to face him.

"...Thanks Aang." You had tried to keep it in, but your heart had practically leapt out of your chest as his voice.

"You're late!" Toph greeted you in her own manner, making you turn back around and roll your eyes at her.

"Oh! I am so sorry, ma'am."

"You just rolled your eyes, didn't you?" She commented, taking a chug of whatever was in her cup.

"Yep. Proudly too." You retorted with a grin walking towards the group.

Toph had taken one of the shorter ends of the table, sprawling comfortably in her spot while Suki, Sokka, and Katara settled along one of the longer sides. 

Across from them sat Zuko with an empty place beside him, which you claimed easily, folding your legs beneath you once you sat down.

And a part of you had hoped Aang would occupy the space that had been left empty on your other side, but you should have known better as you watched him take the opposing end of where Toph sat...right beside Katara.

Well, Zuko was technically also seated beside him, but it barely mattered when you watched Katara subtly close the distance between herself and Aang.

No one would have noticed it unless they had been observing closely.

Which you were.

You watched the two as the conversations picked up again around you, watching how Aang too scooched a little closer to Katara each time she said something.

It made you nauseous.

You had done this. You had practically thrown him into her arms all those years ago, and the karma of it had come to bite you in the ass.

It only made things worse that all you could think about in that situation was how gorgeous his abs were.

You could already imagine how nice they would feel against your cunt, rubbing mindlessly on them as those sinful hands of his would keep you pressed to him, grabbing the flesh of your hips to move you even faster, letting you cum on his skin. 

You watched as Aang finally took his first sip of whatever alcohol Sokka had poured for him, observing as he gagged at the taste of it, leading him to have a coughing fit.

While the others chuckled at his antics, Katara reached over to rub slow circles against his back, trying to ease him through the coughing fit.

It made you sick.

The sight of her hands against his bare skin. The ease with which he leaned into her touch, comfortable enough to accept it without thought.

And it only got worse when he turned slightly toward her while thanking her softly.

"Are you alright, Aang?" you asked, hoping to interrupt whatever quiet little moment had begun forming between them.

Aang looked over at you immediately, a sheepish smile pulling onto his face.

"Y-yeah. Just need a m-minute," he managed, his voice still rough from coughing as he tried to steady his breathing.

You simply nodded, masking your satisfaction beneath a look of concern when Aang motioned for Katara to stop, quietly insisting he was alright now. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away and settled back into her place beside him.

It was around 10 minutes later when the effects of whatever amount of alcohol had managed to bypass Aang's throat had started to take effect.

A warm flush spread slowly across his skin, staining not only his cheeks but trailing down the length of his neck and across his chest in soft patches of pink.

You tried not to stare at him.

Without the excuse of him talking animatedly or moving around the room, admiring him so openly would have been far too obvious.

But, the sight of his lightweight body unable to withstand a shot of alcohol had you squirming in your seat, knowing your pussy was actively soaking your panties as the conversations continued. 

Aang had long since stopped participating in the conversation, now hunched over the table with his face buried into his folded arms while the others continued talking around him. 

Every few minutes, Zuko would slide another glass of water toward him, insisting it would help flush the alcohol out of his system.

Aang only mumbled that he was fine, though his words slurred slightly when he complained that he had not expected to feel so "floosy" after a single sip.

You on the other hand, were burning. Your pussy was desperately clenching around nothing, dripping on the flimsy fabric, as you now regretted wearing the skirt.

Aang's drowsy posture had given you something entirely new to admire. The broad slope of his shoulders, the defined muscles shifting faintly beneath his skin whenever he adjusted against the table, the elegant curve of his back disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

It took everything in you not to stare openly.

Your thoughts drifted embarrassingly fast, fixating on the sight of his back and imagining what it would feel like beneath your hands.

You fantasized how desperately your nails would claw at his back as he pushed his cock into you, fucking your fervently.

Or maybe he'd let you rest your legs over his shoulders as he ate you out, driving his tongue into you which will make your heels dig into his back, only pushing him closer. 

Maybe he would even make you squirt? He was quiet talented at waterbe—

Your thoughts came to an abrupt halt the moment Aang pushed himself upright, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before slowly making his way out of the room.

You lifted your wine glass toward your lips, eyes instinctively following him until he disappeared down the hallway, turning left once he stepped out.

Only then did you take another sip, absentmindedly humming in agreement to whatever Toph had just said.

Your attention was divided between the room and Aang. And the heat between your thighs had become unbearable to the point you had to take care of it. 

A few minutes later, you finished the last of your wine and set the empty glass aside before excusing yourself as well, adjusting your skirt once you rose to your feet.

You followed the same path Aang had taken earlier, slower with your steps this time, though upon reaching the hallway you quickly realized the restroom was empty.

You only shrugged to yourself before slipping inside anyway, locking the door behind you and closing the seat before sitting down, hiking your skirt up around your waist.

You spread your legs wide enough to let your hand slip inside, sliding your panties to the side to bury two fingers deep.

You were so slick and hot, it was almost pathetic. 

Your fingers did absolutely nothing in comparison to the fantasies you'd built of Aang doing this to you.

Leaning back, you began pumping your fingers, but the ridiculous amount of wetness made it difficult to find any real friction against your pussy. 

It was frustrating, yet amusing; you had drenched yourself to the extent that you could barely feel your own fingers rubbing against you.

Nonetheless, the need to have your cunt filled was somewhat satisfied, letting your fingers curl pathetically against the spot you probed for a quick, desperate orgasm.

The pressure built relentlessly, and with it, your voice. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress the sounds, but the rising heat was too much; a few desperate whimpers slipped past your teeth despite your best efforts.

It was only when you heard two giggling whispers close by that you froze. 

You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes widening in a flash of panic as you forced your body to go still.

Judging by the voice, one of them was definitely Suki.

Had she and Sokka slipped away for some privacy?

You sat up straighter immediately, halting every movement as you listened more carefully.

"Oh come on! Isn't it time already? You've liked each other longer than Sokka and I have even been together."

"That doesn't mean we're compatible! You've seen him...he's always busy being the Avatar..."

Katara.

You nearly stopped breathing.

Carefully, you stood up and adjusted your skirt, suddenly far more aware of every tiny sound you made while crossing the bathroom floor. Your hand remained clamped tightly over your mouth as you moved closer to the door, pressing your ear lightly against the wood to hear them better.

"So? He's never going to stop being the Avatar! Does that mean you'll wait until he's on his deathbed?"

"No...I just don't want to become a burden. He already has so many responsibilities, I don't want to add myself to them."

"Katara! You've kissed, for Spirits' sake! And...didn't you have that one night..."

"Shh! Suki, Aang is still out here..."

"Sorry," Suki whispered, lowering her voice even further. "But didn't you?"

You could hear Katara hesitate before she answered.

"Yes...we did do that..."

You froze.

Nausea twisted violently in your stomach at the thought of Katara and Aang together like that, tangled together somewhere inside this very house.

"Then why aren't you two together yet? Did he just use you? Because I can absolutely beat some sense into him."

"No! Spirits, no." Katara sounded horrified by the suggestion. 

"It's my fault. I asked him not to talk about it again...to just put it behind us."

"Why?!"

"I panicked!" she admitted. 

"I really do love Aang, but afterward I just...felt cheap. I couldn't believe we had done something like that before even talking about our feelings properly."

Slowly, you pulled away from the door.

Your hand slipped from your mouth while something sharp and terrible settled into place inside your mind all at once, so sudden it almost felt divine.

That was it.

Your chance.

"What did Aang say?" Suki asked after a moment.

"He agreed," Katara murmured. "Although...now that I think about it, he did seem a little hurt by it."

"Oh Katara, I am so mad at you—"

"Shh!" Katara cut her off quickly. "We've already been gone too long, and we still need to pick up the food from the kitchen." 

Katara quickly hushed her again, dragging Suki away before her voice could rise any further.

Their conversation had given you everything you needed to know.

It seemed you had been terribly wrong about whatever existed between them.

They did not belong to each other, and that meant you could still do something about it.

You waited another few minutes before leaving the bathroom, taking the time to clean yourself up while listening carefully for the sound of their footsteps returning from the kitchen. 

Only once the hallway had gone quiet again did you finally unlock the door and slip outside.

You did not particularly care that your little trip to the bathroom had left you unsatisfied.

Because in the end, it had not been pointless.

As long as there was still a chance for you to have Aang, you could live with the ache between your thighs.

You quietly made your way back toward the room where everyone had gathered, relieved to find them distracted enough to not notice you lingering briefly behind the doorframe.

You only peeked inside long enough to check whether Aang had returned.

He hadn't.

The realization made a smile threaten at the corners of your mouth.

This was your only opportunity.

So you slipped away again, quieter this time, searching through the massive house floor by floor while the sounds of laughter and conversation faded further beneath you.

Only upon reaching the topmost level did you finally slow.

Just before stepping fully into the room, your attention caught on the open balcony doors inside it.

There he was.

Your expression brightened instantly at finally finding him, eyes fixed on the sight of Aang leaning against the railing alone, letting the cold night air wash over him while the city lights flickered below.

Just as you were about to take a step forward—

"Just what are you plotting?" 

Toph's voice came through, although quiet, held her usual fierceness.

You whipped around immediately, barely stopping the startled noise threatening to leave you before finally spotting the blind girl standing further down the hallway.

"Toph!" You hissed under your breath, pressing a hand against your chest before realizing what she had actually asked.

"I...was just making sure Aang was alright..." you answered quickly, which technically was not a lie, hoping it was bypass Toph's instincts.

Toph snorted.

"Yeah. Sure you were. Because you've always cared about him so much."

"Of course I do. He's my friend."

"Exactly," she drawled. "Your friend. Come on, at least try sounding convincing."

"I am not lying."

"Please." Toph folded her arms. 

"I may be blind, but even I can sense your desperation from across the house. 'Cute outfit!' 'Thanks, Aanggg.'" 

She mockingly pitched her voice higher during the imitation. "You were practically squealing."

Heat rushed straight to your face despite your irritation.

"And following after him?" She continued mercilessly. "Could you make it any more obvious? You're lucky everyone else in this house is dense enough to miss it."

You lowered your head slightly, irritation and embarrassment mixing unpleasantly inside your chest while Toph continued talking without pause.

"But not me. Since I am obviously the greatest Earthbender to ever li—"

Her voice rose noticeably toward the end of the sentence, forcing you to quickly slap a hand over her mouth before she could accidentally alert the entire floor.

"Fine, I get it," you whispered sharply. "Now can you please leave?"

Toph peeled your hand off her face with visible offense.

"Rude."

To your surprise, Toph's presence seemed to grow heavier beside you, the teasing tone disappearing entirely.

"You do know what you're doing is wrong, right?"

You paused, genuinely not expecting an actual lecture from her of all people.

"How is it wrong?"

Toph folded her arms. 

"First you reject him. Then you throw him toward Katara. And now that those two finally have something going on, suddenly you want him back?"

"Toph, we were kids," you argued quietly. 

"He's not still hung up over some rejection from when we were twelve. We're friends." You hesitated briefly before adding—

"And those two barely even have anything happening between them. I literally heard Katara admit it herself."

"Doesn't matter. It is still wrong."

"You're acting like I'm breaking them apart. They were never together to begin with!"

Toph clicked her tongue.

"You're still meddling. Worse, you're trying to steal him from your own friend."

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your composure intact.

"Toph," you said carefully, "you're supposed to be the sensible one here. Is it really my fault if, after all these years, Aang ends up choosing me?"

"What makes you so sure he will?"

"Because Katara already had her chance." The words left you more sharply than intended. 

"They've spent years dancing around each other and still nothing came out of it. I disappeared from his life completely, and somehow even that wasn't enough to push them together." You glanced toward the balcony again. 

"At some point, maybe you have to admit it's simply not meant to be."

"You can't be the judge of that."

"I'm not trying to be." You straightened slightly, smoothing your skirt back into place before lifting your chin. 

"Aang will make his own choice. And if he chooses me...then just know I was right." A faint smile touched your mouth.

Toph let out a slow breath through her nose.

You glanced toward her once more before stepping back toward the doorway leading to the balcony.

"Now go, Toph. I'm sure you don't want to become someone who meddles."

She clicked her tongue at that, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at turning her own argument against her, though after another moment she finally sighed and began walking away down the hallway.

Yeah.

She really was a good friend.

Unlike you.

You stepped into the room slowly, making sure your footsteps were loud enough to announce your presence rather than startle him.

Still, you saw Aang's shoulders tense slightly at the first creak of the floorboards behind him.

He turned around quickly. "Katara?"

The name struck harder than you expected.

But the moment he realized it was you instead, surprise softened into a smile.

"Hey..." His voice quieter now, softened by the lingering haze the alcohol had left behind.

You approached carefully as you joined him near the railing, sliding the balcony doors shut behind you to block out the noise from downstairs.

You smile up at him, trying not to show your irritation at the name he had called out.

"Hi, Aang. Are you alright? You've been gone for a while." You kept your tone light, sweet enough to avoid making him cautious.

"Yeah," he answered with a small laugh beneath his breath. "I just needed some air. Clear my head a little."

"I see." You rested your arms lightly against the railing beside him. 

"Feeling better now?"

"Much."

He smiled again before glancing back toward the streets below.

"I think we should've predicted you'd be a lightweight."

"Seriously. It felt like my head fell off after one sip." Aang laughed rubbing the back of his neck.

"You head seems to be on right at least." You muse, leaning your back against the railing, having your head turned towards him as you spoke.

"Yup! I feel like myself again! For the most part at least." He jokes, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"You certainly look like you do." You tease, your eyes drifting over him once more before returning to his face.

"Come on. Let's go back! You did find me after all...everyone must be waiting." He says, before stepping away from the railing.

He had barely taken more than a couple of steps before your hand reached out instinctively, fingers wrapping around his forearm to stop him.

"Wait, Aang!"

He stopped the moment your hand touched him, turning back toward you almost immediately while you gently pulled him to a halt.

"Everything alright...?" He asked, remaining where he was instead of pulling away from your touch.

"Yeah, I just...I wanted to talk to you about something." You slowly let go of him once he stepped back beside you again.

"Oh." Aang settled against the railing once more, patient as ever. 

"What's up?"

"Aang..."

Well fuck. You didn't actually think this through.

You had managed to get yourself up here alone with him, had spent the last twenty minutes convincing yourself this was your perfect opportunity, and now that he stood in front of you waiting so openly for whatever you wanted to say, you realized you had absolutely no idea how to make any of this work without sounding insane.

How exactly were you supposed to convince the boy you once rejected to choose you over the girl he had spent years being smitten with?

The girl he had apparently already shared a bed with.

Your teeth sank unconsciously into your bottom lip while nerves clawed their way through you, your throat tightening with the sudden realization of how pathetically desperate you must have looked tonight.

Toph had been right.

Spirits, she had been completely right.

You tried not to let any of it show on your face, but something must have slipped through regardless, because Aang picked up on it immediately.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Aang's voice softened immediately with concern as he stepped closer, one hand settling carefully against your shoulder in an attempt to pull you out of whatever spiral you had disappeared into.

The touch snapped you back to reality far too quickly, his touch sending a chill throughout your skin, his newly matured voice doing wonders for your already fuzzy mind.

It completely ruined your ability to think straight.

"Why didn't you ever visit me?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Aang blinked in confusion. "What...?"

Well.

You had already said it now.

There was no point trying to take it back.

"Everyone visited me. Or at least wrote to me often. You never did...and eventually your letters stopped showing up too."

Aang looked genuinely taken aback by that.

"Is that why you've been mad at me?"

You frowned slightly. "I've been mad at you?"

"You keep glaring at me, and you've barely talked to me since you got here." He admitted carefully.

Between obsessing over him and trying not to stare at him every five seconds, you may have completely forgotten to behave like a normal person around him.

In hindsight, perhaps openly glaring at Katara every time she touched him had not been particularly subtle either.

The realization made heat crawl straight up your neck, embarrassment settling uncomfortably in your chest at the thought of who else might have noticed your behavior tonight.

Though, considering Toph had described the others as "dense as rocks," perhaps you still had some dignity left intact.

But then again, you figured you could use that to your advantage.

"Yes. I am angry with you." You confirmed, averting your gaze, knowing damn well his absence in your life hadn't been significant either way.

Aang's expression fell almost immediately.

"I'm sorry. You never wrote back and I just thought..." He hesitated briefly before laughing awkwardly under his breath.

"I don't know. I thought maybe you hated me." Aang admits, trying to convince you he didn't do anything deliberately.

"Why would I hate you, Aang?"

Your voice softened deliberately around his name while you turned your face again, grateful for the lingering effects from the wine making your flushed appearance seem far more believable.

"I don't think my heart could ever hate you," you murmured. "No matter what you did."

"That means a lot to me. Really."

You nearly frowned when Aang completely missed the implication behind your words, smiling instead at what he clearly believed was simple affection.

"I know I annoyed you a lot back then," He continued with a sheepish laugh. "Following you around and all. I just thought you didn't like me."

You knew he did not mean 'like' in a romantic sense.

Though even if he had, he would not have been entirely wrong.

"I did like you, Aang," you admitted softly. "I think...I admired you more than I wanted to."

His looked taken aback at that.

"At first, I honestly couldn't stand any of you," you continued with a quiet laugh. "Watching you and Katara run around the North Pole disrespecting centuries of tradition nearly drove me insane." 

You shook your head lightly. 

"But I'm grateful for it now."

"I heard you started your own academy for women."

The pride in his voice made warmth bloom annoyingly in your chest.

"Yes. Alongside healing, I teach combat to anyone interested in learning." A faint smile crossed your face. 

"For that, I only have you and Katara to thank. Which is why..."

You let your voice trail off after that, deliberately avoiding his eyes while your fingers traced absent patterns against the railing, hoping it would make him more curious. 

And it does, almost predictably so.

"Which is why?" Aang prompted gently.

You hesitated just long enough.

"Which is why it hurt when you never showed up."

The apology appeared on his face instantly.

You could see it in the subtle stillness that overtook him, in the way his hands loosened against the railing as though guilt had slipped into his bones before he could defend himself.

"I thought you didn't want me there." He admitted quietly. 

"You never answered any of my letters, and after a while I just..." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head once. 

"I didn't want to bother you."

A smile touched your mouth, carrying just enough sadness to make him regret the sentence before it had even finished leaving him.

"You could never bother me."

The night air drifted between you both, carrying distant sounds from the streets below, though they hardly reached the balcony anymore. 

His attention had settled entirely onto you now, patient and open in the way only Aang could be, and you hated how easy it was to pull him in once he decided to listen.

"I kept thinking you'd visit eventually," You continued.

"Every few months someone would arrive at the tribe and for a moment I'd convince myself it would be you." A quiet laugh escaped you. 

"Sokka and Suki came whenever they could. Katara visited enough that the children started asking when she would return. Even Toph showed up once and insulted half the tribe before she left."

That finally earned a laugh from him and you waited for it to fade before looking up again.

"But never you."

The amusement disappeared from his expression so quickly it almost made you feel cruel.

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

"I think I just expected you to know."

You softened the line the moment it landed, turning your head away before it could sound accusatory.

"Aang" and "knowing" had always belonged together. 

He noticed every frightened child, every wounded stranger, every person trying too hard to pretend they were alright. 

You were counting on that part of him now, feeding it carefully until he began searching your face for things you had not yet said.

"Spirits. This sounds embarrassing now." You say, covering your face with your hands.

"No, it doesn't."

The answer came too quickly, and so did his hands as they rested on yours, pulling them away from your face.

"Back then, you always pushed me away. You never really took me seriously whenever I..." A small laugh escaped him, awkward and fleeting. 

"I thought it meant you didn't want me around."

You looked at him for a moment before smiling faintly.

"Aang, we were children."

The embarrassment on his face deepened instantly.

"You were running around the world flirting with every girl who smiled at you."

"That is not true."

"Suki told me you tried to impress the Kiyoshi Warriors by flexing your staff."

"That was one time. I had never been around people who admired me before."

"You asked me if I thought your tattoos made you look mysterious."

"That—! That was Sokka's idea of— Ugh..." Aang groaned quietly into his hand while you laughed under your breath, watching the tension ease from him little by little.

"You were impossible, of course I didn't take you seriously." You chuckled.

"But...you do now?"

There it was.

Just a sliver of hope in his voice.

You waited, hesitating for a good anticipating moment before you spoke.

"I just...I think somewhere along the way...you stopped being a boy I simply found...amusing."

The honesty in that sentence unsettled him. His attention lingered on you, trying to read through your expression and failing each time you softened before giving too much away.

"You still could've written back to me." He muttered, though the guilt had not left him entirely.

"I know." You sighed lightly, searching your head for a believable excuse.

"But after the war ended, everything changed so quickly. You had a city to build. Katara stayed beside you. Sokka had Suki. Zuko was ruling an entire nation. Toph disappeared into whatever cave she crawled out of. " A smile tugged briefly at your mouth. 

"I suppose I convinced myself there wasn't really a place left for me."

"That's not true." 

"Isn't it?" You shot back instantly.

You did not say it bitterly. It was important not to do so. You couldn't show any anger or place blame. 

"You all built something together here while I stayed behind in the North teaching children how to heal sprained wrists."

"You did more than that."

"I know," you answered gently. "But it's different hearing about someone's life through letters instead of being part of it. And every time your letters became shorter, I told myself it was normal. You were growing into someone important. But..."

You paused again, and you knew every time you did so was nipping at his curiosity.

"You were important to me, Aang."

His throat shifted around a swallow.

"You were important to me too."

"Were?"

The correction slipped out playfully, but it struck him all the same. You watched realization move through him at once, watched him stumble over himself trying to fix it.

"Are. I meant are."

You let him have the recovery, lowering your eyes with a quiet smile that rewarded him for it.

"I know everyone needs something from you now," you said after a moment. "The council needs the Avatar. Republic City needs its founder. Whole nations probably line up waiting for a piece of your time." 

His attention was rooted to you. 

"But I didn't miss the Avatar."

He had gone entirely still beneath your words, waiting for you to finish your sentence. 

You slowly moved, catching him off guard as you softly took his hands in yours.

"I missed you."

You could practically feel him trying to make sense of it, trying to decide whether this ache blooming inside his chest had always been there or whether you had placed it there yourself.

"You...make it sound like I abandoned you..." He admitted, though there was no defensiveness in it.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him through your lashes.

"Didn't you?"

"Aang!" A voice echoed faintly somewhere inside the house, muffled by walls and distance. 

Katara.

You felt the interruption scrape across your nerves, but you did not let it show.

Instead, your thumb brushed once against the inside of his wrist, subtle enough to feel accidental.

His attention remained on you.

Interesting.

"I know you had your reasons." You continued gently, lowering your voice until it almost blended into the wind around you. 

"You've always done what everyone else needed first. I think that's why people expect you to wait forever for them."

Something unreadable passed through him then, because he understood exactly what you meant even without hearing her name.

"And what do you need?" He asked.

There it was.

Not the Avatar speaking.

Just Aang.

You let the silence play out for a while before finally moving your hand from his wrist and sliding it slowly into his palm instead, holding it facing up.

"I think, I wanted to know whether you would've chosen me if I had asked you to stay." You said softly,

"...Stay where?" His breath got heavier, very aware of your hand in his. You moved to use both your hands to hold one of his, bringing it closer to yourself with every word you spoke.

"With me? Continue to be a part of my life?" You say with a tilt of you head, brining his hand even closer till his fingers were barely grazed your stomach.

It was only when you slid his hand down, letting it slip under your skirt did he react. His breath hitched a sharp, stifled gasp and a deep flush crept across his face, catching him completely off guard.

"Wait—" 

Aang barely managed his protest before you smoothly cut him off with your own plea.

"I needed you, Aang. And I still do."

You really did.

He felt the heat of you, letting out an audible hiss at the touch. You weren't just warm; you were burning, so soaked that the fabric covering you had long since lost its purpose.

To test the waters, you removed your hands from the equation.

To your surprise, Aang does not pull his hand away, resting it right where it was, fingers pressed into the drench fabric.

You shifted, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a deep embrace that forced him to hunch over and rest against you. 

As you pulled him close, his face instinctively tucked away, hiding the sheer embarrassment of having his hand still buried between your thighs.

He could have moved. He should have. Yet, he stayed.

And he only melted further into you when your voice added—

"I really need you...Aang."

Apparently it had been enough to set him off, as you felt his fingers slip past the fabric failing to hold your desire, and his touch began experimental movements across the length of your folds, testing just how wet you really were.

"Hahh...!"

A breathless huff escaped you. The sensation of his fingers was far better than any fantasy had led you to expect.

Aang still hid his face against the curve of your neck, but you could feel his warmth radiating against you. 

The sweat that had beaded on his forehead, cutting through the arrow, now getting smeared onto you.

It didn't bother you not when you could feel his ragged, confused breaths fanning against your skin.

Dropping one arm from around him, you slid it between your thighs, pressing yourself against his hand to encourage him to dip inside.

He complied, though with a heavy hesitation, taking a few agonizing seconds to decide which finger would breach you first.

A moan escaped you, only to be stifled as you bit down hard on his shoulder. The memory of Katara looking for him just moments ago flashed through your mind.

You silently wished the fellow Water Tribe girl wouldn't ruin this moment for you.

Not when you were so close to having him.

Aang remained pressed against your shoulder, his mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. The frantic beating of his heart was uncontainable, and he knew you could surely feel the thud of it against your own skin.

His mind drifted to Katara. He remembered when they had finally seemed to have something, only for her to put a hold on it never speaking of it again, acting as if nothing had changed.

But you were right here, soaking his hand with a heat that was clearly a desperate need for him.

Sure, you had turned him down, but you were kids! And he was annoying and unserious back then.

And he had insulted your tribe's customs, likely offending you far more than he had ever intended.

He had spent so long thinking you hated him, never realizing that you had been caring for him all along.

And he had denied you that care, never once coming to visit.

He was torn.

He was caught between the woman who had shut him down when they were children, the one he held right here beneath his fingers, and the woman he had spent nearly a decade with, only to be turned away just as they had finally made progress.

Unable to decide, he forced himself to focus on the way you wrapped around his fingers, feeling the warmth of your honeyed walls clinging tightly to him.

"Have you...done this before?"

Your voice came in a breathless rasp, finally pulling away from his shoulder where you had been biting down to muffle your cries.

He couldn't be dishonest with you, but his voice failed him; instead, he answered with a silent nod.

You felt the small, hesitant shake of his head against your shoulder. You already knew his answer, after all you had overheard enough of Katara's words to lead you to this very moment.

"Would you like to...tell me who...it was?"

You pressed the question, struggling to keep your moans contained as your focus drifted from the slow pumping of his fingers.

Fuck...he was doing so good.

Aang still couldn't find his voice; worse, he felt too exposed, too shy to answer. 

He found a strange comfort in the way you gave him an option. You hadn't demanded a name or forced him to relive the details; you had simply asked if he wanted to share.

He figured that since you cared for him so deeply, you would never hold his past against him. With that thought, he responded with a small shake of his head.

He disagreed.

If you hadn't already known about him and Katara, his disagreement to sharing the name would have bothered to no extent. But knowing the truth made his hesitation sting. 

Still, in this moment, his reluctance only worked in your favor.

You shifted your weight, swapping your arms; you replaced the one draped over his shoulders with the one that had been aiding him, bringing it down to join his hand between your thighs. 

Your now free hand reached up to his head, stroking softly against his skin as you whispered—

"Okay. You don't have to tell me."

You spoke softly, a gentle balm intended to soothe his nerves.

Minutes passed as his fingers continued their work, though in the lulls, he opened his eyes to gaze at the city sprawling below.

Even though they were on the topmost floor of Katara's home, they weren't entirely invisible. They weren't high enough to be truly hidden; while a passerby at this hour was rare, it wasn't far from impossible. 

If anyone were to look up, they would find the Avatar in a very compromising position.

But he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when it felt like he was searching for the lost puzzle piece of his life inside your cunt. 

You on the other hand were thoroughly enjoying yourself, completely dazed under Aang's tentative touch.

But of course, it was only a matter of time before someone had to ruin it.

You didn't see who it was; all you noticed was the sudden creak of the door as the corridor light spilled into the room, a sharp intrusion that made you instinctively push harder against Aang.

"Someone is here, Aang straighten up!" you ordered in a hurried whisper. He barely seemed to register the command, so you pushed against his shoulders with renewed urgency, forcing him to straighten up and take a frantic step back.

"Oh! There they are!" Sokka's voice cut through the silence, muffled and faint behind the balcony door. You knew you only had a few seconds before he made his way over.

Moving with desperate grace, you caught Aang's hand, guiding it out from inside you. 

You brought his hand up to your face, and he watched, mesmerized, as you used both hands to direct him.

You pressed his slick fingers against your lips, observing his wide eyes as you slowly dragged the wetness down, your bottom lip bouncing back into place as the finger passed.

His first real reaction came when you took those same fingers into your mouth, cleaning them with a slow, deliberate sweep of your tongue before letting them fall.

His lips pressed together in a tight, pained line as you licked your own, wiping your tongue across your bottom lip while keeping his gaze locked onto yours. 

It was only when Sokka finally swung the balcony door open that you used a free hand to casually wipe the remaining moisture from your mouth.

"Do you have any idea how long we've been looking for you?"

Sokka's voice came first. You still could not properly see him with Aang standing between you and the entrance, though the annoyance in his tone painted the expression well enough.

"Why would you guys come all the way up here?"

Katara spoke next.

Instinctively, your attention flicked back toward Aang, searching immediately for some reaction at the sound of her voice.

There was none.

He remained entirely absorbed in the moment you had dragged him into, eyes fixed stubbornly on your mouth as though he still felt your lips around his fingers. 

And because he was looking at you so devotedly, you knew you could not risk letting your satisfaction show.

So you put on a usual cheeky smile.

Leaning slightly to the side, you finally stepped into view of the Water Tribe siblings.

"Katara! Sorry for intruding around your house," you said easily. "I just needed some air and ended up finding Aang here."

You smiled sweetly while speaking to her.

"It's alri—"

Katara barely managed half the sentence before Aang interrupted unexpectedly.

"Could you guys give us a moment?"

Even while speaking, he never looked away from you.

"What?" Sokka laughed. "You guys talking about something we're not allowed to hear?"

The joke landed far closer to the truth than he realized.

"We were discussing your birthday present," you answered smoothly before Aang could attempt it himself. "You don't want us ruining the surprise, do you?"

The lie came easily, effortless beneath your smile.

"Oh, sweet." Sokka grinned immediately. "Come on then, you two. Aang's still not off the hook for abandoning his drink after one sip."

You nodded along lightly at his teasing.

"Come on, Katara."

He motioned toward his sister, though Katara still had not taken her eyes off Aang.

"Your robes are clean now," she told him quietly. "You can dry them out and put them back on."

She was waiting for him to answer.

You truly expected him to.

But after several seconds passed in silence, with Aang still standing there looking entirely lost in you, you finally spoke for him instead.

"He'll be there in a minute," you said gently.

Katara's expression shifted almost imperceptibly at that, though all she gave in response was a small nod.

The siblings eventually turned away, disappearing back through the doorway.

You missed the way Sokka's smile slowly faded the moment they left the room, suspicion settling quietly beneath his expression.

The second they disappeared from sight, you turned back toward Aang and lifted your arms around his shoulders, slowly pulling his face closer to yours.

"Aang..."

He said nothing.

For one horrible second, you genuinely wondered whether you had pushed him too far, whether everything you had carefully built tonight had finally cracked beneath the weight of your own desperation.

Still, you forced yourself to continue.

"I have certain feelings for you, and..."

You let the sentence trail off deliberately, lowering your eyes for only a moment to see whether he would follow.

He did, meeting your eyes quickly.

"...If you feel the same," you continued softly, "or even if you don't...I would rather you tell me honestly instead of making me guess."

He still doesn't say anything, and suddenly you became painfully aware of the fact he still was not touching you back. 

His hands remained tightly wrapped around the balcony railing while he stayed slightly hunched within your hold, breathing harder than before yet making no move toward you at all.

So you leaned in first.

Your lips barely brushed his, letting it rest against him softly, giving him every opportunity to close the distance himself if he wanted to.

You waited.

But when nothing came from him, you slowly pulled away again, forcing yourself to accept the rejection with whatever dignity you still had left.

You released him completely after that.

Without another word, you moved past him and made your way back toward the room alone, fixing your appearance along the way while trying not to think too hard about the humiliation burning through your chest.

By the time you reached the room again, Zuko was approaching from the opposite hallway carrying a rolled mattress beneath one arm.

"You're staying over?" You asked quietly, falling into step beside him.

"We all are," he answered simply while pushing the door open. "Sokka's idea."

"Let me help."

You moved beside him automatically, helping spread the mattress across the floor while the others continued setting up the rest nearby.

Several minutes later, Aang finally returned.

The moment he stepped back into the room, nearly everyone looked up toward him automatically while Katara quietly approached with his robes folded neatly in her arms, still slightly damp from washing.

"Thanks..." he says, accepting them with a small smile though noticeably avoiding her eyes.

With one absent motion of his hand, warm air rushed through the fabric until the remaining dampness vanished completely, pulling the robes back on quickly.

"You're staying over, right, Aang?" Katara asked him.

Aang let out a distracted hum first, clearly taking a second to even process the question.

"Y-yeah! Yeah, I'll stay." He answered.

Then he moved toward the others to help arrange the remaining mattresses across the floor.

You noticed immediately how carefully he avoided looking at you.

Humiliation crawled so violently through your chest that for one awful moment you genuinely thought you might burst into tears right there in front of everyone.

So, you decided to play your final card.

After finishing helping Toph with one of the mattresses, you slowly rose to your feet. The others remained distracted arranging blankets and arguing over sleeping spots, giving you the perfect moment to speak.

"I'm sorry, guys." You said quietly, right before the final mattress could be laid down properly. 

"I think I'll head back to the inn for the night."

Almost immediately, Suki looked up in concern, her attention catching on your agitated expression.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." You forced a faint smile. 

"I don't think the wine sat right in my stomach, and I'd rather be alone before it gets worse."

The excuse sounded embarrassingly pathetic even to you, though thankfully nobody questioned it.

You had barely managed three steps toward the hallway when Aang's voice suddenly cut through the room behind you.

"Wait—"

The word came out louder than he intended, pulling the attention of everyone gathered across the floor. Conversations halted almost immediately, Sokka halfway through unfolding another mattress while Suki looked up from where she sat beside him. 

Even Katara paused mid movement, fingers still curled around the edge of folded blankets.

Aang looked momentarily caught off guard by the silence he had created, standing near the doorway with his robes hanging loosely from his shoulders. 

His eyes found yours first before quickly shifting toward the others.

"I'll be back. I'll just walk her back. It's late." He said, clearing his throat once.

You stopped at the sound of him volunteering himself so quickly, though you made sure not to turn around immediately. 

The smile threatening to betray you curled against your mouth before you forced it back down, lowering your head just enough to hide it beneath the curtain of your hair.

Behind you came the soft sound of approaching footsteps.

You finally glanced sideways once his presence settled near enough to feel, only to notice your shadow disappearing beneath his entirely, swallowed whole against the wooden floorboards.

"Let's go."

You nodded softly before leaning sideways toward the room, offering everyone one last smile.

"Goodnight."

A chorus of sleepy replies followed, though the atmosphere had shifted too strangely.

You stepped into the hallway first, Aang close behind you.

Perhaps Katara already understood he would not be returning tonight. 

Perhaps all of them did.

Because right before Aang had pulled his robes back on, the mark you left behind had not gone unnoticed.

The bite pressed near his shoulder stood out plainly against his skin for one terrible second before fabric covered it again, though one second had been more than enough.

Enough for Sokka's expression to flatten beneath confusion.

Enough for Suki's eyes to widen before she quickly looked away.

Enough for Katara to go completely still.

No one spoke of it.

They simply resumed around the absence, voices awkwardly finding each other. 

Toph remained the only one untouched by the shift in atmosphere, still arguing with Zuko over where she wanted to sleep while the rest of them waited quietly for the Avatar's return despite knowing, somewhere deep down, that he would not be coming back anytime soon.

The walk back to the inn passed beneath a suffocating silence, neither of you quite knowing what could possibly be said after what had happened on that balcony.

Aang stayed half a step ahead the entire way, shoulders tense beneath his robes, attention fixed stubbornly on the empty streets ahead rather than you. 

You noticed it after the second block.

His hand.

The same hand that had been between your thighs less than half an hour ago kept flexing at his side every few moments, fingers curling tightly into his palm before releasing again, restless and agitated.

Once, he nearly lifted it toward his face before abruptly stopping midway, jaw tightening faintly as he forced it back down again.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.

Because despite the distance he was trying so desperately to create between himself and what happened, his body had already betrayed him entirely.

By the time you reached the inn, the silence between you had grown so dense it nearly felt tangible.

Aang stopped only once the two of you stood at the entrance, the lantern hanging beside gate casting a dim glow across the side of his face. 

For the first time since leaving Katara's house, he finally looked at you properly.

"Okay. Goodnight." He said after a moment.

You watched him step past you.

And just before he could get too far, you finally spoke.

"Come to my room, Aang."

He stopped instantly.

For a second he did not move at all, standing there with his back turned toward you before slowly facing you again. 

The flush across his face had not faded in the slightest, still spread stubbornly over his cheeks and ears while confusion sat plainly beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly.

"Did you really come all this way just to say nothing?"

Aang opened his mouth briefly, only for whatever response he meant to give to die somewhere before reaching his tongue. 

His attention slipped away from you again, landing somewhere near the floor while his hand flexed once more at his side.

Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you.

You turned before he could second guess himself, walking down the hallway with measured steps while his followed close behind you. 

Neither of you spoke as you unlocked the door, pushing it open before stepping aside to let him enter first.

Aang hesitated slightly before walking in.

You shut the door behind you and leaned against it for one brief moment, fingers still curled around the handle while your heartbeat thundered violently against your ribs.

Because all you could think now was—

It was now or never.

"Aang." You call out softly, just his name, testing the weight of it.

He flinches like you've struck him. His shoulders drop, his head bowing as if he's suddenly carrying the weight of the entire world again. 

"I shouldn't be here," he whispers into the quiet of the room, his voice cracking enough to show how close he is to snapping. 

"I should go back. It's not right, and—"

"It's not right," you interrupt, your voice dropping an octave. You take one step closer, watching him tense. 

"But you want to stay. You want this so badly it's making you tremble, Aang."

He lets out a ragged, broken sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan as he finally looks up. His eyes are wide and desperate with of confusion. 

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" You're in his space now, close enough to feel the heat coming off him. 

You reach out, your fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his robes along his collarbone where you bit him earlier. 

He shudders at the proximity, his breath hitching. 

"You can go back to being the perfect Avatar, the perfect friend, the perfect everything. You can walk out that door right now and pretend this never happened."

You lean in closer, your lips brushing his ear, your voice a velvet promise. 

"But you won't. Because for the first time in your entire life, you're going to choose what you want. Not what's right or expected of you. Just what you want."

You pull back enough to catch his gaze, your eyes dark with the truth of it. 

"So tell me, Aang. Are you really going to walk out that door?"

He moves away from you, crossing to reach your bed.

Aang sinks onto the edge of your bed, burying his face in his hands as if he can squeeze the conflicting thoughts right out of his skull. 

You move to sit beside him, your thigh brushing his, and the way he flinches even now makes your pulse thrum.

"Why is this bothering you so much?" You ask softly, your voice a gentle caress against his turmoil.

"It's not..." He chokes out the lie, his fingers digging into his scalp. 

"It's just...everything changed. The way I look at you, the way you look at me it's like the world shifted and I don't know where my feet are supposed to land."

He turns his head, searching your face for something an explanation, a reason.

He finally asks—

"What do you need from me?"

You paused, not having expected it but grateful for his question nonetheless.

"I just want you." You say simply.

He stares at you, eyes wide and searching, trying to untangle the knots you've tied in his mind. 

You don't make him wait. 

You stand, moving between his knees as you straddle him, settling yourself firmly in his lap.

His hands hesitate in the air, fingers twitching as if they want to catch you, to hold you and then they drop, fists clenching at his sides as he forces himself to stay still.

"I will give you everything you want, Aang," You promise him, leaning in until your breath fans over his lips. 

"I will never disappoint you. I'll give you a home. Children. A safe place where you can just be Aang. No burdens."

The silence that follows is different, heavy with the weight of the life you've just offered him. 

Finally, he finds his voice. 

"Why...?"

"Because I want to." You say, the words sure and steady. 

"I want to be your wife."

Aang's entire body stills. 

His eyes widen, his breath hitching in his throat as if you've just knocked the wind out of him. 

"Why...why would you want that?" He sounds genuinely lost, as if you've just spoken a language he doesn't understand.

"Because..." You hesitate, letting out a chuckle as you see him unconsciously lean closer in patience.

"I love you," you say, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, closing your eyes. 

"And I want you to be free."

You stay there for a moment, letting the weight of your confession settle. 

When you pull back, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read.

It was something between awe and sheer terror.

For a long painful while, Aang said nothing at all. 

His eyes slowly slipped shut, his head lowering slightly while his fingers tightened into fists. 

You watched the conflict move across his face in, watching him sit there trying to untangle every thought pulling him apart from the inside.

And suddenly, fear crawled its way up your spine. It truly felt possible that he might pull away from you completely.

"You will have to come live in Republic City," He says quietly.

You were snapped out of your wallowing thoughts. 

When you finally replayed the moment, his sentence barely registered.

You were still too focused on the fear twisting inside your chest, too busy preparing yourself for rejection to properly process what he had actually said.

Then the meaning finally settled into place.

Your head snapped up immediately, as you froze, pulling back to stare at him in shock. 

"Are you...agreeing?"

He hesitates, his throat working as he swallows hard. Then, slowly, he nods.

You can't help it; a squeal of pure triumph escapes you. 

"Thank you, Aang!" 

You lunge forward to hug him again, the momentum sending you both backward onto the mattress.

When you sit back up, Aang's breath hitches. 

His eyes go wide as you reach for the hem of your top and pull it over your head in one fluid motion. 

The fabric slides off your shoulders, leaving you bare chested in the dim light, your nipples already peaked from the adrenaline.

"What are you doing?" He almost exclaims, his voice cracking. He wrenches his gaze away, jaw tight, shoulders hunching as if he's trying to make himself smaller.

"Isn't this why you came here?" You tilt your head, watching him through your lashes, your voice dropping into that sweet, manipulative purr.

"We still have things to talk about," He says, forcing himself to sit up straighter. 

He stares at your face with desperate intensity, pointedly ignoring the way your breasts are inches from his chest.

"Do you...not want me?" You let the question hang, making your voice go small, making your eyes well with perfectly calculated tears.

"That's not—!!" He cuts himself off, the confession dying in his throat.

"Then kiss me..." You whisper, the command soft but absolute.

Another moment passes in a thick and suffocating silence before he finally gives in. 

He leans in, his movement hesitant as he presses his lips to yours. 

It's not the confident kiss of a man who knows what he wants, it's the kiss of someone who's finally stopped fighting the inevitable.

You let the kiss linger, pressing into him enough to leave him breathless, then pull back with a shy, triumphant smile. 

"There..." You whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Before he can answer, you reach for the ties of his robes. 

Your movements are swift as you undo the knots. 

Aang freezes, his breath hitching in his throat, but he doesn't pull away. 

You peel the heavy fabric from his shoulders, exposing the broad span of his back and the striking blue line that curves down his spine. His skin is hot beneath your palms, and you feel the way his muscles jump at your touch.

"You're so beautiful." You coo, your voice a velvet caress as you slide the robes down his arms, leaving him bare chested. 

The arrowheads on his hands flex as he grips the mattress, knuckles white, his chest heaving.

You shift your weight, moving from his laps as you sink to your knees onto the ground between his legs, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

"May I?" you ask, your hands already moving to the waistband of his pants.

Aang makes a sound like he's choking on it. 

"I... yes," He manages, his voice barely a whisper.

When you finally free him, he's already past the point of no return. 

You take him in your hands first, stroking him slowly, watching his head fall back as his hand tremble to hold his weight upright. 

Then you lean in.

The first touch of your lips makes him gasp, his hips jerking up involuntarily. 

You go slow, teasing him, swirling your tongue around the head, catching every drop of pre cum. 

You want him to feel every sensation, to realize exactly what he's been missing. You take him in deep, inching slowly as your throat tightens around him, and the sound that leaves him is raw and broken.

"Spirits, please..." He moans, his fingers digging harshly into the sheets.

"Do you like this, Aang?" You murmur against him, pulling back enough to look up at him. 

"Do you like how I take care of you?"

You let the question hang in the air, your tongue slowly tracing the length of him again, making him whine that sweet, broken sound that tells you exactly how close he is. 

You can feel the way he's trembling beneath your touch, his breath coming in shallow, uneven hitches.

"Shh, I know," You whisper against him, your lips barely brushing the sensitive skin. 

"I've got you, Aang. Let me take care of you."

You keep your movements agonizingly slow. 

You drag your tongue up and down, teasing the ridge with just enough pressure to make his hips twitch involuntarily before you pull back. 

You want him suspended here right on the edge of conflict and emotion, hoping it might bring out some of his truth out with it.

His hand moves, finding the top of your head.

His fingers tangle in your hair, not pulling you but holding you there, grounded by the contact. 

"You're...you're making it so hard," He chokes out, his eyes squeezed shut, his head lulling back and forth.

"Is it too much?" You murmur, your voice dripping with fake concern as you take him deeper. 

You swirl your tongue around the tip, and the sound he makes, that wrecked, desperate whimper is better than any confession he could have given you.

You keep your pace steady, your eyes never leaving his face as you watch him whimper breathlessly. 

You lean back to press a soft kiss to his inner thigh, your lips barely grazing him, and hear him catch his breath sharply.

"Please..." He pleads, his voice cracking. "I don't... I don't know how to "

"It's okay," You interrupt softly, your hands sliding up his thighs to feel the taut muscle there. 

"Just feel it, Aang. Just feel how good this is."

You go back down, your tongue working in slow, deliberate circles, teasing the sensitive skin just below the head. 

When his hips buck upward, nearly meeting you halfway, you pause, pulling back once again to look up at him through your lashes. 

His chest is heaving, his skin flushed, those arrowhead on his hand flexing as he dug into the bedding.

"Do you want more?" You ask, your voice a velvet trap.

He can't even find words. 

He just nods, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

You take him in deep, your throat tightening around him, letting out a soft, satisfied hum as you feel him shudder underneath you. 

You keep it slow, tantalizingly close to the edge, making him feel every single second of it.

You pull away abruptly, the sudden absence of your warmth making him let out a pathetic, wounded hiss through his teeth. 

You can't help the laugh that escapes you as you watch his hand leave your head and meet the mattress again, eyes glazed over and unfocused.

"You said earlier you've done this before," You state, moving your hand to resume that slow, torturous slide up and down his length. 

"Did she not do this...?"

Aang shakes his head, his entire body betraying him as a fresh bead of pre cum wells at the tip. 

He doesn't know you already know. He doesn't know you've already heard the truth, and you savor that.

"What did you do then?" You ask, your voice dripping with faux innocence.

"I...I used my fingers on her..." He trails off, his blush deepening to a feverish red that stains his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"Then I tried to..."

"Go on..." You encourage, stopping your hand entirely. 

You watch the way his breath hitches at the sudden lack of friction, his hips twitching upward instinctively.

"I used my mouth..." He chokes out, his voice barely audible. "But she didn't like it..."

"Not everyone enjoys it." You say with a gentle shrug.

"It difficult, being so exposed to the person you like..." Trailing off, you wait for a nuance, but his breathless gasps continue.

"Had she asked you to do it?"

"No..." He says immediately, the word tumbling out with a touch of guilt. 

"I just...I didn't want it to hurt her when we..."

You pout.

"How sweet of you, Aang," You coo, resuming the rhythmic movement of your hand. 

His hips jerk in place, his breath hitching as he fights to keep it together. 

"And then what happened?"

"Then we did... it." He groans, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Is she still in your life?" You question, watching to see if he would finally admit it.

"We never spoke about it after..."

"Oh, you poor thing..." You murmur, letting go of him entirely as you move upward to wrap your arms around him. 

You press your face into the crook of his neck, feeling the rapid thudding of his heart. 

"I would never deny you like that, Aang. Never."

The silence stretches and the weight of your words fall thick around you. 

Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms come around you. His touch is almost reverent, his fingers curling into your back as he pulls you flush against him. 

"Thank you..." He whispers into your hair, so quiet you almost miss it.

You pull back to look him in the eyes, your expression a mask of perfect, gentle understanding. 

"Would you like to...try it with me?"

He doesn't hesitate this time. He nods, his grey eyes focused on yours with a look of surprising relief.

"Okay." You say, your smile widening just a fraction too far to be entirely innocent. 

"I think we can skip a step, since you've already used your fingers earlier tonight. Not that I'm opposed." You give a gentle wink, making him shyly avert his gaze.

The air in the room feels like it might combust from the sheer, unadulterated tension as you slide off his lap, the movement agonizingly slow. 

The sound of your skirt hitting the floor is the only thing breaking the silence, followed by the sight of your soaked underwear being peeled away.

Aang's breath hitches audibly as he watches you maneuver onto the bed.

His eyes drop to where you're sitting back against the pillows, legs spreading open to reveal everything to him, glistening and swollen in the dim light. 

He looks completely undone. 

He crawls forward on his knees, hovering over you like he's approaching something sacred, his hands trembling as they ghost over your thighs.

When his thumb finally makes contact, pressing against your already swollen folds, you can't help it that sharp hiss escapes your teeth.

"Hahh!" 

You arch slightly, your fingers digging into the bedsheets. 

You look down at him through your lashes, voice breathless and strained. 

"Do you...know what to do?"

Aang shakes his head, his face flushed a deep, burning red. 

He looks absolutely terrified to mess this up, yet the need in his eyes is undeniable. 

Without waiting for another word, he leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste you.

The contact makes your hips jerk upward, and when he pulls back, a long, broken moan tears from your throat. 

You can feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer desperation in his movements.

"That's okay..." You say, your voice dropping into as devastatingly sweet, encouraging tone. 

You reach down, your palm cupping his cheek, forcing him to look up at you while his mouth is still wet from you. 

The arrow on his head catches the light, his pupils dilated and hazy with need. 

"I...I will help you..."

You slide your hand over his head, guiding him back down, pressing him closer until his lips meet you again. 

Under your hand, you can feel the way he shudders, gasping against you as he finally lets himself lose control, his tongue working with a clumsy, earnest passion that makes your vision blur.

The way he's looking at you right now dazed and flushed, is better than any orgasm. 

You reach down, your fingers spreading his lips apart just slightly so you can guide his face, your voice dropping into a low and instructional tone.

"No, not like that..." You mumble, your thumb grazing his bottom lip. 

"Lower. Right...there." 

You push him down, your hips tilting instinctively toward the contact. When his tongue finds the swollen nub of your clit, you let out a sharp, broken gasp that makes him jerk back. 

"Slow down, Aang. Use the flat of your tongue. Don't...don't be so frantic."

He obeys instantly, his movements cautious and devout as if he's afraid he might get the same reaction he got last time. 

But you can feel the desperation beneath his hesitation, the way his fingers curl into the flesh of your thighs, knuckles white. 

You guide his head with your hands, showing him exactly how you want to be touched long, slow strokes that make your whole body tense, then quick, teasing laps that make your breath hitch.

"Yes...just like that,... You pant, your voice making the short hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. 

"Oh Aang...! You're doing so good. So good for me..."

The praise is clearly working; you feel him adjust, his tongue finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

You can feel him watching you through his lashes, studying your face for every twitch of your lips and every stuttered breath. 

You want him to see exactly what he's doing to you, to witness the way his tongue is pleasuring you unimaginably.

You tilt your head back and whisper his name like a mantra. 

"That's it, Aang! Just like that...You're doing so well for me!"

You let your head fall back against the pillows, your breath coming in shallow, staggered gasps as you guide him. Your hand is gently pressing his face closer whenever he hesitates, whenever he pulls back to look at you with those wide, uncertain eyes.

"There...keep going—!" You moan, your hips tilting up of their own accord. "Right there!"

The ragged sound he makes when he's trying to be careful is more intoxicating than any physical sensation. 

Every time your soft instructions pull a whimper from him, a spike of triumph shoots through you.

He's being so careful. So incredibly gentle with you, his tongue moving with a hesitant reverence that makes your stomach flip. He's trying to learn you, trying so hard to do this right, and the sheer vulnerability of it is what finally breaks you.

You did it.

You eyes flutter shut as another wave of pleasure rolls through you. 

You actually did it.

The thought is more intoxicating than the sex itself. 

The realization that you've dismantled the Avatar, stripped away the hero and the monk until all that's left is this raw, exposed boy who is so desperately trying to please you...it's better than anything you could have imagined when you started this a day ago.

"Y-you're doing so good..." You whisper the genuine praise that makes him shudder. His tongue sweeps again, longer this time, more confident, and you can't help the way your thighs tighten around his face, pulling him in. 

"Just like that, Aang. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop...!"

You listen to the wet, slurping sounds of him working on you, the way he swallows every moan you let out, and you feel that possessive heat blooming in your chest. 

He's not yours yet.

Not entirely. 

But you can feel the shift in him. 

The way he's clinging to you, the way he's listening to you.

When he finally presses his face harder against you, his breath hot against your damp skin, and you feel that first surge of your orgasm building. 

You meet him halfway, your hips arching up, your fingers digging into his skin as you whisper his name like a prayer.

"That's it...oh spirits, Aang..."

You watch him through heavy eyelids, the way his jaw works, the way his eyes go unfocused as he feels you writhe under him. 

And you realize that you're already planning how to make him do this again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until he doesn't even remember what it was like when you weren't the only thing he wanted to please.

"Aang, I'm—!" The words catch in your throat as a wave of pleasure begins to build harshly.  "I'm going to—!"

"I've got you..." He mumbles against your skin, his voice thick and unrecognizable. 

He presses his face into you, his tongue working with a sudden, focused intensity that shatters your last thread of control.

Your orgasm hits like a physical blow, your entire body going rigid as you cry out his name, sinking your fingers into his scalp as you come apart beneath him. 

You feel him catch every drop, his tongue sweeping over you with a greedy thoroughness that leaves you shaking and breathless.

When you finally slump back, your chest heaving, your skin slick with sweat, he pulls back to look up at you. 

His face is feverish, his lips wet, and his eyes are completely glazed with something that looks terrifyingly close to worship.

"Was that..." He starts, his voice cracking. 

"Was that okay?"

You can't even find the words to tell him it was better than perfect. 

You just reach down, your fingers trembling as you cup his face, pulling him back up for a kiss that tastes of you and him.

You guide his back to the pillows with gentle pressure from your hands on his shoulders, watching the way he settles beneath you, all broad shoulders and lean muscles, his tattooed arms splayed out like he's surrendering to something inevitable. 

He looks utterly wrecked, his breathing still coming in ragged puffs, his gaze following your every movement with a mix of curiosity and unadulterated terror.

"I've got you..." You assure, your voice like honey as you straddle his hips. 

You do not rush it. 

You don't even move to come down on him yet. 

You just sit there, your knees on either side of his thighs, feeling the heat radiating off him. 

"Just breathe, Aang. Look at me."

His gaze snaps up to yours, so wide and vulnerable. 

You reach down, your thumb grazing over his lips to wipe the remnants of your pleasure, and he lets out a choked sound when you touch him.

"Shh..." You coo, leaning forward until your breasts brush his chest, your nipples grazing against his skin. 

"I'm going to be so careful with you. I promise."

When you finally lower yourself down, the way he gasps a broken, shattered sound that rips straight through your chest is almost enough to make you stop. 

But you don't. 

You sink down slowly, agonizingly slow, taking him in inch by inch. 

You watch his eyes pull open before screwing shut the next second, his head falling back into the pillows as you fill yourself completely. You can feel his hands hovering just above your waist, trembling, wanting to grab you but terrified to do so.

"That's it..." You moan, your voice thick with the pleasure he's giving you. 

"Oh Aang...you feel so good."

You start to move, but it's not fast. No matter how desperate you were, you do not pick up your pace. 

You move slow, grinding back and forth on him. 

You're taking your time, riding him with a languid motion that forces him to feel every single corner of you. You lean forward and whisper in his ear.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Aang. Tell me how you want me."

"I..." He swallows hard, his hands finally coming to rest on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperation that makes your smile.

"I want you to...just like that. Please." His sentence was incomplete, but you understood plenty. 

You let out a throaty moan, arching your back as you grind down on him, your moans getting louder, more shameless. 

You want him to hear it. You want him to hear exactly what he's doing to you. You press your palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammering like a trapped bird beneath your touch.

"You're so beautiful..." You whisper, your voice trembling with genuine awe as your eyes brim with tears. 

"My perfect, beautiful Aang."

The way he says your name after, in that broken, wrecked manner is when you know you've really done it. 

You've broken him open. 

And as you find your rhythm, as you ride him with the motive to give him that devastating pleasure, you know you're never letting him go.

You lean forward, as you press your chest against his, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Your fingers find your own aching heat, working in a rhythmic counterpoint.

Aang is completely lost now, his head lolling back, his throat working around a broken moan as you guide him toward the edge.

"Aang..." You whisper against his skin, your breath hot making him shudder. You pull back, looking at him softly as you ghost your lips over his.

"I need you to...I need you to let go. Just like that. For me."

His fingers press into your waist with strength. 

His eyes find yours, and for a moment, you finally see it.

The moment he decides to stop fighting.

When it happens, it's so beautiful. 

You feel his entire body seize beneath you, his hips arching off the mattress as he finally breaks. 

You don't even flinch when he gasps your name with a sob, pressing yourself down hard, grinding against him, ensuring every single drop of him is claimed. 

You take it all, swallowing his release with a greedy, possessive whimper, your own orgasm crashing over you in that leaves you trembling.

You stay there for a long time, collapsed against his chest, listening to the frantic, uneven thudding of his heart. 

You can feel the warmth of him still inside you, a thrumming weight that makes your stomach flip with triumph.

Slowly, you pull back. His eyes are still blown wide, staring at the ceiling with a look of complete, hollowed out shock. 

He's breathing hard, his skin flushed, the arrow on his head a stark against his pale skin. 

He looks utterly shattered, completely undone by you.

"Aang?" you whisper, your voice innocent.

He doesn't answer. He just lies there, staring, still taking long inhales through his nose. 

You know exactly what you've done. 

You've crossed a line he can never uncross. 

You've claimed him in the most irreversible way, and you did it while making him think it was his choice.

"Oh, Aang..." You murmur, your hand coming up to stroke his cheek, your thumb tracing the curve of his lower lip. 

"You were so good. So perfect."

His eyelashes flutter, and for a moment, you think he might cry. Then, his hand moves slow, hesitant and rests against your thigh. It's not a push away. It's still there.

“Weren’t you…supposed to…move?” he managed to choke out eventually, his eyes searching yours while you stared back at him in confusion.

For a moment, you genuinely had no idea what he meant.

So you simply waited for him to explain himself.

Except he never actually said it.

Instead, his attention dropped lower, landing where your bodies were still pressed together intimately, and realization hit you almost instantly.

You giggle, lowering your chest to his, as you hold him.

"I wanted it." You confess softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his temple. 

"I wanted you. All of you."

You stay there, wrapped around him, waiting. 

Waiting for the moment he realizes he can't go back. 

Waiting for the moment he accepts he's yours.

And as you feel him exhale, a long, shuddering breath that dissolves into that of relief, you know.

You've already won.

Months later, sometimes you still thought about the look on Katara's face when you and Aang announced not only that you were together, but that the wedding would follow two months later.

You had not enjoyed it.

That was perhaps the cruelest part of all this. 

Beneath the jealousy, the selfishness, beneath the quiet satisfaction curling inside your chest, Katara had still been your friend. 

The sight of her standing there so perfectly composed while grief leaked through the cracks of her face had filled you with immediate guilt.

But guilt did not undo anything.

She had her chance, and she let it pass her by with trembling hands and too much hesitation. 

You had been offered the very same thing only once, and you had taken it without allowing yourself enough time to think twice.

That alone had decided everything.

It did not matter now anyway. 

The damage had already settled itself between all of you. 

You still saw them, of course.

Toph remained unchanged, thankfully immune to awkwardness, still insulting you with the same affection she always had. 

Zuko treated everything with neutrality, though every now and then you would catch the faintest exhaustion in his eyes whenever tension filled the room for too long.

But Sokka had grown quieter around both of you, his easy laughter no longer arriving naturally, while Suki watched situations unfold with patience, refusing to interfere. 

And Katara—

Katara tried.

Spirits, she really tried.

Yet there was only so much grace a person could carry before it started collapsing under its own weight.

The worst part was that none of them even lived in Republic City anymore except for her.

Despite it, you moved to the city.

You had promised Aang you would, and unlike everyone else, you never made promises to him you did not intend to keep.

The pregnancy had complicated things almost immediately. 

Explaining why your stomach had already begun rounding before the wedding was difficult enough, though the true horror came when four months into your marriage you could no longer disguise it beneath layered robes and loose fabric.

People counted months cruelly.

Especially your own friends.

Still, none of them said anything directly. 

Not even Katara.

Marriage itself settled around you strangely fast. 

Domestic life came naturally, and it unexpected how easily your fell into it.

Slipping into place piece by piece until you could no longer imagine waking without Aang somewhere nearby.

Though 'nearby' often meant temporary.

He was gone more than he was home, forever chasing disasters across nations, disappearing on Appa before sunrise whenever the duties of the Avatar demanded him elsewhere. 

Sometimes he would return exhausted enough to barely stay awake through dinner before collapsing beside you still half dressed.

Other nights he came home restless, carrying the weight of too many people needing too much from him all at once.

But whenever he was home, he loved you openly.

That was what mattered most.

By the seventh month of your pregnancy, Aang had developed the habit of kneeling in front of you every evening, pressing his ear against your stomach with complete seriousness while the twins shifted violently beneath your skin.

"They're arguing again." He would say thoughtfully.

You laughed every single time.

"They are not arguing."

"They definitely are. This one keeps kicking the other."

"They must have inherited your inability to sit still."

Aang only grinned before pressing another kiss against your stomach, completely unbothered by your jokes.

He was convinced both babies would be girls.

You remained certain one would be a boy.

Neither of you won.

The labor lasted nearly an entire night, leaving you exhausted beyond reason by the time the twins finally arrived screaming into the world shortly before dawn.

You gave birth to two boys. 

Two impossibly tiny boys with lungs strong enough to wake half the district.

Aang cried harder than either of them did.

You would remember that forever.

The sight of him sitting beside you with one baby clutched awkwardly against his chest while the other rested in your arms, tears slipping down his face faster than he could wipe them away.

You knew he was overwhelmed by something too enormous to fit inside him.

They looked more like him than you from the very beginning.

Those very grey eyes. His nose. Their pale skin that scrunched impossibly whenever they cried too hard.

You could feel it already, that they would be very powerful.

He held those boys carefully, almost fearfully, as though he could not quite believe they were real.

Months later, late at night. you would often find yourself curled against Aang’s side in bed while the twins slept against his chest, tiny bodies rising and falling steadily.

Something deep in Aang seemed to settle whenever the twins were in his arms. The sight softened something deep inside him every single time.

“What’s wrong?” You asked once after catching him staring at them for far too long, distant thoughts clouding his face while one of the babies slept soundly beneath his chin.

Aang blinked before smiling faintly.

“Nothing.”

You leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss against his shoulder before settling back into his side again, one hand moving instinctively to pat the back of the baby resting on his chest while Aang carefully adjusted the other higher against him.

Then, after a while, his hand drifted absentmindedly toward one of the twins, fingertips brushing softly through the wisps of hair on his head just as a tiny gust of air stirred weakly around the tiny blankets.

The movement was small, but it made you go completely still.

Because suddenly, you understood.

After all, you had not simply become his wife.

You had become the future of the Air Nomads.

The only future left.

a/n: i laughed OUT LOUD on many occasions as i was editing it. but i still like it very much. so, i will sit in my shame like the clown that i am.

masterlist :: atla masterlist

It had been eight months since he had last returned.

Eight months had passed since the harbor had seen the familiar shape of Appa descending from the sky. The city carried on, but those who knew him felt his absence.

Katara found herself searching the skies every loose minute. She told herself it was a habit, that she preferred the open air to the confines of the city, but even she did not believe it entirely. She longed to see Aang, worried his adventures had gone askew. 

She understood the reason for his absence. The world demanded his presence in ways that could not be ignored, and she wouldn't ask him to turn away from that. Understanding, however, did little to ease the sense of distance that had settled over time.

For her, those expectations had taken on a shape she could no longer dismiss.

What they had shared in the past had never been defined, left suspended between their small moments or shared kisses, something that hadn't resurfaced since the end of the war. 

They had been younger then, shaped by the urgency of war and the closeness it forced upon them, but time had not erased what remained. It made it a lot heavier to hold, at least for her.

The time spent building and growing the now Republic City had kept them close yet far apart because of duty. But once it had been over and settled into this new world, Aang took to finding more of his heritage, travelling wherever Appa could reach.

Now, another anniversary of the Republic City had arrived, bringing her friends along with it. 

Sokka, her brother, arrived a few days ago from the Southern Water Tribe. And Toph arrived just yesterday from the Earth Kingdom with a few of her pupils in tow. 

And although the responsibilities of a Fire Lord were inexplicably heavy, Katara was sure Zuko would draw upon a visit as well. 

But the person she hoped to see the most had yet to show his face. She had hoped that his return would bring clarity, that distance would have resolved the unlabeled tension. 

That this time, he would stay long enough for something to begin.

No one ever receives an advance notice of his arrival. The Avatar came and went as needed, his presence guided more by circumstance than by schedule. Even so, there was always a shift in the air when he returned.

It was no different this time.

The anniversary celebrations had filled Republic City with life, the streets crowded with people, music threading through the air, and voices rising in easy celebration beneath the afternoon sun. 

The city center was alive, and it was difficult to notice anything beyond what was directly in front of you.

Until something passed overhead, casting a swift, giant shadow onto the people. It moved across the ground and over the buildings, drawing attention upward.

Heads tilted back, the crowd already bubbling with excitement. And then someone said it.

"Look! It's the Avatar—!"

High above, Appa descended through the open sky. The wind shifted with him, carrying the force of his arrival down into the streets below as the crowd instinctively moved back, clearing space without needing to be told.

On his head sat Aang. He was so easy to recognize, even from a distance.

Katara saw him first, as always. Her breath caught, her gaze fixed upward as the shape of him became clearer with every passing second.

Sokka followed her line of sight, squinting for half a moment before breaking into a grin.

"I told you," he said, nudging her lightly. "I told you he'd show up today."

Toph tilted her head toward the ground, arms still crossed, though her attention sharpened immediately. 

"Took him long enough."

Appa lowered, the air swirling around him as he descended into the open space ahead. The ground seemed to brace for it, and when he landed, the impact sent a gust of wind outward that forced the nearest onlookers to step back further.

The crowd erupted. Cheers broke through all at once, voices rising over one another.

"The Avatar!"

"He's back!"

Aang stepped down with ease, his movements light despite the height he had descended from. The moment his feet touched the ground was light and controlled, like he was the air itself.

He reached up briefly, unfastening the straps of the packs secured behind him before lowering them— setting four large bags (something he had not originally set out with) carefully onto the ground.

Above them, Momo settled with a contented chirp, curling into place as though the journey had not bothered him in the slightest.

Aang straightened as he looked out at the crowd, taking in the faces, the noise, the energy of the city that had continued in his absence. But he was hoping to catch a sight of his family above all.

His eyes skimmed across the crowds and he found them easily, smiling at the familiar faces. It was the same smile they remembered, remaining unchanged despite the months that had passed.

Sokka took a step forward immediately, already raising a hand.

"Aang—!"

But Aang did not move toward them.

Instead, he turned back to Appa once more. Before they could even take a step forward, he lifted himself lightly from the ground with a small current of air, rising just enough to reach the edge of Appa's saddle.

Then he held out his hand.

They were confused. Momo had claimed the travel bags without concern, already drifting toward sleep despite the noise that still lingered around them.

Aang didn't really have anyone else who had accompanied him when he left. The thought settled between them without needing to be spoken, drawing their attention back toward the saddle they had assumed was empty.

Before any of them could voice it, they saw a hand appear first, fingers settling into Aang's before the rest of you followed, rising into view as you pulled yourself upright from where you had been seated along the saddle. 

Your hand remained in his as Aang's grip tightened enough to steady you, and in the same movement, he drew you closer, closing the space that existed between you. 

Your arms circled his shoulders as the two of you remained there, suspended in the air. Then, gently, he brought you down.

The air shifted around you as your feet met the ground beside him. His hold lingered to ensure your balance before easing. When you separated, it was only by a small measure that left the connection between you intact.

The crowd, once loud with excitement, had begun to thin as attention returned to the celebration, though a handful remained, watching with quiet curiosity, their earlier cheers settling into murmurs that carried more questions than answers.

No one reached for a conclusion just yet.

Katara, Sokka, and Toph moved forward almost at once, their attention pulled in two directions at once, drawn to Aang yet returning, again and again, to you.

You had already turned slightly, your hand lifting to rest against Appa's head, and your touch was seemingly familiar enough that the great sky bison leaned into it without resistance.

By the time they reached him, the distance had closed enough that the moment could no longer be delayed.

Katara moved first.

She closed the space quickly, and whatever restraint she had held dissolved the moment she reached him. She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, the force of it enough to make him shift back a step before he steadied.

"Aang," she breathed, relief threading through her voice despite her effort to keep it composed. 

"It's so good to see you."

Sokka followed without pause, stepping in with a grin, his arm wrapping around them both and pulling them in.

"Yeah, pal, good to see you," he said.

Toph approached last, her head angled slightly as she reached out and pulled him into an embrace once the siblings had stepped back.

"Well, I can't see you," she said, her voice carrying its usual bluntness as she smirked, "but it's good to have you back, Twinkle Toes."

Aang laughed quietly, slipping easily into the space between them as though the months apart had been mere minutes.

"It's been one hell of an adventure," he said, his smile widening, his energy returning despite the changes that had settled into him. 

"But it's really good to see you guys."

He looked between them, taking in their presence fully now, before something shifted in his expression.

"Where is Zuko?" He noticed the absence quickly, as Katara stepped in.

"He'll be here tomorrow." She ensured. Aang nodded once in understanding before smiling back at them. 

"I'm really glad you're all here," he added, turning slightly.

"Because there's someone I want you to meet."

He called your name.

You turned at once, your attention shifting back to him, your hand lowering from Appa as you stepped forward when he beckoned you closer. When you reached him, he guided you gently to stand in front of him, your back pressing close to his chest.

His hands settled at your shoulders, as though presenting you to his friends (which he technically was).

The space around them seemed to narrow again, attention pulling inward and onto you.

And then, without hesitation, he spoke.

"Guys, this is my wife."

The space was quieter than the open streets of the city, removed from the curious eyes that had followed them from the city center. It was Katara's home, a short tower much like Aang's, warm and simple.

There was a low wooden table set at the center of the room and cushions arranged around it. The scent of food lingered in the air, a spread of dishes laid out with attention. They sat together on the floor, as they had many times before, yet it no longer felt as comforting with the addition of a new presence.

Aang settled easily, his posture relaxed as though the weight of his responsibilities had been set aside for the moment. You remained close beside him, your arm linked through his, your shoulder leaning lightly into his side.

The food was passed between them, and Sokka had already begun eating with little restraint, serving himself generously from the meat-filled dishes Katara had whipped up. Aang remained with the vegetarian plates set aside for him, thanking Katara quietly for the effort before beginning to eat.

You followed his lead, keeping to the same dishes, avoiding the drinks that Sokka and Toph had taken for themselves, your silence unbroken, your attention lowered more often than not.

The moment they had settled, the questions were poured over Aang all at once. Sokka and Toph tried to remain respectful to your presence while asking for your story, meanwhile Katara hadn't questioned the two of you at all, but evidently curious herself.

Aang had kept it brief, offering information sparingly about your history. He had said that the two of you had met while he was traveling, that things had moved quickly and you fell in love, that it had simply felt right. 

And being the Avatar meant having to oversee Republic City, he couldn't stay where he had met you, so the decision to get married had been made quickly, making you two return together, to build something here instead.

It was obvious they had many questions, but they sure as hell would not question their friend right in front of you.

Congratulations had followed, quiet and measured, and then the moment had passed, left to settle beneath everything that came after.

It was Sokka who filled the silence again, though this time not with questions, but with usual new ideas that spawn in his tinkering brain.

"So I've been working on this new design," he began, already gesturing with his hands despite the food still in them, his voice picking up pace as his excitement took over. 

"It's basically a reinforced mechanism—stronger joints, better rotation, and if I get it right, it could handle way more pressure than anything we've built before."

Aang leaned forward slightly, interest immediate. 

"Wait, so for like quicker transportation?"

"Exactly!" Sokka said, pointing at him with a quick nod. "I'm thinking something that could carry more weight, maybe even support multiple functions depending on how it's built."

Toph snorted softly. "So... you're just upgrading what already exists?"

"That's not—it is to improve efficiency." Sokka replied quickly. 

"Sounds the same to me."

"It's not the same," Sokka insisted, already leaning further into it. 

"Efficiency is important. You can't just throw things together and hope it works."

"You literally do that all the time."

"That's different," he said, without missing a beat. "That's instinct."

Aang laughed, slipping into place as though nothing had changed between them, his attention fully caught now.

"No, wait, that actually sounds really interesting," he said, his tone brightening. "If it can handle more pressure, you could use it not only for transportation, but construction too!"

"Exactly," Sokka said, pleased, already building on the idea. "See, this is why you get it."

Toph tilted her head slightly. "Yeah, because he's the only one listening."

The conversation carried on like that, Sokka speaking the most, his words running ahead of themselves as Aang kept up easily, asking questions, offering ideas, while Toph cut in whenever she pleased, her remarks sharp and comical each time.

You remained quiet beside Aang, your hand still resting around his arm, your gaze lowered more often than not, contributing nothing to the conversation yet not removed from it either.

Katara was quieter still, her attempts to keep up with the conversation falling short no matter how carefully she held her smile in place.

She spoke when needed, but for the most part, she said nothing at all, her attention shifting, her gaze returning to you more often than she would have liked before pulling away again.

Time passed quickly as it does when you're enjoying yourself, until the light outside began to soften, the sun lowering, shifting the room into a quieter shade.

Eventually, Aang took note of the time and your tired figure, his attention drifting from the conversation as he set his cup down.

"I think we should head home," he said, his tone gentle, though final. 

"It's been a long journey, and I want to get her settled in."

No one protested, agreeing quietly with a few nods as the evening drew to a close without resistance.

You both rose slowly and Aang moved toward the open balcony, the evening air slipping in as he stepped outside, a soft note leaving his whistle.

It did not take long for Appa to respond.

He floated close to the railing as Aang secured the travel bags onto the saddle before turning back to you, offering his hand as he helped you up first. Only once you were settled did he follow, stepping lightly onto Appa's head as he glanced back one last time.

"See you guys soon."

And then Appa rose, the wind lifting around him as you both left the balcony behind.

Once you had both left, a quiet settled over the three of them. The room, which had only moments ago carried conversation and liveliness, now held something far more glum.

Katara no longer held onto her smile. It faded slowly, the effort behind it slipping away until her lips formed a frown. She remained seated for a moment longer, her hands resting in her lap. The situation pressed in around her, suffocating her.

Sokka noticed it immediately. He had been watching her since Aang stood to leave.

"Katara..." he started, softer now, the edge gone from his voice.

She blinked, as though being snapped out of a dream. When she looked up, the smile she gave him was small and practiced, held together with effort.

"I'm just going to get some air," she said, not waiting for him to respond.

She stood up, her hands smoothing briefly over her clothes, an unnecessary gesture meant to steady herself, and then she turned toward the door.

Sokka pushed himself up immediately. 

"Katara, wait—"

She didn't.

She stepped out before he could reach her, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft finality. And whatever she had been holding in place gave way, unseen.

Sokka stopped short, the words he had meant to say left unfinished, his hand lowering slowly back to his side. He remained standing for a moment, staring at the door, as if expecting it to open again.

He exhaled sharply, the tension in him settling into something heavier as he dragged a hand through his hair before dropping back down onto the cushion, leaning back on his hands.

For a long time, he had not been entirely thrilled when he first noticed what had been forming between Aang and Katara. It had been uncomfortable at first, something he had watched with suspicion, protective instinct getting the better of him. 

But time had softened that resistance and he came to to accept it once he noticed how much his sister really adorded Aang. And Aang, was his best friend. Of all the people, he could trust him with Katara.

He had come to see it as inevitable, something that was bound to happen, and had secretly been expecting to take place already.

This—

This had not been part of that expectation.

"...Okay, what just happened?" he said after a moment, his voice sharp.

Toph did not answer immediately. Her head tilted slightly, getting more comfortable on the floor as she stretched out her limbs.

"That was bad," she said finally.

Sokka let out a short breath, sitting up straighter. 

"Bad? Toph, that was really bad." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration settling in now that the moment had passed.

"He just—what, disappears for ten months, comes back, and suddenly he's married?" His voice lifted slightly, disbelief breaking through. 

"Since when does Aang do something like that without telling anyone?"

Toph leaned back slightly, her arms crossing, her expression unchanged. 

"Since apparently eight months ago."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

Sokka pushed himself to his feet again, pacing once across room before turning back toward her.

"She was waiting for him," he said, quieter now, though the weight behind it remained. 

"You know that, right? She didn't say it, but she—she was waiting."

Toph didn't interrupt.

"She thought..." he started, then stopped, exhaling through his nose as the frustration tightened again. 

"I thought—We all thought—!"

He didn't finish that either. The pieces didn't fit together cleanly anymore.

"He didn't even say anything! I am sure one letter wouldn't have hurt! I mean, what the hell was that story? I don't buy it for a second." Sokka continued, his voice lower now, though the edge hadn't left. 

Toph shifted slightly, her tone still calm, though less dismissive now.

"Yeah. He was lying." She says casually, as if it hadn't been the confirmation Sokka was looking for this entire time.

"What?! What do you mean?"

"What you said, Snoozles. Their story. Aang was lying. He probably didn't say much because he knew I would catch his lies."

"Wait...does that mean Aang is in trouble?" 

"Don't think so. From what I sensed, she didn't seem like much of a threat, and Twinkle toes did seem to care for her, there was no lie there." She explained her observations.

"Then I don't get it, Toph. What did Aang lie about?" Sokka questions, keeping his motive straightforward.

"None of what he said was a lie, but it wasn't the entire story. All I'm saying is, he said just enough of the truth to not make me suspect anything."

Sokka was livid.

"Why do you look so relaxed?! Aren't you mad at him? This doesn't seem like the Aang we know!"

"Chill out. I'm sure he's okay. Although...he's not one to think things through. Not when it comes to helping people anyway."

Sokka perks up at Toph's insinuation. "You think he's helping her?"

"My best guess."

"Well, that's no excuse," Sokka shot back immediately. 

"He knows better than that. He should know better than that. We are always here to help, he  knows that!"

"Maybe he just didn't need our help for this. From what I felt, he seemed happier, at least since I last met him.

Sokka's shoulders remained tense, his jaw tightening as his gaze stayed fixed on the door, though there was nothing left there to see. The space Katara had occupied was empty, her absence settling heavily into the room as Sokka grew worried for her.

"...I should go after her," he said, already half-turning.

"Give her a minute," Toph replied, her tone steady. "She won't want an audience right now."

Sokka stopped, even though the tension in him remained coiled tight, he did not argue. Instead, he hesitated in his step for half a second before lowering himself back onto the cushion.

"...He really messed this up," he muttered, the frustration slipping through despite the effort to contain it.

Toph tilted her head slightly at that, her expression unchanged.

"Did he?"

Sokka looked up at her, frowning. "What do you mean did he? You saw her."

"Yeah, I did," she said calmly. "I'm not saying she's fine. I'm asking how exactly this is all on him."

Sokka let out a short, disbelieving breath, the sound sharp against the quiet. "Toph—"

"No, think about it," she cut in, forcing him to listen whether he wanted to or not. 

"It was obvious Katara liked him. I'm not arguing that. But we also thought it was obvious Aang liked her too."

Sokka opened his mouth to respond, but the words stalled, choosing to let her finish.

"And maybe he did," she continued. "Maybe he still does. But technically, they were never official on any grounds. "

"That doesn't mean—" he started, but she did not let him finish.

"It means nothing was decided," she said. "If somehow Aang's feelings changed, we can't blame him for it. "

Sokka's expression tightened, then softened enough to show that he understood Toph's argument.

"That doesn't make this okay," he said after a moment.

"I didn't say it did," Toph replied. "I'm saying we can't act like he broke some rule or something."

Sokka leaned back slightly, dragging a hand over his face as he let that sit, the frustration in him shifting.

"It's just—ughh! Married? Aang won't do something like that on a whim!"

"But he did it already."

"I know. Did you see Katara's face? Even Aang must have noticed it, it was that obvious, fuck!"

"He didn't do it to hurt her."

Sokka didn't respond immediately.

"No," he admitted after a pause. "Of course not."

Aang was not careless, and he was not cruel. He did not make choices like that without reason, which meant there had to be one.

If Toph was vouching for the authenticity of Aang's marriage to you, then—

"...He really meant it," Sokka said, the realization settling in slower this time, heavier.

Toph nodded once. "Yeah."

Sokka exhaled, some of the tension leaving him, though it did not ease what remained.

After a pause, Sokka spoke again.

"What you said earlier... about him not telling the whole truth." His gaze flicked toward her. "Do you think we should tell Katara?"

Toph didn't answer right away. She leaned back slightly, considering the situation. Katara was a fierce woman, and although Toph was sure she won't do anything drastic, even she couldn't trust to stop things from going downhill.

"Not yet," she said after a moment. "She's already dealing with enough. Telling her that now isn't going to help."

Sokka frowned, though he didn't argue.

"So we just... don't say anything?"

"For now," Toph replied. "We wait. Maybe once Zuko gets here. We'll have a good old Team Avatar huddle! Uhh...without the Avatar, of course."

The answer did not satisfy him completely, but it settled enough for him to let it go, at least for the moment.

Toph shifted slightly, adjusting her posture before speaking again.

"When is Zuko getting here anyway?"

Sokka glanced at her, the shift in topic catching him slightly off guard before he answered.

"He should arrive by tomorrow afternoon."

Night settled over the city without resistance, the last of the noise fading. By the time you got settled in your new home, the world outside had quieted, leaving only the soft hush of the empty streets.

Inside your home, you lay beside Aang, the distance between you nonexistent, skin against skin beneath the covers, the warmth of him melting into your flesh. Your head rested against his chest, eyes fluttering to a close to the steady rhythm beneath your cheek.

Each breath of his matched your own without effort, his arm lay beneath you, holding you in place, while his other hand moved slowly through your hair.

Your fingers shifted lightly against him before your voice broke through the stillness.

“It seems your friends do not like me.”

Aang’s hand stilled for a brief moment before continuing its slow movement, his touch no different than it was before.

“They just met you,” he said. “It was unexpected.”

“That is one way to describe it.”

“They’ll come around,” he said after a moment. “It just takes time.”

There was no bitterness in your voice, only an acknowledgment that did not seek to challenge him. You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him.

“That water tribe girl,” you said. 

His hand slowed, and you felt the shift immediately. You held his gaze for a second longer before letting it fall, settling back against him, your cheek returning to its place over his chest, though now, the rhythm behind his chest had upped its tempo.

“That was her,” you continued, lifting your head again, your eyes finding his. “Was it not?”

He did not answer immediately. To be honest, he did not need to. You had understood plenty.

“Yes.”

The word settled between you, and you smiled.

“I see.”

You heaved a sigh, feeling your own heartbeat speed up.

“I am sorry,” you said after a moment.

Aang's reaction was immediate as he frowned faintly

“There’s no need for that.”

"I feel as though there is." His hand stilled again, resting lightly against your back now, no longer moving.

“I made my feelings very clear to you, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

“Perhaps not,” you answered. “But that does not mean no one was hurt.”

The honesty in your voice did not leave room for dismissal. Something in his expression shifted then, softening.

“She’ll be alright,” he said after a moment, though the words carried less certainty than he might have intended.

You did not respond to that directly.

“Your friends are important to you.”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation.

You nodded faintly, your breath evening out again against him.

“Then I hope they will come to accept me.”

“They will,” Aang replied, more certain this time, his hand resuming its slow movement through your hair, steady, grounding. “It just might take some time.”

The tension eased slightly, but Aang didn't need to see your face to know what you were feeling at the moment.

Then, almost as an afterthought, his tone shifted.

“And you haven’t even met my closest friend yet.”

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to look up at him again.

“Oh?”

Aang smiled faintly.

“Zuko,” he said. “The Fire Lord. He’ll be visiting soon.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, urging you to sleep, before settling his head back onto the pillow.

“I think you’ll like him.”

chapter two

a/n: i feel like this story has potential.

You're unsure what it was about you that made you so special, but if you had to thank someone for your status in the society of prostitution, that someone would be Geto Suguru, who was the first to openly pick you as his favored escort.

After he came in to your brothel unmasked and open with who he was, many people of higher society began to follow suit until this trend eventually reached royal walls.

It was by then that you were sought out by only the best of the best. And while this was supposed to be a good thing for you, considering it meant much better pay and (thankfully) less harassment, you found yourself facing a new difficulty as your two highest paying clients began to butt heads and clash with their timing...

——

On one hand, you had well known cultist leader Geto Suguru who you'd wrapped around your pretty little finger from his first night with you.

You recall said first night like it were yesterday.

Dimmed lanterns littered the brothel's corners and ceilings, leaving arrays of shadows and silhouettes to splay out across the rich velvet-draped walls whilst the scent of sex 'n sin coated the air.

You were leaning against a scrupulously carved wooden bar, the silks of your robe slanting off your right shoulder—leaving room for a teasing curve of your breasts to spill out to the varying patrons winding about. It'd been a rather busy night for you, as you'd tended to at least three clients back to back prior to finding this short moment for yourself.

Most could hardly afford an entire night with you at this time, even though you weren't considered the best of the best just yet. This brothel brought in all sorts of lost souls, a diverse set individuals who's cash and coin could bring them whatever flesh they craved when their desires ran most rampant.

Your eyes had scanned the room time and time again in search of who to approach, as it was also rather rare that you'd have a second to do the approaching—most came to you. But, this night had been wildly different.

Your gaze plucked out the regulars and you grimaced as the prospect of having to approach one of those merchants who carried leering grins and uncomfortably grabby hands dawned on you. Although you'd a busy night thus far, you were quite hungry for cash.

All you wanted was one more customer before you'd call it a successful night.

You debated on approaching some soldiers who's hands you knew to itch for softness, deeply considering how their pockets tended to run rather deep.

When such powerful fascinations of magic existed, it was only natural that all sorts of people existed as well. There were benders of four different kinds, sorcerers who had the most complex of abilities, mixes of both who existed, and lastly—regular people who carried no special, otherworldly aptitudes whatsoever.

That last category is where you fall. But, you suppose being able to bend your back just right and give people a taste of something far sweeter than any source of supernatural abilities out there was something to be moderately proud of.

It was in this very brothel that you felt most powerful, and nothing nor anyone could take that away from you.

Especially not by the time Geto entered the establishment for the first time.

Staggering in at over six feet tall, cloaked in black from head to toe with half of his face hidden behind an ornate mask, he was certainly nothing to be played with when you first saw him.

You—and everyone else in a hundred mile radius—had heard many rumors and tales of the infamous Geto Suguru. How he slaughtered his own family, was actively wanted for doing so by members of Jujutsu Society, and had some sort of cult brewing about to spread ideals of slaughter in regards to any non-sorcerers.

But, given the mask he had on, you held no idea that the man snapping his eyes your way was him.

Though, looking back on it now, it should've been obvious. Only half of his face was concealed but most should be able to recognize that sharp jawline and those seductive eyes of amethyst hue from a mile away. Not to mention the long tresses of raven black that cascaded down his back, swishing with much elegance as he paced deeper into the brothel—half of it pulled up into quite the signature bun.

"You," He'd been standing in front of you much faster than you had time to prepare yourself for, his voice laced with this smooth purr that—again—anyone should've been able to recognize.

You remember the way you straightened up almost immediately, your gaze meeting his as the tension of his visual scrutiny fell down on you. Luckily for you, you were able to collect yourself just in time to offer a short nod of your head, "Of course."

You had to force steadiness in your voice just to maintain your usual confidence. No way were you about to let some masked stranger get you all nervous.

...Even if the masked stranger in question undressed you with his eyes in a way you swear you've never experienced before.

You ended up leading him up the creaky set of stairs to your left. It was apparent in how quiet he was along the way that he hadn't been a man of many words, at least not to people he didn't know—ergo, you.

Once upstairs, he followed you down the relatively quiet hall, the only source of sound coming from the soft click of a shutting door as you eventually brought him into a private room.

His eyes didn't stay on you long, too eager to take in the intimate space around him. He'd linger his gaze over the wide bed, scoff quietly at the cheap-looking sheets tossed over it, and shift in his standing as he contemplated deeply on all the decisions that led him here.

Then his attention found you again.

Whilst he had reminded dormant, you slowly turned around to face him and wasted little time in working to untie your velvety robes. The fabrics fell to pool at your feet, and for anyone who lived a life much different to this one—the way things played out may have come off as strange. But for you, having a client who spoke very little such as this one wasn't unusual in the slightest.

Hell, it was on nights like that where you preferred it most, honestly.

"Shall I uh..." Your voice wavered a moment but you quickly made up for it via gesturing your hand out to the man. Then you pacing closer to him, "Shall I help you?" You offered simply, your movement extending out into a reach as you went for his clothing.

A hand met your wrist and his head shook, "Not yet."

You'd known the gentleman for no longer than twenty minutes and yet only three words had come your way. How strange.

Unfortunately, you weren't given much time to ponder on his aloofness since you were distracted by the way his hand left you and went for his mask. He lifted it away and you gasped almost immediately at the reveal, stumbling back a bit to move your hands over your mouth.

In one respect, you were scared shitless. The man known for bringing harm to non-sorcerers was currently standing in front of you, a non-sorcerer. And in the other respect, it was hard to be entirely fearful when he had the face of an angel.

Most men prior to this instance weren't always the easiest on the eyes, and it was quite the rarity for you to be in a situation like this.

A few lengthy strands of hair framed the upper half of his now-revealed face and fuck if he wasn't the most beautiful man you'd ever laid your eyes on.

"You look scared," Geto pointed out bluntly, his gaze inert. He watched closely at the way the center of your throat moved with the gulp you took.

Cute.

You wanted to swipe your robes back up from the floor and run for your life, but what good would that really do you?

"Well, you're known for..." Your words failed you entirely but you tried your best to vocalize your scattered thoughts. "A-And I'm not a—"

"A sorcerer? I know," He fills in for you, closing the distance you'd tried to create between the two of you. "But, I don't need you to be a sorcerer to fuck you, do I?"

It was in that moment, and with those words, that you remembered what exactly your job was. Fearing that this man would harm you despite him literally coming to this establishment to feed into whatever lust lived inside him was mildly foolish on your part.

You eventually let your head nod understandingly, your gaze sinking to the floor in slight embarrassment. Meanwhile he'd found himself amused. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that you'd easily become his exception for the sorcerer exclusive world he wanted to eventually create.

Geto stepped forward and went to take your wrists into his hands again, tugging you towards him and guiding your palms to his torso. "You can undress me now," He instructed.

Your hands were shaking slightly as you did so, struggling to swallow that lingering fear all the way down. It wasn't until you'd managed his top off that he moved to grab at your jaw rather roughly, forcing your head up and your eyes on his.

You gasped again, "Lord Geto, I—"

"Suguru will suffice," He murmured before you could even finish, tipping his head to the side and leaning in to caress your lips with his own. "I am yours more than you are mine tonight, alright?"

It was obvious he was trying to soothe your nerves but it wasn't really working until his lips fell onto yours. Your eyes went wide when he kissed you, stuck in your own shock and unable to bring yourself back into the moment.

Then, by the time his tongue darted out to tap at the corners of your mouth seeking entry, you regained some of yourself and managed to part your lips for him. After which his tongue met with yours and it was as though a flip had been switched in your head.

Your body pushed forward into his without second thought and you caught him by surprise quickly enough for him to grunt into your mouth. The taste of Geto on your tongue was something you'd never forget—not by a long shot.

One of your hands flew up to the side of his face to trace his cheek as your other explored the expanse of his abs, fingertips dipping against every sharp curve. Geto's body shuddered under your suddenly initiative touch, his breath clinging to his lungs and refusing to leave him in a timely manner.

A single slip of tongues was all it took for you to feel like yourself again and that was enough to have Geto reeling. Your thumb swiped against his cheek in a fashion more tender than he'd ever experienced in his life and he was completely under your figurative spell until your other hand began to dip past his waistband.

After a few minutes of exchanging saliva and soft moans, he'd unconsciously pushed you back against the bed. You pulled away from him and moved to sink to your knees without him having to say anything—leaving him to miss the feel of your tits against his naked chest.

Geto's hand came to the top of your head carefully as you tugged at his dark slacks, letting them plunge to the floor so that his erect cock could spring free. The man swears he caught a little twinkle in your eye upon watching how his dick came slapping up against his abdomen. Perhaps you were a bit more passionate about your job than he'd realized.

His cock was unduly thick, tannish length standing tall and curved whilst it dripped excessively with precum from the plump tip. You were salivating before you'd even copped a proper feel.

Your eyes flicked upward and he peered down at you expectantly, cocking a brow as if to ask what was taking you so long. You never cared much for being rushed but something told you that his neediness would somehow make everything worth it soon enough.

Then your mouth met his tip and you licked slowly, savoring the new taste of him on your tongue. He groaned faintly before moving to thread his fingers into your hair for a better grip on your head, his hips instinctively rocking forward. Your lips stretched around his cock as you swallowed him in, drool spilling out from the sides and quick to make a mess of your face.

Geto wasn't hesitant in fucking your mouth, especially with how good you were at using it. Your tongue did these tricks against him that he'd never felt before and it had his balls aching for release within a matter of minutes.

Hell, it had him thinking maybe he should've visited a brothel sooner!

"Jus' like that," Came from his purring tongue, "Take every inch of me-, fuck—mhmm, stretch that throat out. That's perfect." He grunted, voice laced with a nasty cadence.

You'd gag slightly as he knocked against the back of your throat, but it was a feeling you'd grown quite used to over time so you've come to enjoy it more than anything. Geto didn't take much longer to use your mouth as if it were specifically shaped to accommodate the size of his fat cock.

When he felt himself growing close, he plucked you right off of him and let the slops of saliva web all in between his tip and your chin. Then he'd hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed, abandoning thoughts of his own pleasure just to come spread your legs and kneel himself between them.

It wasn't unusual for clients to eat you out per-se, but it was quite uncommon.

Surging forward with no preamble, Geto buried his face into your sappy folds, his tongue coming forward with a spongey greeting to soak in your arousal. In the midst of this, you caught the man smiling like he'd proved something to himself just from getting a taste of you. Whatever that something was is entirely unbeknownst to you but, it matters little in the long run.

"Suguru," You tested, letting his name fall from you for the first time and watching how he instantly ground his hips forward to rub his bare cock against the bedsheets.

His lips were glistening in the remnants of you as his head fwipped upwards, "Again, pretty. Say it like you mean it." Geto ordered.

You did exactly that whilst he dove right back in, his hand coming out of seemingly nowhere to add two fingers into you and stretch you open on par with the rotational laps of his tongue.

"Mmngh! Sugu-, shit.." You huffed breathlessly beneath him and the workings of his mouth.

It seemed as though the sudden nickname you spewed was enough to send him into this feral state of feasting, mouth widening against your pussy just to suck 'n kiss alllll over you like you deserved to be sucked 'n kissed on. Your fingers tangled into his hair somewhere along the way but it began to grip and tug as you felt your orgasm approaching.

The skin of your thighs caged his head as your voice grew loud enough to escape the otherwise sound-proof walls of the room.

Directly after your orgasm flooded both his tongue and his thick fingers, Geto had no plans on letting you recover from it.

That first night with him was quick in the best way imaginable.

Geto rose to position his achy cock at your entrance, letting the head smack! in between your puffy folds a couple times before he started pushing in. Your hands went out to grip at the surrounding sheets and you whined whilst he stretched you out.

He was the first client of yours to ever make you feel so immersed in the acts of sexual pleasure, but far from the last.

He waited for the walls of your cunt to adjust to his thick size before he worked a steady pace into you, soon fucking you in a way that's simply incomparable to what you were used to. Your body rocked and rocked against the bed with his every thrust, his hands moving from the sheets to your hips, then to your breasts just to squeeze your body like he felt you needed.

One moment he was groaning and grunting above you about how good you felt, and the next his hands were on the undersides of your thighs, forcing your body to bend how he wanted as his voice curved all into your ear.

"Tell me something," He husked heavily, his hair framing your body with the way it fell out all messily. "How many cocks do you actually enjoy taking, hm?"

You choked.

Sure, men had asked you questions like that before but... most weren't too concerned with the others that you'd been with.

Cunt clenching around him, "I-I... I don't know-, nngh!"

At that, Geto had lifted himself just enough to grab ahold of your face like he'd done earlier, staring your dead in the eyes whilst his hips came rocking down into you—cock fucking the air right out of your lungs. "Well, when you make faces like that... I can't help but feel like mine is the only correct answer, no?"

It was your first night with the man and yet, you knew for a fact you had him right were you wanted him. A few have gotten addicted to you in the past, sure. But their pockets never aligned with their desires.

Not like Geto's did.

He eventually emptied himself into you, and wound up leaving you with a tip large enough to prevent you from working at all if you wished it so.

Then he became a recurring customer. Actually, scratch that, Geto Suguru became the recurring customer (for a while, anyway).

If you were with someone, he'd have them quickly dismissed and pay three times whatever the person you were with had been charged plus some just to make it happen.

Not only that, but he also showed up unmasked after his first night with you. You're unsure why exactly he did that when all this did was bring about attention to you.

Words of your successfully seductive nature spread all across the lands because of him, reaching places you never could've imagined for yourself.

...Such as the Fire Nation.

Or, more specifically, the Fire Nation's palace.

——

With Geto highlighting your sexual talents, you got new clients of all sorts. Other well-renowned jujutsu sorcerers, the most talented of benders from varying nations, etc.

The madam of your brothel helped you to maintain appearances, slowly viewing you differently over time, and eventually realizing that you were becoming her most starred worker—keenly peeping the investment she'd have to put into you in order to keep this flow of high societal members coming.

Your older garments, albeit nothing wrong with them, were quickly replaced with new silks that were more intricate and softer—fitting for a woman of your stature now. Your room had been moved higher within the building, farther from the bumbling noise of the common floor, and closer to those who could afford the best discretion.

Even the way your coworkers spoke to you had shifted. Some interacted with you whilst carrying awe in their eyes, others moving with resentment.

But through all this, Geto kept coming back, continued to remain your most devoted and loyal client.

That is, until Fire Lord Zuko waltzed in one night.

You were tucked into the comforts of your room when he'd visited the brothel, deaf to the commotion occurring just beyond your door.

Whispers flooded the hallways just outside, along with shocked gasps, attemptive passing touches, and failed glances of seduction as he made his way towards your room. Then came one firm knock to your door, the sound loud enough to startle you a bit.

You abandoned whatever it was you were tending to and made haste in approaching the door. As you moved to open it, you were left star-stuck from the sight of regal fabrics alone. Before you even looked up to see who was under said fabrics, you felt your heart lurch in your chest.

Then you peeked upwards and gasped rather animatedly, the folded fan you had in your hand fluttering to the floor. "L-Lord Zuko," You stammered in shock.

It was instantaneous the way you let your head lower into a rightful bow after catching the slightest shift in his brow, to which his face had lightened up a little in surprise.

Then came the tenderness of his voice, "You... don't have to do that." Zuko breathed, moving to lightly take your hands into his own.

You lifted your chin back up shortly after, blinking all dumbfoundedly at the man, "But..." As your words trailed off, he was firm in holding both your gaze and your hands.

His skin was warm against yours, eyes gorgeous in their golden hue, and long black hair falling loose to frame some of his tall figure. It was clear that here—in this brothel with you—there was no veil of inherent royalty between you and him.

The burn scar that twisted his left eye and cheek remain bare for you to take all the way in. It was unreal to have the Fire Lord standing right in front of you like this. One could only dream of such a thing, truly.

Within the spark of a moment that dwindled between the both of you, he let himself unconsciously lean a little closer to you. Husking a soft-spoken, "I'm not the first of royal status to pay you a visit, am I?" He asked.

You cleared your throat, "No, no, of course not."

Then you let your hands depart from his and you took a step back, moving your arm out to gesture him into entering your bed chambers. Zuko seemed to be delighted by the way you regained your comfort thus far, his shoulders relaxing as he inched forward.

Just before his foot fully passed the doorway, he paused and cut his eye back over his shoulder. Everyone who he'd passed whilst making his way here had been watching that entire little interaction, but the moment Zuko looked back at them all, they'd flinched and scrammed to return to whatever mindless tasks they'd been busy with before.

With the hallway cleared from a mere glance—with the exception of one or two fire nation guards—he let out a short breath through his nose and then turned to enter your quarters, the ends of his fashionably red and gold attire fluttering behind his every step.

You shut the door behind him and pressed your forehead against it for a moment. Your heart was pounding with every lengthy second that dragged by.

Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.

Fire Lord Zuko is standing in your room.

Fire. Lord. Zuko. is standing. in your room.

How do you even-

"Miss..?" He calls out almost sweetly, unintentionally making you flinch out of your thoughts.

You gulp, swirling around to face him only to swirl yourself right into his chest.

When had he gotten so close?

Your hands fly up to steady yourself—lightly grabbing onto him—and you squeeze your eyes shut, "My apologies, my lord..." You mumble, "As you can see, your arrival has startled me greatly."

Something soft leaves his lungs as his hands carefully meet your arms, "Why's that?" Fuck, his voice was so warm.

Your eyes bat themself open before moving up to meet with his. "...Are you seriously asking me that?" You blurt out.

Zuko stares at you an awkward moment.

He obviously wasn't used to having anyone speak so casually to him, and while he somewhat expected it before coming into this, it still manages to catch him off guard.

Leading him to let out a harmless scoff, "Pardon me for my confusion, miss. I just thought you'd be used to nobles visiting you by now. I've heard the rumors, after all."

You stare right back at him before tilting your head cluelessly, "Rumors?"

Zuko’s eyes skim over every inch of your face, appreciating the lack of space between your body and his already. Then he smiles ever so slightly, "You don't even know what people speak of you, huh?"

Your head shakes.

"They say you're the best," He explains steadily, lifting a hand to whisk a single strand of hair away from your face, "That a single night with you is enough to heal a broken heart of any sorts."

"Does that imply that your heart is recently broken, my lord?" You tease.

His hand halts for a second. Then his grin deepens, "It's not. I'm uh... I'm only reiterating what I've heard of you."

Playfully rolling your eyes, "Well, those rumors of me are wildly dramatic."

His eyebrow raises as if to challenge your claims, “Are they?"

You stand your ground, "I do whatever is asked of me and I get paid, there's nothing more to it."

Zuko doesn’t even try to hide the way he doesn’t quite believe you. Something threading on smug flickers across his expression whilst his thumb maps out the side of your face, drawing itself down towards your mouth.

You get lost in his touch faster than you can even help yourself. Everything about Zuko is just warm—there’s hardly another way to put it. His voice is velvety and tender on your ears, never too much bass or aggressiveness in the words that leave him.

In fact, it’s the exact opposite.

Every syllable slides off his tongue with this crowned elegance that somehow doesn’t ever strike your eardrums as too entitled or belittling in any way. "And yet word of your reputation alone has led me to you." Zuko says, the tip of his thumb finally greeting your bottom lip.

The gloss resting there makes him mouth out the word pretty and you feel your breath hitching, as if his compliment weighed far more than any other you’d ever received.

"For reasons far beyond me,” You murmur in response as he thumbs your lips apart slowly.

Zuko’s hand gathers the rest of your chin into his hold to lift your head further up and he spreads your lips apart from one another fully as he whispers, "Your humbleness is honorable, sweetheart."

Something in your chest flips right then.

Sweetheart.

A nickname you’ve heard time ‘n time again. A nickname you should be used to hearing by now.

But when it comes from him…

The look in your eyes change as you push your mouth against the pad of his thumb, “I could show you some other honorable things, my lord.”

His brow furrows and you hear a breath escape him, having hitched somewhere in his throat. “That's what I'm here for, but I'm not sure honorable is the right… word...” Zuko trails off, quickly getting enamored in the way you move your mouth to take in his thumb.

He’s not entirely a stranger to seduction, but it didn’t take long for him to figure someone like you should be something much more than a mere brothel worker. If this was something you truly took passion in—surely becoming his concubine would be much more fitting.

And with your tongue rounding his thumb in a manner meant to imitate the way it later would his cock, Zuko knows he’ll be returning to this brothel many times before he’s even half way satisfied with indulging in you.

He soon plucks his thumb from your mouth and moves to grab ahold of your face, tipping his head opposite of yours, and then leaning in as if to kiss you.

Zuko slows himself just short of his lips colliding with yours and you nearly whine at the teasing gesture. The man lets your breaths mingle and swirl into one another, exchanging waves of intimacy prior to engaging in the real thing.

Then, just to work you right up, he smirks and utters, “You want it?” as if you weren’t already a melting mess of need in his palms. He didn't realize it then, but you could tell this whole thing was new to him in one way or another.

You nod almost stupidly though, “Please?”

Zuko’s lips slip down onto yours and both of you hum into the kiss almost immediately. He’s holding your face like you’re the most dearest thing to him and you’re reeling in the fact that you’re kissing the Fire Lord himself.

And then in a matter of minutes the both of you go from tentative kisses and gentle moans to the tugging of clothing and a fiery handling of one another.

Zuko very nearly shreds your robes to ash just to get his hands on your bare skin—his touches eager as he soon has your tits fondled perfectly within his palms while still working your mouth over with his own.

He’d kiss you until you were breathless and clinging to him for more, ignoring how your hands tried to dip down for his cock, and smoothly bringing his mouth down to your chest.

His lips cupped one of your nipples before you had time to react, sucking and tugging on the perky bud with much fervor. “Mmmgnh,” Zuko hummed against you whilst rolling his tongue around in pleasureful little circles.

The first night with him was nearly as fast as the first night with Geto had been. Nearly.

There were little differences between the two men when they were with you. Both seemed eager and happy to please you more than they did themselves.

Zuko spent an almost concerning amount of time slobbering against your tits before even thinking of pulling his dick out. And once he did free himself from the restraints of his regal clothing, you’d already been laid down on the mattress in the particular position he planned on taking you in.

You laid on your stomach—body decorated and smothered in all sorts of markings induced from Zuko’s incessant mouth—and he was soon positioning his thighs around your own with his cock swinging out just above your ass.

When Zuko was especially turned on, bits of steam would puff out from his nose. A cute fact of which you come to pick up on over time, of course.

Sometimes you’d feel said steam caress your back when he took you from behind as he was now. The balmy head of his long cock would prod at your weepy pussy lips before he’d ease himself in, and by then, he was already a mess.

You’d push your hips back against him and he’d nearly lose his balance above you, a short huff that sounds dangerously close to a whine slipping right out of his lungs.

“So beautiful…” He’d coo, noticing how you shudder under the heated touch of his fingertips as they traveled the curve in your spine. Then he’d flatten his hand somewhere in the center of it and force your arch to deepen as he humped his dick into your wetly ringing cunt.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head instantly and drool danced out the side of your mouth along with a moan of his name, “F-Fuuck, Zuko.”

He adored the sound—felt himself growing wildly enamored by it with each time it dangled off of your tongue. The rumors about you were nothing compared to feeling you.

Your walls sucked him in to the hilt without him even having to move much, clenching around his cock in rhythmic motions that had his mind going blank for moments at a time. Zuko was thankful he’d had you in prone bone, otherwise you’d see just how red ‘n pink his cheeks had colored over just from fucking you.

Even so, he couldn’t control the sounds he let out. The way he’d grunt and then thrust as if to distract you from it, loving how you continued to gasp out directly after.

Up until you’d angled your head back to look at him, a gorgeously cockdrunk look dazzling over your glossy eyes. He’d never seen something so sinfully beautiful in his life.

Zuko’s hips were snapping down into you faster than he realized, his hand moving to your chin to force your head further back the moment you tried to look away from him. The nerve you had to give him a taste of such a perfect expression just to hide it from him seconds later.

How rude.

His body craned down and his face was mere centimeters from yours as his cockhead thrashed against the inner depths of your cunt. The two of you panted and moaned in sync, his jaw slacking from how good it felt to be inside you whilst fucking you into making that addictive expression.

It wasn’t until he was getting close that you felt his balls smack smack smacking! against your skin harder, and the faint smell of something burning coming from somewhere to your left.

There’d been incidents in the past—especially with fire benders—where silk sheets had been burnt within the brothel. You were no stranger to the scent, you knew exactly what it was without having to place your eyes on it.

Even so, your head ached to turn and locate the source of the fiery smell, but Zuko wasn’t having it. His veins trailing his cock throbbed and he groaned out all loudly as he kept your head in place with a steeling grip.

Huffing, “Shit-, i-ignore it.” as he continued on, despite the smell getting stronger.

You gasped and your body was conformed entirely to his hold on you, “But-, ah! You’ll burn something, my—“

“Say my name,” The Fire Lord demanded all of a sudden, his brow pressing inward as frustration built up across his face.

“Zuko,” You whined, “The sheets will—“

Again cutting you off, he tipped your head further up and swallowed up your words by kissing you. You struggled to kiss him back properly because of how mean his hips were coming down on you, but you tried your best.

When he finally pulled his mouth from yours, you saw how blissed-out his eyes had been. “Ignore the burning, focus on my cock. I know how to-, fuck.. how to control myself. No fires will be—god, you feel so good—c-caused… I promise.”

Even as he tried to reassure you, he was actively burning a hole into your favorite sheet set. Of course, these could be easily replaced by him—but it was the principle of it all, y’know?

His cock twitched inside you in sync with the flickering flames coming from his fingertips. You began to drool and he panted above you, letting his grunts and faint whines speak for his feels of pleasure instead of his tongue. The bedding was left singed due to his flames but you didn't mind it too much.

At least, considering how he most definitely pays you more than you ever could've imagined for yourself.

He ended up cumming somewhere on your back, with his dick going flaccid just between your ass cheeks shortly after. Your head fell down into the sheets and you found yourself smiling at the fact that the Fire Lord just fucked you.

You didn't mean to brag buuut... no one else could say that happened to them!

Those flames of his died out just after he calmed down and he soon fell to your side, his eyes going up to the ceiling to relish in what he'd just done.

Zuko had been stressed for weeks, months even, but that first night in the brothel with you was more than enough to motivate him for the next upcoming days.

Which is precisely why he kept coming back. Over and over and over and over again until he was just as recurring of a customer as Geto had been.

——

This routine of yours was manageable enough for a time. A long time, in fact.

Months went by before your time spent with Geto and Zuko separately ever conflicted with one another. But, of course, it was only a matter of time before they'd cross paths.

The beloved brothel of yours was alive 'n thriving with its usual throng up until a servant had come banging on your door all urgently, calling your name out with her voice shaking as if freightened.

Her voice quakes from outside your door, "Two arrivals, miss—L-Lord Zuko and.. and Lord Geto. They're both requesting y-"

"Send them in," You call back to her before her statement could even find its end.

"Together?" She squeaked.

You finally approached the door and move to swing it open, flashing a her a gorgeously perfected smile at the frightened lady, "Why, of course."

"...But miss, they're both demanding to see you separately." She warned.

"No matter," Your hand moved to wave off her words, "If they want me as badly as they so claim, they'll come to me regardless of who else decides to do the same."

The servant bats her lashes at you a few times, by far deeming you as the craziest lady currently occupying this brothel. It's not that serving two clients at the same time was uncommon, but the fact that you wanted to take in your highest paying clients—two men of very high status—at the same time...?

You had guts. Perhaps the attention you'd been receiving lately had gone to your head? Suppose Lord Zuko set this entire place ablaze simply because he doesn't feel like sharing, what then—

"The longer you stand there staring at me, the more impatient my gentlemen grow," You remind the poor servant, snapping her out of her gaze.

She blinks repetitively before bowing sharply and then turning on her heels. Then you watch her rush down the hall to go fetch your desired men.

You disappeared back into your room shortly after and patiently waited for your door to fly back open, this time with your sought-after guests. It'd been quite some time since you'd participated in a threesome so, part of you was definitely thrilled at the prospect.

And luckily for you, Geto nor Zuko cared much—or at all, really—about who the other guest coming to see you was. They even came bursting into your room together, Zuko first and Geto following closely behind him.

It was obvious without a word that they'd had enough time on the walk towards your quarters to discuss what was to take place. You could tell by the way they came in all silent.

Before this, you'd known both men to become more talkative over time when they came to see you. Geto would preach to you about his beliefs that you definitely didn't care about and Zuko would spend his free time with you to vent about the weight of royal responsibilities resting on his shoulders.

You enjoyed these things from them, of course. But at the end of the day, you had a role to play. A job to do.

And tonight—despite the both of them entering your room together—was absolutely no different. It was here nor there what few words were exchanged between the time it took for them to get themselves undressed and for you to figure out how exactly they'd decided on sharing you tonight.

All you know is that one moment they were slowly taking off their garments as you watched patiently—awaiting some sort of direction—and the next, Zuko's mouth was on yours.

You wanted to ask them how they decided on who'd get to do what first, especially considering that they're two entirely different people but neither of them gave you a chance to do so.

Luckily enough, your question is answered somewhere after Zuko kisses you until you were a drooling mess between your thighs and Geto lapped away at said drooling mess.

The room was heavy-, nearly clouded with the mixed scent of arousal and sweat, sheets rumpled up from the rapidly escalating actions. First you were between making out with Zuko while Geto did the same with your cunt, and then you found yourself positioned between them.

It was in that same position—arched over like some slut as Geto moved himself behind you, hand gripping over your ass whilst his cock rubbed between your cheeks—that the two finally started releasing more than a moan or a grunt.

You'd argue that Geto started it off by saying, "Ah, look at you.." after gliding his cock neatly in between your sodden folds. He thrust forward once and watched how your ass came bouncing against his sharp pelvis. Then he huffed, "Such a sweet girl, always sucking me in like you missed me-, fuck. Did you miss me, gorgeous?"

Your jaw fell open to reply to him but you were crudely cut off by Zuko, who was busy nudging his cock in between your lips. When your eyes lifted up, you saw how he had a bulky arm over his face as if to his his expression from you. Even so, his other hand was busy working his shaft down the center of your tongue—as if whatever Geto was saying to you wasn't worthy of any sort of response.

You found it funny at first, but then they started to go back 'n forth.

Zuko was matching the pace Geto was quick to set in a matter of seconds, your body left to wobble back and forth between them.

"No one pleases me like you do," Zuko murmured, the sudden praise catching you by surprise. "Fuck-," his voice pitches and you caught how his eyes fluttered. Then his hips ever so carefully grind forward, his balmy tip pressing a smear of precum down your throat and leaving a slopped smooch at the back of it.

Your cheeks hollowed out then and Geto was left to feel the way your cunt suddenly soaked around his dick. His hands latched onto your hips and you shuddered in pleasure upon feeling his fingers ground into your skin as his snapped forward a little sharper.

It was like he was competing with Zuko—silently trying to figure out who could hit the best spots inside you and say the right things just to get you wetter. Unfortunately for the crowned man in front of you, Geto's sneakily slipping a hand under you to swish the pads of his fingers over your clit 'n bring you to a quick orgasm on his cock.

Boasting about it directly after as a crooked smile crafts itself into his face, "There's that sloppy mess I was lookin' for. Shit-, I love the way you feel when you cum on me like that."

"Mmgh-, mmpfh!" You're mumbling against Zuko's dick. What exactly you were trying to say is lost to both men, as they mutually assume you were simply moaning.

Zuko's attention is caught by the man behind you though. His eyes flicking over to him as his arm drops from his face and he frowns. Mumbling, "She only did that cause of me..."

"Oh yeah?" Geto looks up immediately, cocking his head left while keeping his girth dormant inside your gummy walls. He gives you some time to focus more on sucking Zuko off properly, and delightedly enjoys in the way your pussy smothers his cock in a thin shimmery layer of release. "And what exactly makes you think that, your highness?" He mocks.

The Fire Lord rolls his eyes, "Well, she's—ah, heyyy," he looks down at you, "At least give me a second to t-talk, won't you?"

You drunkenly peer up at him, his cock still bulging in between your swollen lips. A trickle of saliva drips down and falls in between the valley of his balls, leading Zuko to shiver as his hand grips onto your head tightly.

Doing his best to ignore you anyway, his attention moves to Geto again. "As I was trying to say... she likes-, hah, getting her throat fucked," He points out with an intentionally jerky thrust of his hips, leading your jaw to ache for a split second from how deep in your trachea he was reaching.

Geto pulls himself out of you, dick flitting up into the air with droplets of your arousal hanging from it in dewy little strings. He glances at the sinful display for a second and uses his hand to grab his cock and tap it against your ass a couple times.

You let out another hum or two against Zuko in reaction.

To which Geto chuckles, "Yeahhh, I don't think she came because of you at all. But, I'll let you think that."

Zuko all but pouts upon hearing that. It was almost as though his honor or something was being contested with those words. So, he releases a chuff and practically snatches his length out of your warm facial cavern. "I don't take kindly to being challenged," He claims, ignoring your mouth that's steadily pressing forward for more.

"Nobody's challenging you, Lord Zuko." Geto shot back before moving his hands up into a surrendering gesture and shutting his eyes calmly. "Alls I'm saying is that she came on my cock, not yours-," His eyes opened slowly and his arrogant expression fell, "Uh, what're you doing?"

"Proving you wrong," Zuko answered casually as if he weren't currently hauling you up into his arms and spreading you out into a particularly debauched full nelson. You feel the firmness of his muscles rubbing against all sorts of crevices and nooks of your skin, only making you soak more.

His arms had hooked under your knees, folding your body into that perfect hold—your arms pinned behind your back, and plush thighs spread out widely. Your pussy was on full display, poor folds puffy 'n wet, exposed to Geto's hungry gaze as he watched intently.

"Like..." Geto blinks once-, twice upon seeing you spread out so broadly. "Like that?"

Zuko tuts, "Obviously."

You're squirming, naturally, but neither of them pay any mind to that either. Not your first—nor last—time in this position but fuck if it hadn't been a whiiiiiile since you'd been held up in such a precarious position.

"Hah. Fine then," Geto moves to slouch back against the bed, "Fuck her good, Fire Lord. Show me how uh," He nearly forgets his wording just from watching the other man's cock nudge up into position, "...Royal seed marks its territory, yeah?"

"Tch." Oh, Zuko was so annoyed.

With the way they were acting now, you hardly understood how the hell they agreed to share you in the first place. There's no way—

Something warmer pressing against your entrance, warmer than anything you've felt before. It wasn't an uncomfortable temperature or anything but there was this certain heat to it that made you flinch deeper into Zuko's grasp on you.

Then came his voice at the shell of your ear, "Feel that?" he whispered, hands holding you steady.

You shuddered, "Y-Yeah. Why're you so-, ah!"

He was pushing up into you before you had much time to question him. Zuko didn't need questions, he just needed to be snug inside that slobbering pussy of yours, stuffing you full of himself, and soon having you cream around him far more than you did on Geto.

...And if it took making his cock feel significantly different than Geto's did inside you via slight manipulation to the heat surrounding it, then so be it! You'd never have a moment long enough to question it anyways.

Y'know, since you're much too busy getting fucked dumb on his cock shortly after its slotted inside you. You're promptly displayed in front of Geto—who couldn't stop himself from tugging at his dick to the sight even if he tried—and your body feels almost tingly as Zuko plunges in and out of you.

He so easily lifted you up 'n down his cock, your pussy struggling to keep up with the pace as it squelched and left slicks of creaming arousal alllll over him.

The position allowed Zuko to hit deeper than he ever had before—arguably even deeper than Geto had too. Filthy juices slicked his cock, drooling down to his heavy balls whilst he bounced you in his arms.

You found your orgasm more times than you can count in that position but it took Zuko a bit to get there himself since he'd put so much focus and energy into getting you to cum on him harder than you did on Geto.

And even after, by the time he's obscenely thrusting his own load into you, Geto still looks as though he's got something up his sleeve.

The cult leader had spilt into his hand already but that mattered little, as he had one more thing in mind in order to win this imaginary competition he'd set.

Zuko pulled out of you and lowered your used body down gently onto the bed right in front of Geto. A mix of your release and his seed leaked out from inside you. He moved a hand to the top of your head to pat you softly and wiped sweat from his brow before casting Geto a glance, "There. I win."

The sly man smirked, "Did you?"

"I did," Zuko confirms, shrugging. "There's nothing else you can do to—"

He is oh-so-unfortunately cut off by Geto moving forward to nestle in between your legs.

Zuko clears some shakiness out of his throat, "You... You're not about to do what I think you are... r-right?"

Geto merely winks at the man before pushing your jittery legs apart. Your back falls towards Zuko, who easily catches you, and is left to watch Geto angle downwards.

Your pussy glistened with the evidence of Zuko spilling into you, a milky white left to leak from your hole. "How pretty," was the last thing Geto murmured before he did the unimaginable and dove in.

His tongue came in flat and broad as it lapped at your folds, just nasty in the way he scooped up the mingled folds onto it.

He sucked appreciatively on your cunt but you were whimpering above him, tugging at his hair and then pushing at him because your head's all confused with pleasure and the back to back stimulation. Geto's tongue swished around your clit before he sucked on it, and you gasped.

Your hand flew somewhere before you were clutching onto both Zuko's arm and Geto's head as the man cleaned you.

Zuko transfixed on the sight for a long timed before you heard him say, "Doing something so filthy for her pleasure..." He managed a smile in between his words, "How honorable."

Geto plucked his mouth away then, just to respond. "What's with you and this honor thing, huh?"

"Just take the compliment," Zuko hummed.

"Give me a normal one and perhaps I will."

"That is a normal one."

You snort wearily, "Zuko, my dear, there is... hahhh, n-nothing normal about you and your fixation on things being honorable."

To which he puffs, "Whatever."

tags (1/2):

@yenayaps @linakqra @rzaau @devileyeswriting @drakexl0verr @sukubusss @rubyluna09 @tw0w0 @yulissacastillo11 @sud778

@mua-for-now @helloxkittylo @pearlydays @cuffiescariche @hiromihigurumaswife @rotheboattohell @kewpie-kewpie @buntimefoxy @the-izumimidoriya-obsidium @miss-f0rtun3

@gracewinston @momentomoribitch @mortallyshadysoul @ashsummer @theclosetismadeofglass @tojisrightfoot @iiakithegoat @ria-outofcontext @aldebrana @orangetabbys-world

@katsunoir @penelopeguin @m1hawkkk @sickof3lli @michiiposts @kvsqkiii @kashimeowr @hithere2323 @fave-anime-fics @greatestearthhbender

“Now- I’ma a freak but I ain’t a fool. You want summa this you’re gonna have to give me somethin’ in return, cutie.” And Jabber is laughing at her from where he sat on the other end of the over-stuffed, patchwork couch in the long-empty common area of the Raiders’ base.

The room was dimly lit, only a desk lamp glowing on a side table in the corner.

They’d been chatting, both terrible insomniacs that tended to stay up late independently of their own accord-  but no cards or games had been brought out this time, just choosing to partake in each others company as some nights they were tend to do.

They got along well enough- though Jabber was more a beautiful thorn in her side lately than compatriot if she was being quite honest. These nights were nice though- when everyone else was long gone to bed floors up he seemed to chill out- no one to really put an act on for.

Except this time- the conversation had taken a slight…detour.

Jabber had been gushing to her about his latest experiments- and she knew that the masochist got off on his own supply, yeah- but this latest one he was describing? It couldn’t be anything but an actual, literal aphrodisiac. The ingredients, the way he described the way his body reacted, not his mind- it sounded devious. Salacious. Dirty.

She wanted a hit.

And she told him as much- and that twitch of his brows- the gleam in his eye-  told her he knew she would- so she ponders him for a moment, legs drawn up to her chest and cheek pressed to her knees- thinking on the vibes she’d been getting from him in the year since she’d joined the Raiders.

Some banter, playful and more than a bit flirty. The pet names were pretty new though- calling her cutie and mami and doll as of late- slowly picking up in the past few months, she’d guess- and they hadn’t escaped her notice. Though she’d tried to push the fluttering in her stomach his rapt attention caused down forcefully.

She didn’t have time for masochistic little sycophants, she had her own problems. However- his attention, despite how incessant it was- had unfortunately started to melt that block in her chest she thinks might have been her heart at one point.

Jabber had also started pissing her off more. Always hovering- the pet names always paired with verbal jabs shot at her, which seemed to very much counter the way he seemed to have her back like it was a rule on the field.

She can’t remember the last time she’d gotten actually seriously injured in battle past her first four months on the Raiders- she was always paired with Jabber- and he was always practically plastered to her backside every mission.

And they moved together well- like two well oiled cogs in a delicate machine- despite Jabbers’ seemingly undammable need to always be speaking.

He seemed to delight in the way her fists would clench when he’d mock her Jinki- a pair of brass knuckles that grew into massive, spiked boxing gloves- but she also knew why he did it. 

And him liking her and showing it like a middle schooler who would explode if they were genuine for even a moment- it made her like him back, more than a little.

It was endearing- once she’d figured out what it was.

So she sighed, rolling her eyes and standing.

“Hey, hey, hey- I was just playin’-“ His attempts at playing it cool were cut off by her plopping herself into his lap, straddling him and shoving his shoulders so he was laying back into the threadbare couch cushions.

“Yeah? Just playin’?” She parrots back, and she can see his tongue coming out to wet his lips as he stares up at her, eyes widening in shock.

And Jabbers’ not hiding a damn thing.

His smile is lazy but deviant, his hands coming up to grip her hips and press her down on his covered bulge that was already hard. No build up or foreplay needed for this jackass.

“Damn- do you just walk around like that? That’s sick.” She laughs at him mockingly, and he’s chuckling himself, leaning back harder to thrust up against her- his response a tight moan through his teeth.

“Ever since you joined? Yea. Now lemme know just how sick you think I am.”

His voice is a purr, and his grin somehow turns more wicked, his brows twitching as she rolls her hips down, biting her lip and giving him a coy smirk.

“But you’re gonna haveta gimme a little more, dol-“ his words are once again cut off- but this time by the loud SMACK! of her palm hitting his face without hesitation nor preamble.

The sting rings through her hand and Jabbers’ face, and his head snaps to the right as his hips twitch underneath her, a desperate whine escaping him.

She then grips his cheeks in her hand- forcing him to look at her as she grins- eyes wide like she thinks he’s an idiot and shaking her head as she speaks tauntingly.

“I know what you want, you little weirdo.”

And Jabbers eyes light up as he bites his lip, and she can only chuckle shortly through her nose as her other hand comes up to grip his- bringing his middle and ring fingers up to her mouth as she draws them in slowly, sucking them in her until Mankira touches the barrier of her lips-then past.

And his head leans back, mouth open in a shaky moan as she bites down, hard- just barely stopping herself from drawing blood before washing the pain away with her tongue and pulling his fingers out with a pop!-  keeping them pressed to her lips as she murmurs.

“Now won’t you give me what I want?”

And his only response is pulling his hand back slightly, that hazy fuchsia glow fading in as Mankira takes form.

It’s a smaller, daintier version- less lethal and more… seductive, the long silver talons only a few inches long instead of the massive gleaming daggers he chooses to use in battle.

“This one is the one you want, babygirl.” Jabber murmurs, waggling his pointer finger at her teasingly- and she leans in, locking her gaze with his and sticking out her tongue.

“Oh? You want it there, huh? You nearly as much of a freak as I am.” And his voice and eyes are curious as he slowly presses his hand forwards, just barely pressing the tip of Mankira against her tongue- a drop of blood welling immediately when he pulls back, and she watches the pink hues disappear from his burgundy gaze as Mankira puts herself away.

The feeling is…immediate, a sense of desire mixed with the subtle ache of an agony she’d never experienced before shooting from the tip of her tongue- to that space below her belly button and straight to her pulsing cunt.

“Now we goin’ for a ride” Jabber moans as he rushes up, capturing her tongue that still hung out of her mouth and sucking the blood and venom that seeped from the wound.

Her body was on fire. - the sound of her blood rushing through her ears and her heart feeling like it was trying to escape through her rib cage like a trapped animal desperate for release; hands shoot up and they grip his throat, a resounding groan of desire escaping the freak underneath her as she cuts off his air supply, his mouth opening greedily as she swipes her tongue inside- the metallic tang of blood mixing with the bitter taste of venom and something that was so entirely him.

All of the feelings she’d been trying to push down were rising to the surface of her skin- the lust, mixed with a swirling mixture of some she was refusing to collar- refusing to name for they were too kind and soft for who she was at her core.

The feeling to consume him- take him and break him was overtaking her, and when she finally pulls back to breathe- it’s paired with another stinging slap to his face, his hips bucking as she starts bouncing in his lap, his length pressing against her suddenly buzzing clit. 

Her head is back, mouth open as a breathy gasp is forced out of her on every downwards motion, her hips rolling as she used him as a toy.

“Damn, didn’t know how good it’d affect you-“ and she’s slapping him again, before slamming her hand over his mouth as she grinds down on his cock.

“Shut the fuuuuck up you nasty little fucking psycho.” She whines, digging her nails into his cheeks and she can feel him laughing underneath her, his shit-eating grin and even cockier voice muffled behind her palm.

“Yes, mami.”  

And she’s rolling her eyes, no amount of aphrodisiac could make her not want to wring his neck at that.

Wait.

Her hand comes down, away from his mouth- and he gets out a “hell, yes” right before she’s backhanding him and grinding down in one smooth motion.

Jabbers’ cheek is turning a deep shade of red where she’d hit him,, and his breathing his ragged, lids lowered as he’s watching her rise from his form like a deranged pervert.

And he stares, licking blood from his teeth as she grips the bottom of her shirt and strips it, braless for comfort which he made no complaints over.

“Strip, idiot.” She snaps, and he’s ripping at his clothes, eager as ever to get to the good stuff.

She wasn’t that patient either- a light sheen of sweat covering her skin, every nerve feeling like a live wire as the drug pumped through her system.

And she loved it.

“You gonna use that Jinki on me, or what?” He murmurs, now standing across from her nude as the day he was born- not a lick of insecurity marring his delicately beautiful features as he unashamedly strokes his considerable length in front of her. 

And even his cock was pretty- long and a bit slim, the skin looking velvety soft and even the angry shade of red tinging the tip was beautiful.

She can see goosebumps forming on his skin as she takes her time observing him.

Smooth, beautiful and deeply tanned skin marred by small scars everywhere- proud medals of his own experimentation upon himself mixed with the years of being a raider she was sure.

Skin that was stretched taught over lithe muscles, an athletic but slim build that was making her rub her thighs together, eager for any kind of friction.

She ponders his words, tapping her chin with her finger, before shrugging and reaching over to her jacket long discarded before their hedonistic acts had begun- hand slipping into pocket and pulling out the brass knuckles. She slips them onto her hand and flexes her fingers- before the glow of Anima shines in her eyes and her Jinki starts to take form.

Not boxing gloves- not right now.

Long, dainty yet deadly looking spikes emerge from the brass along her knuckles- turning a punch from blunt force to four lethal puncture wounds if she were to choose to do so.

And she glances back up at him, meandering towards Jabber as his eyes light up in delight.

“I knew you were holdin’ out on me.” He practically moans as she flips her hand, just barely dragging the tips of her Jinki down his chest, and a shuddering breath is drawn from him as he tilts his head back, itty-bitty pebbles of blood rising to the surface of his skin just from the slight brush of her thorns.

His head leans back, eyes closing as he enjoys the sting- only for his eyes to snap back open as her other hand connects with his face, drawing his full attention back to her.

And the look on her face was scary. Lust and disgust swirling behind her Anima as she grips his cheeks again.

“Stop looking at me and all this is over, you sick freak.” She murmurs- and the soft coo of her voice is starkly contrasted by a harsher, deeper drag of her Jinki down his right pectoral, a gasp being ripped from him as he nods quickly.

“God just keep talkin’ to me like that and I’ll give you whatever you want dollface.” Jabber whines, and the sardonic smirk that flies to her lips has his brows twitching into a pleading look- before he’s dropping to the ground and rushing up towards her- no hesitation whatsoever as he slams his face between her legs and starts rutting his nose against her clit through her shorts.

“Please tell me what you think of me, mami.” He groans, and she shudders, his desperate nuzzling of her core causing her to bite her lip as she tangles her hands in his locs.

Just this indecent trotting against her clothed pussy has her body twitching from the stimulation- and she’s groaning.

“I think you’re a nasty fucking pervert.” 

She can see his hand go to wrap around his cock, pumping it languidly  as his other goes to pull the barrier of her shorts aside to start licking hot, wet stripes up her core- and she realized she was already drenched when her shorts clung to her- no panties on like some kind of pervert herself.

“Come on, more.” Jabber demands whinily, and she’s gasping as he speaks, the rumble of his voice nuzzling across her folds, hips twitching towards his devious tongue and her Jinki deactivating as she’s so distracted by his actions.

“I think you’re an impulsive asshole who doesn’t deserve the nice meal he’s getting.” She hisses, and his resulting chuckle has her hands tightening in his locs- which in turn drags a low moan from the man.

Despite her words, she’s forcing him deeper, his tongue slipping from his lips once more and pressing inside of her entrance with an urgency that’s heightened by her grip on his head.

Her head is tilted back, soft moans escaping on her breath as she rides his face, hips rolling and her hands forcing him deeper- the sounds filling the darkened common area vulgar and wet, as he’s moaning and ravaging her cunt with his lips and tongue, head pressed so tight against her she couldn’t tell or care if he could breathe as she rocks her hips against him.

The drugs pumping through her body had her aware of every flick, every touch and practically every disgusting thought that ran through his mind, her body put into absolute overdrive as she felt that pulsing begin in her lower stomach.

“Fuuuck, stick your fingers in me you fucking asshole.” She demands, and he immediately complies, his middle and ring fingers plunging until her folds were wrapped around Mankira, his tongue coming to flick desperate licks across her clit as she could feel heat building in her lower abdomen.

“Jabber, don’t you dare fucking stop you stupid piece of shit.”  She hisses through her lower teeth- and she can hear him laugh against her clit, and he’s staring up at her with his tongue between her folds, a blissed-out, pussy-drunk smile on his face as he forces a third finger inside her, Jabbers’ pace increasing as he moans against her cunt.

“Yessss mami give it to me, all mine, all mine…”

The drugs have her so wet it’s slipping down his forearm, the disgusting sound of her cunt being finger-fucked by the annoying asshole who wouldn’t give her a moment to breath like a symphony of debauchery, and the way he wraps his lips around her swollen clit and starts sucking it has her falling to pieces.

And she’s quivering- knees buckling and forcing him to catch her on his shoulders as her hands come to slap over her mouth to hold back her scream of ecstasy as the most depraved, sick orgasm she’d ever had rips through her body.

It felt like her soul had gotten punched out and slammed back in.

And Jabber isn’t letting up- he’s still sucking and curling those fingers in her and he’s not stopping- lapping at her and moaning like a whore against her, and she tries to yank him away, but he’s relentless.

“Nah-nah-nah, this shits’ all mine now- you’re gonna have to make an appointment.” He slurs against her, and she’s rolling her eyes, before she laces her hands through his locs and yanking him up hard.

And finally he allows himself to be ripped away, a moan being dragged from him as she grips his face with her other hand and starts cleaning her juices off of his throat and chin.

Jabber sticks his tongue out, and she greedily sucks on it, collecting the saliva and her desire that pooled on it before pulling back, and spitting into his waiting mouth.

And a shudder rips through him as he closes his mouth and swallows, before opening his mouth wide was a triumphant “aaaaahhhhh!”

“You’re fucking disgusting.” She murmurs cooly, and she can see his cock jerk up against his stomach, his teeth biting into his lower lip as he gazes at her from lowered lashes.

She glances down, and her brows twitch- a smirk ghosting past her lips as she reaches out- and flicks the head of his cock, his hips jerking back as a gasp is torn from his throat.

“Shit- warn a gu-“ 

SMACK!

She had a habit of shutting him up this way- though he wasn’t complaining. 

“You’re gonna take any touch I give you happily- and you’re going to thank me for it.” She hisses- and his eyes widen, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows harshly before nodding.

“Yes, mami.”

And his obedience is rewarded by her hand- and the glow of her Anima returning- dragging the back of her spiked hand down the other side of his chest, a warbled cry softly leaving his lips as he reaches for her- only for his hands to be slapped away.

“What makes you think I want those hands all over me?” She sneers, and she can see a tremble start across his skin, and he’s dropping back down to his knees, hands dropping to his own lap as he starts begging her.

“Please, mami- I’m dyin’ here! Please let me inside that pretty pussy- it tastes so good I just know it’s gonna hug my cock so much nicer than you talk to me- please?” Jabber is gripping her thighs, looking up at her with glassy eyes and a pleading look that had her domineering attitude cracking.

She pinches his chin between her fingers and leans down, brushing their noses together in the first semblance of gentleness the whole night.

“Do you think you deserve it? You’ve been very annoying lately.” She murmurs, and she saw something snap behind his eyes- the gentleness giving him a go-ahead she hadn’t meant to give him, and he was rushing up and capturing her lips in a kiss that felt far too loving for the behavior they’d been partaking in.

His hands go to wrap around the back of her neck, and he’s rising, walking her backwards until her calves hit the couch and she’s forced to fall backwards, with him atop her.

“Please, please, I’ll be a good boy, I’ll be such a good boy for you….” Jabber is slurring against her lips, his hips rutting his cock against the curve of her hip against his will as he desperately hunts for any kind of relief for his aching length.

Her hands grip the locs at the base of his neck and pull his head back- gazing at his lust-drunk face with a soft, kind on of her own.

“You promise?” She murmurs, and he nods eagerly, dipping his head in to press loving kisses to the places his blood had smeared across her body when he’d pressed their chests together- the friction reopening the wounds and causing them to weep again.

“Mmm… okay.” And the permission she granted had him moaning in excitement, pulling back and gripping her hips- yanking her ass towards his upper legs and pressing her thighs up against her stomach.

The middle of her shorts is torn open with his hands as he desperately ruts his cock against her, the head of it running against her drug- stimulated clit and forcing her to writhe underneath him, the hot, firm weight of his body on her zapping all the live wires attached to her skin with an erotic heat.

“Thank you, thank you thank you thank you.” He’s moaning against her throat, as his hips pull back and his cock presses inside of her tight cunt, matching shivers running down their bodies as he makes his way home.

“Fuck, I was so right, I knew taking all that bitching was gonna be worth it.” He’s breathing against her, and she lets out a short bark of laughter, pulling his head away from her throat so she could look at his face.

“You’re so lucky you’re beautiful.” She murmurs, before bringing him in for another aching kiss- one too soft, too intimate than what they’d been giving each other.

And her loving words seemed to short-circuit him for a second, eyes going wide, body stilling-  then a breathy, pathetic moan into their kiss he starts rolling his hips into hers.

“Ohhh fuck, new thing unlocked.” Jabber pants, and he’s staring her dead in the eyes as he leans back, pulling her ankles to rest on his shoulders.

Gone was the begging, pleading boy who was desperate for a taste of her- and here was a man who had figured out what else he wanted on his plate.

His hips are suddenly snapping against her, the couch inching across the floor with every thrust as he leans in to growl in her ear, in a mating press that had her eyes rolling into the back of her head in something other than exasperation.

Damian, who was prone to being harsh with his words, but had never gone out of his way to hurt you on purpose. You had even considered it a charm of his, because there had always been something tender laced within his actions, that always spoke louder than his words.

When he quietly swapped his plate with yours, a quiet consideration without ever once looking up, having memorised your allergies without you realising.

When he subtly placed his hand behind your back in galas, chasing off vultures who aimed for your status, with a silent glare that places you under his direct protection.

When he carried you all the way to his bedroom after a bad sprain on your ankle from a bad fall down the stairs in his manor, with biting remarks and a tender caress over your swollen skin as he applied an ice-pack, worry creased into his brow.

Was it all a ruse?

The wound is only inflicting on itself with every memory torn apart and searched for any evidence, any signs for his dislike. You trusted Damian, which is why it hurt so much to hear him talk about you this way. As if those small moments were all mere inconveniences for him, that burdened him. You had assumed he at least reciprocated your friendship, but now… if only he had faced you instead, with an honest willingness to express how uncomfortable he was.

If it was space Damian wanted, he should have communicated it with you. Instead of mouthing it to his brothers behind your back, without allowing for your voice of input to clarify on the boundaries he wanted.

You don’t notice time passing, standing in the corner of the hallway, your heels digging into the soles of your feet—till you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder. You flinch, brushing the sudden grip off only to find Damian in your swarmed vision. Concern flickers in the green flecks of his eyes… or was it annoyance? The ability to read through his mask, it feels as if it’s been an illusion all along.

“Spaced out?” Damian taunts, one brow cocked at your strange behaviour. "I told you not to come."

I told you not to come. You’re not sure what is the appropriate response, not when you feel a clog in the back of your throat. You never had to think twice on your words before, not in front of him.

“Tired.” You admit, because at the very least, that word carried a semblance of truth. You’ve never felt more exhausted in your life, and the culprit was standing in front of you, completely unfazed. “I think I should head home.”

His eyes widen imperceptibly, not expecting you to take his words so literally. You were never one to skip out on a dance before a gala has ended, no matter how boring the event was. Often, you’d drag him by the arm as your partner, only because the look on his face was easily the best memory of the night. At least, it should’ve been.

His lips part, ready to form his signature 'I told you so', but your ghastly expression makes him hesitate. He clears his throat, offering his hand and slotting himself by your side. “Very well. I’ll escort you.”

“No.” It blurts out quick, desperate.

His surprise slips through his impassive expression. His hand still outstretched—freezes, doubt etched into the crease of his mouth.

“You should be with your family.” You reply, straining a smile. “I won’t take up more of your time.”

It was meant to sound considerate, but the quickness of your tongue made it sound like a solemn promise.

His eyes narrow in puzzlement but you’ve already turned, moving out of his reach towards the exit. He doesn’t make an attempt to stop you, and it hurts that maybe, part of you still hoped he would. To prove his statement wrong, that you mattered more than being a nuisance.

You’ll give him what he wants. Space. Maybe you needed it too, to understand the emotions weighing on you. This hurt—betrayal—shock, you needed time to process it. To reevaluate what Damian Wayne really means to you.

Damian hasn’t heard from you in two days. In the past forty-eight hours, he has tracked your location to ensure you weren’t kidnapped, or lost your phone. Both suspicions were refuted, and the only anomaly that remains is your uncharacteristic silence ever since that night at the gala.

His gaze flickers back to the opened message channel, where his text ‘Have you arrived?’ remains unread. Running a hand through his locks, this may be Damian's first—for his conclusions to come up empty. His text was a mere front, an opening to ask about your wellbeing. His confidence in your reply was absolute, and he never once considered ending up in this standstill. Despite being apart from your constant presence, he finds that you’re somehow occupying more of his mental capacity.

He should’ve went after you the moment he saw that strange, desolate expression on your face when he found you, hidden alone in the corner. Your solemn attitude rang caution bells, concern—which is why he offered to bring you back. It was instinctive, natural. He never expected your rejection. The sting caught him off-guard, words of concern trapped in his throat. He didn’t master the skill of comfort as easily as you did, with sweet, honey words easily coming to your forefront.

He’s overthinking the situation, analysing it till the details have gone runny in his hands—blurry aside from the clear vision of your back turned towards him. Still, there was something about your goodbye… that left him strangely unsettled.

"There you go again." He hears your teasing voice, already memorised in his mind—a poke of your finger against his cheek. "Overanalysing the situation. Just ask me, Dami."

He shakes his head, trying to dissuade the many possibilities that ended in zero conclusions. It’s not a big matter. Today was one of the rare occurrences where his biology classes coincided with yours, leaving a lunch break where he could demand for answers. He’s sure that once he sees your usual, brightened expression—the discomfort in his chest will disappear.

Damian waits with strained patience outside your lecture hall. Various eyes are casted onto him—a rare, Gotham Times worthy sight of a lone Wayne waiting for some mysterious figure, but the attention is none of his concern. His eyes are locked on you instead, watching you pack your bag through the open gap of the door, the AC blasting a cold breeze against his nose bridge.

You’re laughing at some unheard joke from this distance, and it should soothe his worries—to see you refreshed compared to your exhaustion two days ago. He understands better than anyone how exhausting those galas are, which is why he tried to dissuade you from attending in the first place. Still, you had insisted on accompanying him, much to his chagrin. He at least hoped you didn't flunk your midterms today by overexerting yourself, despite his previous warnings, or else he really wouldn't be able to restrain himself from saying I told you so.

All fleeting thoughts of teasing you are discarded at the sight of an unknown blond male, chatting you up and making you laugh as hard as you did. His foot taps in a repeating manner, discomfort swarming in his chest the longer he watched, before catching his own fretting and forcing himself to stay still. This unknown variable is not a problem. Once you spot him, you'll come to his side instead—naturally.

This reassurance paces his impatience, waiting for you to notice him as you made it towards the door. His chest rises, anticipation creeping in as your head raises—and meets his gaze.

You smile, like you always do, and it has the same application of a soothing balm over the minor migraine he's formed from over-checking your coordinates. Waiting for you to come to him, his lips part with a ready excuse for why he came to find you instead of meeting at your usual lunch spot.

Only for you to walk right past him.

He blinks, unable to process what just happened. Impossibly in a single moment, he became invisible to your eye. His mind works in overdrive, unable to piece the facts together that you just walked past him. The probabilities calculated don't align with reality, but his body reacts faster. His hand reaches out, grabbing onto your wrist impulsively—right as you made your turn towards the hallway.

You stumble, gaze flickering down to his grip in surprise. “...Damian?” You blink as if stunned, like you hadn’t just walked past him like he was a ghost.

“You haven’t responded to my messages.” He blurts out with almost immediate regret. Now, his position comes off as a confrontation, and that blond is staring at him with vague amusement. Pathetic, he feels shame burn in the back of his throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

You stare at him unblinkingly, before your mouth parts in acknowledgment. “Ah, that. Tim should've updated you, did he not?”

Tim. A heated frustration arises in his chest, but he can’t figure out what exactly is stoking the fire. The realisation that you prioritised Tim's messages over his, or your strange nonchalance to his concern. “You’ve been conversing with Drake?”

“I needed his help with finding a new collection—he’s also a fan of the series.” You shrug. "With the midterms and his constant updates about the shipment from Japan, I must’ve missed yours."

“Your business with Drake isn’t my concern.” He spits out, harsher than intended. An uncomfortable slither of emotions is writhing in his chest, and the thought that you and Tim have been conversing in secret all along these past two days, bonding to something he wasn’t privy to... it was irritating.

Why had you gone to Tim instead? If you had asked him, he could've easily gotten you the collection.

“What is our relationship then?” You implore casually, eyeing his reaction. “If your concern is so situational."

Whatever he was expecting, he didn’t expect that. His lashes flutter, his composure all but ruined as his mind tries and fails to merge the you he knows, and the you in front of him. You don't seem angry. So, why was he beginning to feel a sense of dread?

“Weren’t you the one who always decided the labels for us?” He asks after a moment, his voice rough against the unexpected impact of your question.

Your expression finally flickers, disappointment slipping through the cracks of your smile. His response has displeased you, even he could read into that.

“I’ll let you answer for us this time.” You reply, and it’s distant—cold. Unlike you. “You can choose whichever you deem fit.”

“Wait.” His rushed voice sounds desperate even to his own ears. The sight of your back turned towards him is something he never wanted to see again. His gaze flickers between you and the blond, questioning. “Are we not supposed to have lunch together?”

You turn back, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Your smile reappears, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m having lunch with Lawrence, so it’s okay. You don’t need to accompany me.”

Damian views the world akin to a battlefield. There are allies, enemies, changes in fronts and positions. He has fought hard to feel deserving of every position in his life, whether it had been his grandfather's heir, his father's blood son, or Robin. Right now, he feels as if his position beside you has been ripped out of his hands. Accompany? Is that how you saw it, like some sort of duty imposed on him that you could dismiss him of whenever you pleased?

"See you around, Dami." Even his nickname given by you comes off flat from your tongue. As if you were going through the motions, interacting with him from behind a wall that's suddenly been constructed without his notice.

You weren't completely ignoring him like he suspected, but this distance... feels much worse.

There was something, very obviously wrong.

You aren’t sitting beside him. In the seat reserved for you, that’s meant for you.

It had been set from the very start, maybe initially because the two of you were the only children ever-present during family business dinners... and later, with your constant chattering that the adults found had an amusing effect on him.

He's gotten used to exchanging cuts of his meals with yours, or swapping his glass if his had more ice cubes in them, because you liked your beverages freezing cold. Used to you whispering unrelated stories and jokes into his ear when his father talks business with your father, and he has to resist a quirk up his lips because it would mean that you won in your little game to crack his exterior. Now, it's as if an entire routine has been disrupted, and Damian was a man of routine.

He watches you, eyes like a hawk over your every movement, trying to detect any pause in this unreachable mask of yours. You slice your steak without fault, placing your cut between your lips as you nod along to your father's words, seated at his right hand. You don't blink an eye in his direction, and he's tempted to walk right over and drag you out of that very chair.

To corner you in a space without prying eyes, and... what? He swallows dryly, forcing himself to look back down at his untouched meal. What could he say without sounding like a lunatic?

That he suspects that he's done something wrong merely because you've switched seats today? Or that you've been skipping out on lunches with him. Or all the way back to that cursed gala, when you had refused his hand to escort you back home.

Another troubled ‘Tt’ slips past his gritted teeth, and that finally reaches your ears.

When he meets your curious gaze, a silly gust of hope appears so quickly in his chest at the luck that he's finally caught your attention. He raises a brow, a silent question, gesturing to head to a private room with the tilt of his head. You've always understood his silent words better than anyone else did.

Which is why it shocks him when you merely cast your gaze back to your father, leaving his question unanswered. He wasn't deluding himself in this occasion. You're clearly rejecting his gesture, pretending as if you never saw it.

His grip tightens, crumpling into the table cloth, shame colouring his features. He has to put an end to this. Regardless of your coy act, he knows you. Maybe you had a bet with one of his brothers—who knows what schemes they've configured after their constant interrogations during the gala, successfully running a fuse on his temper.

Or maybe, he’s displeased you with an inadequate response. You had mentioned it before, the term 'labels'. Honestly, he never once considered trapping you in something so jarringly concrete. Bonds, human connections—they were always needlessly complicated.

What you meant to him, it expanded beyond the limitations of languages. You, who saw past his sharp exterior and pushed him beyond his limits, and him, who found himself staying despite every rational thought pleading him not to expose his weakness so easily out in the open.

It was simply natural from the moment he met you, instinctive to remain by your side just as you always found a place to slot beside his. Terrifyingly easy, that he refused to let anyone see the softness you evoked out of him. It was meant for you, and only you. Now, the strike of your absence, despite being only a few feet away from him, is running a deeper cut into his conscience, tracing back to the questions that's been bombarded on him by his siblings.

But—what does she mean to you, Dames?

What would your life look like without her?

In a desperate attempt to brush off questions that aroused a panic he had never felt before, he came up with quick, venom-filled words to dissuade his brothers. Oddly enough, he never wished to reveal what you meant to him, not aloud.

It made it feel too real, too vulnerable. As if the world could swallow you whole if he admitted just how irreplaceable you were, that he couldn't envision a life without you by his side. His grandfather had made it so—that any weaknesses should be removed from its roots.

He did not want to remove you from his life, so you are not his weakness.

He's tempted to curse his brothers to oblivion. If only they hadn't sprung such obnoxious questions, then these thoughts wouldn't be invading him, and the universe wouldn't have punished him for it.

He had already felt the brimming inevitability of something bound to go wrong the moment he was faced with vulnerability. If it had been anyone else, he would have retreated in a similar manner as he always had. To not show weakness, to prove that he was above silly affections and attachments to others—but it's you.

He has to fix this. Whatever it is that's wrong. If only you would look at him, then maybe you'd see his desperation too and let him in.

Damian doesn't receive an opening till the next gala. A cruel twist of fate the universe has decided to play on him, as if openly mocking his distress, to end up right back where the entire fiasco started.

He's barely kept himself sane. In these past two weeks, you've only responded to his messages—horrible attempts of reconnection, with mere one word replies, and visited the manor to hang out with his other siblings. When he had caught you lounging on Tim's bed, ranting about the new series you both were so invested in, he nearly tore the door straight off its hinges.

He craves for your silly rants during lunches. Your presence dipping the corner of his bed as you sketched doodles of his family in their vigilante costumes. Your warm laughter that soothes a long night of patrol.

He misses you... terribly.

It doesn't help that you're a vision tonight, only worsening the trembling ache in his chest. Dressed in your favourite colour that make you so strikingly vivid, already seared into his mind as he stares unblinkingly, he doesn't realise he's been holding his breath till your heels click with an ever-increasing volume towards him. Your nearing approach is what finally snaps him out of his daze, and his hand immediately shifts. Out of mere habit, for you to hold onto his arm as always.

Your hand doesn't lift to meet his, remaining stuck to your side. It pushes him off balance, and he has to force himself to respond when you greet him.

"You...look beautiful." He admits, his voice a weakened imitation of itself. He hates this, and you look—you are beautiful. So much so that it hurts. Even if he tried to reach his hand out for you, he has the suspicions that you’ll only back away from his touch.

"Thank you." You smile politely, and the tone of your voice, practiced and composed, stings.

His lips part, ready to pull you aside and ask what he has done wrong. He is ready to do whatever you ask, to plead for forgiveness so long as that look in your eyes finally fades, anything to get you back. The real you, not hidden behind cruel distance and polite masks.

A familiar, dreadful face cuts in before he can. Damian’s gaze hardens, trained on the blond that's been trailing after you since two weeks ago, who currently has his hand outstretched for you. His scowl falters, panic swarming his instincts—when your own hand reaches out to take the stranger's invitation.

He utters your name, a weak pulse forming a lump in his throat.

You turn back, casting him a quick glance like his existence was an after-thought. "Lawrence offered to dance with me earlier. We'll catch up later, Dami."

His chest seizes completely. He doesn't process the alteration of his own steps, only finding your wrist captured between his fingers, his shoe stepped in between the gap of you and your dancing partner, functioning as an opposing barrier.

“I’m afraid—” His voice cuts in, deadly calm. “—she already has a partner for tonight.”

Your head whips around, unable to hide your shock. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowed at the suitor who's dared to try for your hand. Perhaps it's his building paranoia stemming from your continued absence, but the sight of someone taking you away by your willing hand is truly driving him mad.

It doesn't take long before Lawrence registers the message Damian sends with a single, warning glare. Hands off.

Finally able to breathe once the bastard's been chased off, he turns back to meet your gaze and is surprised to find the barely concealed anger in your eyes. You've never looked at him this way before.

That same discomfort that's plagued him constantly for the past two weeks builds in his chest at the thought that you even entertained the possibility of dancing with Lawrence. Damian had always been your dancing partner, no matter how much he claimed to dislike partaking in galas like these. If anyone was going to deal with sore feet from the accidental missteps of your heels, it will always be him.

“Is that the label you’ve decided on?” You ask, the first words uttered without that strange, distant tone you've used before. “Partners?”

“Does it displease you?” He presses, trying to gauge your reaction. “I will change it to whatever you prefer.”

You purse your lips, conflict arising in your gaze. “I don’t understand you.”

He exhales lowly. “I should say the same for you. You are the one who’s—” His jaw twitches, desperation slipping past his façade. “—drifting away.” From me, why are you acting as if I don’t matter—as if this doesn’t matter?

He shouldn't have drank all that wine from earlier.

Alcohol doesn’t affect him, not with its supposed dizzying sensation and loss of control when recklessly consumed, but it did make him bolder, his tongue sharper. Yet, seeing you trying to evade him—out of his reach, he found himself doing something he sworn to never do—being impulsive.

At the lack of your response, his hand still wrapped around your wrist tugs gently, a quiet plea for you to say something. He feels useless, small—and you're the only thing he desperately needs. To help him make sense of the chaos that's consumed his every waking thought, that's plunged and follow him into his dreams.

Eventually, you sigh. "We should talk."

A small hope reignites at this chance you've given him. It's automatic, already mapped out in his head as he guides you to an empty room on the second floor. You don't rip away from his hold at the very least, but from your strained steps, you're not ecstatic to be with him either.

Shielded from prying eyes once he shuts the door, you're quick to pull your hand out of his hold. His own mask fractures at the loss of your warmth—but when he forces his gaze away from your disconnected hands, he finally sees you shed your own to reveal your honest expression. You look tired, a mirrored reflection of the agony that’s been inflicted on him these past two weeks.

You settle at the loveseat, head resting on your palm as if the very weight of your unreadable thoughts have consumed you, leaving you exhausted. If only he could reach in and unravel them himself, to understand the change in you.

“Drifting away?” Your voice muses at his words, and it lands like a punch. Do you truly not understand what you've done to him? “You’ve seen me the entire week.”

He shakes his head adamantly, coming to stand before you, neck craned down to face your averting gaze. “I won't be easily fooled. You’re avoiding me. Standing in places you’re not supposed to be.”

It sounds childish. God, he was being driven insane the longer you stood there, finally in his sights and he just couldn’t stop drinking you in.

“Opting for the furthest seat. Skipping lunch breaks. Accepting another dance partner. Ignoring my messages. Not being by my side.” It pours out without stopping, even as he feels warmth burn at the back of his neck, reaching his ears. “Your behaviour has changed. Even when you're close, you’re out of reach.”

“And you say I’m the clingy one?” Your expression flickers, a mix of hurt and solemn amusement.

His brow creases. “When have I ever—”

His own voice echoes in his mind, in a taunting afterthought. “She’s clingy.”

The gala. The interrogations. Your sudden change in behaviour. You overheard his callous comment. His reckless mistake.

He calls out your name weakly. The gravity of his mistake—it feels as if the entire universe is collapsing onto him.

You let out a sigh, and the acceptance in it terrifies him. As if you’ve already prepared yourself in these past two weeks, to fully be out of his life.

“I overheard you at the charity gala.” Your admission coincides with his guess, and your unwavering gaze leaves him stripped of all his defenses.

It's dawning on him in quickening alarm, with how each passing day, you must've lost hope in him. That his careless words must've wounded you deeply, leaving you to rightfully pull away. That he is a complete and utter idiot, who has hurt the one person he swore to protect.

"Do you feel less smothered? After all, wasn’t space what you wanted?” You ask, and there is no anger in your voice—only apathy. "It was what I needed."

The admission silences him. His heart is thudding so hard that he hears the rush of blood in his eardrums.

No. It wasn’t what he wanted. Your absence has ruined him, and it wasn’t the faults of his brothers, or revealing his vulnerability. It was all on him.

“Isn’t it better for us both, if we kept our distance?” You propose. “Since we’ve gone past the line of hurting each other. It’ll be convenient for the both of us, and less burdensome for you.”

Your calm demeanour is a bigger slap to his face than you shouting at him, demanding for him to apologise or to make things right. In the face of your acceptance, it’s as if you expected that this was the outcome he wanted.

He has a paralysing realisation, that if he doesn't beg for your forgiveness, you'll never come and seek for his repentance ever again. With every passing second, he feels time running out of his hands as your expression closes at the lack of his response, ready to abandon the room. Abandon him.

Desperation strips Damian bare of his pride when his knees hit the ground, landing harshly before you in the lowest form of begging. He doesn't give you time to process what he’s done before his fingers gently wrap around yours, caressing them with a firm grip.

“Damian!" Your expression warps in shock, meeting the intensity seared in gaze. "What are you doing? Get up—"

“I was wrong.” He admits without hesitation. “All the words I said, not a single one of them holds the truth.”

Your shock dampens, and he sees the barest hurt displayed on your expression. It pushes him to strain past his walls, to keep speaking if it meant not seeing your back turned towards him.

“You asked me to define us once, by labels.” He recalls. “I am not good with words. It has always been—difficult. To understand when to push further and when to fall back. To not act as if every situation is a death sentence if I bared my vulnerabilities out in the open, but—I know that my faults are not an excuse for my actions."

"I have broken your trust and left you feeling unsure of your position in my life, and I must correct it. You are not clingy, or a burden. You are the most important person in my life."

“The lies were nothing more than a cover... my brothers had caught onto my attachment and wouldn't give up on their interrogations.” He admits through the grit of his teeth. “They were always more observant of what I tried to push down, and my behaviour around you—it was obvious that you had an effect on me. It's as if you are the center that I gravitate towards, pulling me in towards your every whim and desire.”

“They tried to help me make sense of it, and I panicked. Selfishly, I wanted to keep my weakness a secret only known to the promises I've made for you in my mind. My fondness for you felt like a curse if I revealed it.” He whispers. “I had always assumed that what you held closest to your heart is what you should guard the most."

“I uttered those foolish words because I had assumed that if only I knew the extent of my devotion towards you, you would be safe. That we could continue as we always had, without declaring a target on your back, so that the world wouldn’t rip you away so easily.”

“I was a coward.” He murmurs, pleading in earnest. “I have mistreated you and taken you for granted. I tried to convince myself that lies were better than revealing the truth, which is that I have always coveted to by your side."

"I am deeply sorry. For ever making you feel that you're anything less than.” He breaks. "That couldn't be further from the extent to which I adore you. To which I need you. I can’t imagine a life without you, so—"

"Please—" He's never been taught to beg, but he can't lose you. Even if it takes him years, decades to regain your trust, it doesn't matter. "—it is selfish of me to beg for your forgiveness, but I will do anything. I will explain the full truth to my family. I will take on any punishment but—I can’t lose you. These past two weeks have been torture, and... I miss you."

Finally, after his chest is heaving with the burn of his confessions and a lack of oxygen, does he quiet. In the face of your coming judgement, he has never been more nervous in his life.

"Damian." You mutter. "I have not forgiven you."

His breath hitches, and despite all he's done to expect this outcome, he couldn't have been more unprepared for the impact of the blow. His hands falter around yours, and his knees have gone weak.

"W—What do you want me to change?" He can barely hear his own voice over his rapturing heartbeat. "Is it something I said? My behaviour, my actions—I can improve. I can fix this."

You give him a look that signals that you're not done. He forces himself to quiet, lips pursed as he slowly—painfully waits.

"In these past two weeks..." You admit. "I really tried to reevaluate what you mean to me."

"I understand you, more than anyone else has because you've let me in." You answer. "But just because I see you—and I know that's a vulnerability you don't easily show to people—doesn't mean that you get an easier way out."

"You did hurt me. I'm acknowledging that, and because I care about you, it hurts even worse." You reveal. "It wasn’t fair that you brought up such harsh words to describe me behind my back, and it’s not going to be something I can brush over easily, no matter the reason. I don't think we can fully go back to how it was before, not without moments where I will feel doubt. That's a trust you have to rebuild, not just with one big apology, but through your words and actions, every single day."

He nods, hanging onto every word you're willing to give him, even as your vocal admission of him hurting you feels like a vicious whip.

"But I am willing to give you that chance—to heal the hurt you've caused me, to prove that you won't pull away when you're scared I'm getting too close." You declare. "I'm giving you a chance to fix your mistake, because I know you, Dami. I know you'll keep your promises, and that you have a heart. One that's willing to change."

He lets out a shaking breath, and he finds your fingers caressing over his in a gentle touch. Not forgiving him completely, but reassuring in its warmth.

"I—" Left bare after pouring his heart out, the adrenaline rush that came from his full vulnerability has finally left his chaos-ensued mind blank.

From the very moment you had entered his life, it was an undeniable fact he had only grown to understand, to not fear—and it was that he loved you. The same distant concept he once viewed through the multiple perspectives of others, now existing right there in his beating heart. Yet, it didn't feel right in this moment. Not when you were giving him this chance to rebuild the trust he has broken. He will wait, for as long as you'll let him, he will cherish anything you'll give him.

"I know." You whisper, silently reading what he’s trying to convey through a single glance. "We'll figure us out together."

He sighs, head falling against your lap, lips brushing over your intertwined fingers—a soft, imperceptible kiss to your knuckles. It's natural, instinctive, everything he could ever want. To rest in your presence that’s finally allowed him to breathe again, surrounded by your warmth and voice.

"I thought you hated dancing." You muse.

"Not when it's with you." He admits quietly. "I haven't trained myself to bear the crushing of your heels, just for someone to take my place."

"I can't believe you called me the clingy one." Your amusement doesn't displease him, not in the slightest.

"Perhaps I shall reinstate our relationship to my brothers then." He murmurs. "I'm sure they'll have a field day once I admit that I'm the one who can't bear to be without you."

Finally, he hears the familiarity of your laugh. He has missed that.

"I'd like to see that."

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dc masterlist -> damian + other dc works