"That Damn Pillow" : After a long deployment, John comes home to find his very pregnant wife buried in a fortress of pregnancy pillows. He’s determined to win her back… from Jeff the pillow.
"Packed With Love": John Price has it all: a loyal wife, a happy home—and the best damn lunchbox in the whole task force.He’s smug about it. As he should be. Until one day—she surprises them all with their own bento boxes. Cue tears, chaos, and Michelin-star-worthy bites.
Simon Riley x Reader:
"The scent of you": You always wear the same perfume during intimacy with John Price. So much so that he links that smell to the act. When you decide to tease him and wear it out on a team dinner, he makes you regret ever thinking about displaying yourself like that outside of the bedroom. He engraves in your mind that the perfume isnt whats sacred but you and him linked together.
"Abnormal Heart Rate Detected" : After a quiet, sweet date, you kiss Ghost goodnight—only for his smartwatch to loudly alert him (and you) that his heart rate is going wild. Turns out even the most silent, composed man can’t hide when he's completely smitten.
"The Other Riley.": You’ve got two Rileys in your life — one’s a dog, and the other’s a masked soldier who’s definitely not thrilled about sharing your affection.
Johnny MacTavish x Reader:
"Let The Hair Be In Peace": Johnny "Soap" MacTavish has finally grown out his glorious hair to shoulder-length perfection. But when he casually mentions chopping it off, his wife spirals into mock devastation. Divorce? Maybe. Betrayal? Absolutely.
"Pickles at 2 A.M.": Reader’s pregnancy cravings strike again — this time at an ungodly hour. Soap is sleepy, shirtless, and entirely devoted (if slightly dramatic).
König x Reader:
"Cuddle Logistics: A König Dilemma”: All you want is to cuddle your giant boyfriend. All König wants is to hold you properly. Too bad he’s built like a tank and your bed is definitely not regulation size.
"Just Let Me Climb You”: You’re tired of asking for help reaching things in your own kitchen. König finds your stubbornness adorable…and maybe a little dangerous.
"Drowned in You": König never expected to walk in and find his girlfriend completely swallowed by his favorite hoodie. Now he doesn’t know whether to tease her, marry her, or never let her out of his arms again.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader:
"All in Hand": Reader and Kyle "Gaz" Garrick are in a cozy, committed relationship, and she has a soft, burning obsession with his hands and biceps. She can’t help but stare when he opens jars, flexes while cleaning, or casually rests a heavy palm on her thigh. Luckily for her, Kyle is more than happy to indulge, whether it’s for her comfort, her desire, or just the satisfaction of watching her melt from a single touch.
Avatar Aang x Reader:
"Airbound": Repopulating a nation is hard work, but Aang is nothing if not dedicated. Soo much breeding.
Fire Lord Zuko x Toph Beifong x reader:
"The fire and the stone": Getting railed to oblivion by your girlfriend Toph and the Fire Lord Zuko the two masters of their elements work together to push your body past every limit until you're nothing but a gushing, breathless mess in their arms.
Poly!tf141 x Reader:
“She’s in Labor?!?”: Your water breaks, and the strongest, deadliest men on Earth suddenly forget how to function.
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Summary: You always wear the same perfume during intimacy with John Price. So much so that he links that smell to the act. When you decide to tease him and wear it out on a team dinner, he makes you regret ever thinking about displaying yourself like that outside of the bedroom. He engraves in your mind that the perfume isnt whats sacred but you and him linked together.
Rating: Established relationship, scent kink, overstimulation, possessive!Price, public tension, semi-public smut, oral (f receiving), deep obsession, power dynamics, mild daddy kink, team banter.
Masterlist
---
You always wear the same perfume.
It wasn’t anything flashy. Not expensive or complicated. Just soft, sweet notes of vanilla, peony, and something vaguely powdery that warmed on your skin like sugar on fire. You’d picked it up on a whim months ago, never thinking much of it—until you started dating John Price.
And now? You couldn’t stop wearing it.
Not after the first time he’d buried his face in your neck, breathing you in like he was drowning and you were his last inhale. Not after the way he’d whispered “fuckin’ hell, what is that?” while pushing your panties aside like a man starved. Not after the dozens of times he’d groaned into your collarbone, “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. That perfume... that’s just for me, yeah?”
So yeah. You wore it. Every time. Because the scent wasn’t just perfume anymore—it was memory. It was his weakness.
When John invited you to join his team’s debrief-slash-bullshit-reunion-slash-pub-night at a safe house, he’d done it casually. Real smooth. Real normal. Like he hadn’t spent the previous night begging to finish in your mouth while praising you for being his “good, sweet girl.”
You’d smirked at the invite. “You sure it’s a good idea to bring your girl around the big bad Task Force boys?”
He’d rolled his eyes, pulled you into his lap. “They’ve been asking about you.”
“Asking about me?” you teased. “Or just wondering if I’m real?”
“Bit of both,” he admitted. “Soap still thinks you’re a deepfake.”
So, naturally, you dressed to kill.
Just a simple, flirty little dress—black with a sweetheart neckline, hugging your waist like a promise. Lips glossed, legs bare, and of course, your secret weapon: two spritzes of that perfume. One on your neck. One between your thighs.
A little evil? Yes.
But John Price deserved it.
You showed up fashionably ten minutes late, just as the laughter started to spike and the beer started to flow. John was already there—shirt rolled to his forearms, pint in hand, sitting back in an armchair with his legs spread like a king. The second you walked in, his eyes found you.
And you saw it. That flicker.
Not surprise. Not appreciation.
Need.
He didn’t move. Just blinked slowly, jaw tightening, his eyes tracking you like prey while Soap called your name and pulled you in for a hug.
You barely made it two steps before Soap was spinning you around dramatically. “Lads, see? Not AI-generated!”
Ghost gave a grunt from his corner. “Still not convinced. Could be deepfake and paid actor.”
Gaz grinned, reaching for the chips. “If she’s fake, I want the link.”
You laughed through their banter, the easy vibe of the team immediately winning you over. But John? Oh no. He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t even smile.
He was watching. Still. Eyes heavy. His beer untouched. You caught the way his fingers gripped the armrest. The way his nostrils flared when you leaned over to grab a drink.
He smelled it.
That perfume.
Fifteen minutes in, you feel it.
A presence behind you. Close.
Too close.
“I’ll kill all of them,” he murmurs into your ear like a prayer. “Every last one.”
You turn slowly. His face is inches from yours—eyes molten, voice dark with warning. “That perfume. Why would you wear that here?”
You give him your most innocent smile. “It’s just a scent, John.”
His nostrils flare. “That’s not just a scent. That’s our scent.”
And then, low enough only you could hear: “It’s what you wear when you ride my face and come on my beard.”
Your face flushes, heat rushing through your body like lightning. “John.”
He takes your drink, places it down, and laces your fingers with his. “Upstairs. Now.”
The room barely notices as he pulls you away.
Ghost raises an eyebrow. “Where’re you two sneakin’ off to?”
“Need to talk,” John throws over his shoulder.
Gaz cackles. “Talk, right.”
Soap whistles low. “Someone bring earplugs.”
But John doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t slow down.
His grip tightens on your wrist as he hauls you up the stairs, past the dim hallway of the safe house until he finds the first room with a door that shuts—and slams it behind you.
The second it clicks shut, he snaps.
You're pinned against the door before you can breathe.
His thigh wedges between yours, hard muscle pressing against the thin fabric of your dress. His hands bracket your face, and he inhales—a long, shaky breath right at your neck.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You planned this.”
You gasp when he grinds into you, his cock already hard, restrained behind worn jeans. “You know what that perfume does to me.”
“I missed you today,” you whisper, playing innocent. “Thought I’d remind you.”
“Remind me?” he growls. “Sweetheart, this scent’s got me thinkin’ about bending you over that pub table and fucking you stupid while the whole team watches.”
You whimper.
He drags your dress up, hand sliding over your ass. “What are you wearing underneath, huh? Lemme guess—nothing?”
You nod breathlessly. “Just me.”
His jaw ticks. “Fuckin’ evil, Gorgeous.”
The next second, he’s sinking to his knees.
And John Price on his knees is not a sight the world is ready for.
Bearded face level with your thighs, calloused hands spreading your legs open until your cunt’s on display for him. His voice comes low, reverent:
“This. Right here. Smells like heaven and hell mixed together.”
You squeak when his tongue presses flat against your folds, groaning into your skin like he’s worshiping. “Knew you’d be soaked,” he growls. “That smell. That fuckin’ perfume. It marks you as mine.”
His mouth moves like he’s possessed. Licking, sucking, drinking you in.
You moan his name, hand fisting in his hair. “John—please—”
“You know what this does to me,” he pants between licks. “Drive me fuckin’ feral, love. Make me wanna keep you locked up so no one else ever smells it on you.”
He suckles your clit and you scream.
Not loud enough for the lads to hear downstairs, but enough to see stars.
You come fast—shuddering, twitching, nails clawing at the doorframe.
And he doesn’t stop.
Your legs are jelly. You try to push him back. “J-John, wait—”
“No,” he rasps, gripping your thighs. “You wore my perfume. That means I take what’s mine.”
His beard scratches your skin in the best way as he devours you through a second orgasm.
You’re crying out, mouth slack, hips grinding against his tongue.
And even after that?
He keeps going.
A third.
A fourth.
Until you’re gasping, begging—“Too much, too much—John—!”
Only then does he rise, face slick, mouth swollen, eyes wild.
“Get on the bed,” he growls. “On your stomach.”
You stumble to obey, too fucked out to think. Your dress is bunched at your waist, panties gone, body trembling.
John unzips his jeans, cock springing free—hard, flushed, leaking.
He crawls over you like a beast.
And before he slides in, he leans down and sniffs your hair.
“Still wearing it,” he whispers. “Good girl.”
He fucks you slow at first.
Long, deep thrusts, both hands on your hips as he pushes in hard enough to rock the mattress. You’re a mess beneath him, face pressed to the pillow, drooling from overstimulation.
“You smell like mine,” he growls. “You come like mine. You are mine.”
You moan in agreement, tears pricking your lashes. “Yes, yes—I’m yours, Daddy—”
That sets him off.
His rhythm breaks, fucking you harder, rougher, one hand wrapping around your throat just to feel the sounds you make.
When he comes, it’s with a snarl, spilling into you with a possessive growl.
Later, as you both lie tangled in the sheets—your perfume still clinging to the air—he murmurs into your hair:
“Next time you wear that,” he warns, “you’re getting handcuffed before we even leave the house.”
You smile, still dazed. “Noted.”
Downstairs, someone knocks on the ceiling with a broom handle.
“Wrap it up, Cap!” Soap shouts.
Price just chuckles, rolling you onto your back to go again.
“You brought this on yourself, sweetheart.”
And he buries himself back inside you like he never plans to leave.
Summary: You and Kyle "Gaz" Garrick are in a cozy, committed relationship, and you have a soft, burning obsession with his hands and biceps. You can’t help but stare when he opens jars, flexes while cleaning, or casually rests a heavy palm on your thigh.
Not a special moment. Not some sexy setup. Just a lazy Sunday morning, toast waiting on a plate and you struggling to twist the cap off a stubborn glass jar.
And then he walks in—still in sweats, hair messy, muscles loose from sleep—and without a word, takes the jar from your hands.
He doesn’t grunt. Doesn’t strain. Just rolls his wrist and pops it open like it’s nothing.
And God help you, it’s not the honey that makes your mouth water.
"Need help?" he asks with a teasing little smile, like he knows.
You try to be normal. You really do.
"Thanks," you murmur, not looking at his forearms, the veins, the way his biceps bunch under the thin fabric of his shirt.
You fail.
"You alright, babe? You’re staring."
You blink. Your face heats. "Just admiring the view."
He raises an eyebrow. Smirks.
"You’ve got a thing for my hands, haven’t you?"
It’s not just the hands.
It’s the way he wraps them around a sponge at the sink. The way he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The way he grabs your ankle absentmindedly during movie night and massages your foot while watching.
It’s his forearms when he mows the lawn. It’s his biceps when he carries groceries with one arm. It’s the flex you catch when he stretches and his shirt rides up just enough to kill you softly.
You’re not subtle.
"Hold still, love. I’ve got it."
And he doesn’t mind.
You’re putting up curtains, arms aching, balance questionable.
He appears behind you like a shadow, reaching up to adjust the rod. One hand above your head, the other steadying your waist.
You bite your lip.
He lowers his mouth to your ear.
"I can feel your heartbeat from here."
You squeak. "Shut up."
"You want me to stop touching you, sweetheart?"
You shake your head, fast.
He laughs, kisses your cheek.
"Didn’t think so."
You’re lying in bed that night, your head on his chest, tracing his veins with a fingertip.
"You ever get tired of me ogling you like this?"
He hums. "Nah. It’s cute. You get all soft and dreamy when I open things."
You snort. "It’s not just that. Your hands… they make me feel safe. Wanted. Like I could crawl into them and stay forever."
His palm slides down your back, warm and slow.
"You can stay forever."
You nuzzle into him. "Promise?"
"Promise," he says, fingers threading into your hair. "Anything you want. My hands are yours."
And you believe him.
Because he always follows through—whether it’s helping with groceries, holding you during nightmares, or just brushing the hair from your eyes when you’ve had a long day.
Summary: Your pregnancy cravings strike again — this time at an ungodly hour. Soap is sleepy, shirtless, and entirely devoted (if slightly dramatic).
Rating: Fluffy domestic chaos with sweet romance and one hot Scottish husband.
Masterlist
---
It was 2:04 a.m. when your eyes snapped open.
Your stomach grumbled. Not hunger — craving. The kind that didn’t negotiate.
You rolled over, nudged the warm body next to you. “Johnny?”
“Mmh?” came a groggy, Scottish rumble from beneath the duvet.
“I need pickles.”
A pause. Then: “You’re jokin.”
“Nope.” You kissed his shoulder. “Pickles. But, like… on toast. With strawberry jam. And maybe a tiny bit of mustard?”
Silence.
Then his head lifted from the pillow, wild-haired and pillow-creased. “Lass, that’s a war crime.”
“I’m growing a whole human, Johnny. I deserve this.”
He blinked at you. Then sat up, rubbing his eyes. “...You want me to go pickle huntin’ at two in the bloody mornin’?”
You gave him your best puppy eyes. “Please? You said you’d do anything for me.”
“Anything within reason, hen.”
“Unreasonable cravings are part of the marriage contract. Check the fine print.”
He groaned, but there was already love softening his face. “You’re lucky I adore you.”
“And respect me.”
“Right. And respect you,” he repeated, standing up with a dramatic sigh. “Even when you ask for condiment monstrosities in the middle o’ the bloody night.”
You watched, smug, as he stomped off in nothing but boxers and a sleep shirt, muttering under his breath: “Pickles. Jam. Mustard. She’s tryna poison herself and take me down with her.”
Twenty minutes later…
He returned, balancing a ridiculous Frankenstein plate of toast with pickles and a hint of jam and mustard. You beamed. “You did it!”
“Course I did.” He set it on your lap, kissed your forehead. “How’s my girl and our little goblin?”
“Thriving.”
“You know,” he said, sliding in next to you and resting a hand gently on your belly, “I’d fight an entire Tesco aisle for ye.”
“You already did.”
“Man almost got decked over the last jar. Thought I was mad. Told him my wife is pregnant and craving chaos, and he backed off real quick.”
You giggled, taking a bite. “Mmm. Perfect. I love you.”
He smiled, watching you like you were the sun. “Love you more, sweetheart. Every mad, craving-filled inch o’ you.”
Then he blinked. “Wait. Is that peanut butter on your plate?”
Summary: König never expected to walk in and find his girlfriend completely swallowed by his favorite hoodie. Now he doesn’t know whether to tease her, marry her, or never let her out of his arms again.
Rating: pure fluff, cuddles, and König being soft as hell.
Masterlist
---
König froze in the doorway, halfway through removing his gloves, when he saw you padding across the room—completely swallowed in one of his hoodies.
His hoodie.
The one he always wore around base, faded black and oversized even on his massive frame. On you, it looked like a full-body blanket. The hem nearly brushed your knees, the sleeves dangled way past your fingertips, and the hood drooped so low it almost swallowed your whole face.
You blinked up at him innocently. “What?”
He didn’t answer right away. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, eyes wide beneath the fabric of his mask. Then he cleared his throat—twice.
“Mein Gott…” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You look so… tiny.”
A grin tugged at your lips. “I am tiny. Especially next to you.”
König stepped forward, slower than usual, like he was afraid if he moved too fast, the image might vanish. His eyes were glued to the way the sleeves swung when you moved. You tugged the collar up to your nose, burying your smile into the soft fabric.
“It’s warm,” you said, muffled. “And it smells like you.”
His heart did something strange—stuttered, then raced. “That’s my favorite hoodie.”
“Not anymore,” you chirped, spinning slightly in place. “It’s mine now. ”
He huffed a laugh, the tension melting from his shoulders as he reached out, wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You disappeared into him just as much as you disappeared in the hoodie.
“You can keep it,” he murmured into your hair, “but only if I get to hold you every time you wear it.”
You tilted your head back, grinning up at him. “Deal.”
He stared at you a moment longer, then sighed dramatically. “You can’t wear this outside. Someone will fall in love with you.”
You snorted. “Is my big, scary soldier getting jealous?”
“I’m not scary,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead through the hood. “I’m just very… protective.”
“Same thing.”
His arms tightened a little. “Especially when you look this adorable.”
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Summary: Your water breaks, and the strongest, deadliest men on Earth suddenly forget how to function.
Rating: Hilarious chaos with heartwarming panic and big brother energy (plus one very protective husband)
Masterlist
--- Soap (Johnny McTavish)
He’s the first one to scream.
You were just standing in the kitchen, eating frozen grapes, when your face suddenly scrunched. Then came the sentence that would send him into orbit:
“Um… I think my water just broke.”
Johnny blinked. “Broke what?”
You stared at him. “My. Water.”
“…OH BLOODY HELL.”
He spun in three full circles before grabbing his phone, keys, your hospital bag, and accidentally—his tactical vest.
“Johnny!” you shouted. “You don’t need your combat knife!”
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW!”
Ends up driving you to the hospital with one hand on the wheel and the other clenched around yours like you’re defusing a bomb. Tears in his eyes. Keeps whispering, “You’ve got this, love. You’re so damn strong. I’m right here.”
He does not leave your side. Not for water. Not to pee.
--- Price (Captain John Price)
If he’s the dad, he’s prepared. Had your hospital bag packed two months ago. Knew the signs. Has a backup plan. A spreadsheet.
But the moment you say, “It’s time,” that man goes dead silent.
You: “John, did you hear me?”
Price: Nods slowly, blinks once.
You: “…Are you okay?”
Price: Already lifting you like a damn princess. “Yeah. Yeah, just—f**king hell, it’s happening.”
He becomes hyperfocused. He’s the one timing contractions, double-checking your breathing, adjusting your seatbelt, coaching you the whole way with that deep, calming voice:
“You’re doin’ perfect, love. Deep breaths. Almost there. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
And when it’s finally time? He kisses your forehead and whispers, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
--- Gaz (Kyle Garrick)
Gaz is a mess. Like, heart pounding, phone upside down, nearly calls 911 when you say, “My water just broke.”
“Wait—wait, like, now? Now now???”
“Yes, Kyle.”
“Okay—okay! Don’t panic. Don’t panic. One of us has to stay calm, and you’re kinda busy!”
He accidentally forgets the hospital bag, then comes sprinting back five minutes later with four bags, unsure which one’s the real one.
At the hospital, he’s pacing like he’s awaiting a mission briefing. Texting 141 updates every 30 seconds. Even crying a little.
But the moment the baby’s out and he hears that first cry?
He breaks. In the softest, happiest way. “That’s our baby, love. You did that. I can’t believe it. You’re f***ing incredible.”
--- Ghost (Simon Riley)
Says absolutely nothing for the first thirty seconds. You tell him you’re in labor, and he just stares.
Then, suddenly, moves with terrifying speed.
Throws on his hoodie. Grabs your bag. Guides you to the car like he’s in a tactical op. Voice low, calm, deadly precise.
You didn’t think he could be gentle, but he holds your hand like it’s fragile. Sits behind the curtain with his head against yours, murmuring quiet things between contractions:
“You’re not alone. I’m here, yeah? Not goin’ anywhere.”
And when the baby’s born? He chokes on a breath and whispers, “Bloody hell... they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Then he holds them with big, calloused hands and rocks like he was born to do it. Doesn’t say much, but you catch the tear slipping down his cheek.
Bonus: The Rest of the Team
They show up at the hospital like a squad of worried uncles.
• Soap brings a giant stuffed bear and immediately cries.
• Gaz holds the baby like it’s made of glass and won’t stop taking photos.
• Price stands in the corner with arms crossed, eyes watery, whispering, “Takes after their mum.”
• Ghost stays quiet... then sneaks in a baby hat he knitted himself and pretends he didn’t.
Summary: You’re tired of asking for help reaching things in your own kitchen. König finds your stubbornness adorable…and maybe a little dangerous.
Rating: Teasing, Fluff, Domestic Humor
Masterlist
---
You stood on your tiptoes, balancing dangerously on the second shelf of your kitchen like some caffeine-deprived acrobat. The stupid box of cookies—your emergency stash—had somehow been shoved to the back of the tallest cabinet. Again.
Behind you, heavy boots thudded against the floor.
“I told you not to do that,” König said, voice low and amused.
You froze like a cat caught knocking over a glass. “I’ve got it,” you insisted, fingers just grazing the box.
“You’re going to fall.”
“I do yoga.”
He huffed a laugh. “You do yoga on the floor. Not cabinets.”
Still reaching, you called, “I don’t need your help.”
A beat of silence. Then you felt his massive hands gently wrap around your waist.
“Okay, kleine Maus (little mouse),” he murmured, lifting you like you weighed nothing. “But maybe don’t die for a cookie, mein Schatz (my treasure), ja?”
You squealed, laughing as he hoisted you up until you could grab the box. “Put me down! You can’t just pick me up like a plush toy!”
“You’re smaller than one,” he mumbled. “And squishier.”
“Excuse me?”
He set you down with care, placing one hand on top of your head affectionately. “You’re cute when you pretend you’re tall, Liebchen (sweetheart).”
You narrowed your eyes. “One day I will climb you like a jungle gym.”
He raised a brow. “Promise?”
You blinked. “Wait—was that flirting, König?”
He tilted his head, smile just barely peeking under his mask. “Did it work?”
You crossed your arms. “No.”
“Liar.”
You glared. “Fine. Maybe.”
König chuckled, stepping around you to open the now-deemed ‘for giants only’ cupboard with ease. “Next time, call me, Engel (angel). I’ll be your ladder.”
You grinned up at him. “My sexy Austrian stepstool.”
He groaned. “Please never say that again.”
Later that night, you found him crouched awkwardly on the floor, reorganizing all the shelves so you could actually reach things. Without a word.
Your heart melted.
You walked over, sat beside him, and leaned your head on his shoulder.
Summary: John Price has it all: a loyal wife, a happy home—and the best damn lunchbox in the whole task force. Every morning, she wakes early to prepare him a gourmet bento box packed with love, perfectly arranged food, and a handwritten note that makes even the coldest day feel warm. The rest of the 141 are jealous. And Price? He’s smug about it. As he should be. Until one day—she surprises them all with their own bento boxes. Cue tears, chaos, and Michelin-star-worthy bites.
Rating: Fluff / Domestic Softness / Husband John Price / Jealous Task Force / Culinary Love Language.
Masterlist
---
The base cafeteria had nothing on what Price unpacked every day at 12:30 sharp.
While Ghost stabbed tiredly at mystery meat and Soap choked down another sad sandwich, John Price pulled out a matte navy bento box wrapped in a soft cotton cloth.
The others paused. They always did.
Because what came next was magic.
Lid lifted.
Bam.
Perfectly arranged salmon over rice with sesame seeds.
Pickled veggies shaped like stars.
A tiny soy sauce bottle shaped like a fish.
And of course—the note.
Today’s was on a soft pink post-it with a glittery heart sticker in the corner:
Don’t forget to smile! I love you. - Your missus 💋
“Bloody hell,” Soap muttered for the hundredth time. “Did she cook that just this morning?”
“She wakes up before I do,” Price said casually, already tucking into his lunch. “Says I work hard, so she wants to make sure I eat something that tastes like home.”
Ghost stared at his mushy tray. “Trade you.”
“Not a chance.”
Gaz leaned closer. “Is that handmade gyoza? With the crimped edges?”
“Mhm.” Price popped one in his mouth. “She even packed hot sauce in that little pink jar.”
Soap groaned. “I’d fake my death and marry her in witness protection.”
The bento boxes became legendary.
Every day something new: omurice with a ketchup heart. Korean bulgogi with rice bears. Fluffy tamagoyaki. Homemade miso soup in a thermal bottle. Japanese cheesecake slices wrapped in parchment.
Always arranged with loving care.
Always with a note.
You’re the strongest man I know. Stay safe. - xoxo
Tell Soap to stop stealing your shrimp. I made him a batch, it’s in the freezer.
Miss you already. Come home soon. ❤️
“You’re the most loved man on Earth,” Gaz declared one day, mouth full of a stolen bite of katsu.
Price didn’t even argue. “I know.”
He looked at the sticker on the side of his thermos—little smiling octopus with hearts—and smiled.
“She’s my world.”
Then, one glorious Friday, it happened.
Price arrived with a paper bag far bigger than usual.
“Gentlemen,” he announced, placing it gently on the table. “She made you lot lunch.”
The room went silent.
Inside: three bento boxes.
Each one color-coded.
Each one with a ribbon.
Each one filled with heaven.
Soap’s box had steak rolled into roses, truffle mashed potatoes in a checkerboard cut, and strawberry mochi for dessert.
Gaz’s featured Moroccan spiced chicken, golden couscous with mint, and mini lemon tarts.
Ghost’s was all black and sleek—teriyaki beef strips, garlic edamame, and a slice of rich dark chocolate tart.
Tucked inside each box?
A handwritten note.
Soap – Thank you for being such a sweet goof. Eat every bite! - 🍓 Mrs. P
Gaz – You always make John laugh. That makes me happy. 💛 - Mrs. P
Ghost – I packed extra protein. No need to threaten John for bites anymore. 🖤 - Yours in food, Mrs. P
Soap cried.
Gaz declared it the best meal of his life.
Ghost went completely silent… but pocketed the note like it was sacred.
Price leaned back, smug and beaming.
“She said everyone deserves to feel spoiled sometimes.”
“Marry her again,” Gaz muttered. “Renew your vows. Let me be the flower boy.”
Price grinned. “Might just do that.”
And the next Monday?
Three more boxes waited.
New menus. New notes. Same love.
No one dared eat cafeteria food again.
Because once you’ve had a taste of Michelin-star wife-made lunches?
Summary: All you want is to cuddle your giant boyfriend. All König wants is to hold you properly. Too bad he’s built like a tank and your bed is definitely not regulation size.
Rating: Fluff, Humor, Tenderness, Giant Man Softness.
Masterlist
---
You tried. Really, you tried.
You tucked yourself against König’s chest like you always imagined you would—warm, safe, and surrounded by massive arms that could probably crush a car but instead held you like you were made of glass.
Except...
“I can’t feel my arm,” you muttered.
“I can’t move any of mine,” König replied glumly.
You peeked up. He looked like a folded pretzel of sorrow.
Your poor, giant Austrian boyfriend had curled himself like a shrimp on your double bed—his legs dangling off the edge, one arm pinned under you, the other flailing uselessly in search of a place to rest.
“Maybe we just—switch positions?” you suggested.
He looked at you like you’d told him Santa wasn’t real. “I want to hold you, Schatz (darling). Not be your weighted blanket.”
“I like you as my weighted blanket.”
“You keep sliding off me like a sock on tile.”
“…Okay, fair.”
You sat up, brushing hair out of your face. König groaned softly, stretching his legs with a loud pop.
“You’re too big,” you sighed dramatically.
“You’re too small,” he huffed back, folding his arms with a pout under the mask.
You laughed and crawled back to him. “Okay, compromise.”
He looked up hopefully.
You climbed into his lap, facing him, legs straddling his hips and arms wrapped around his broad chest. “You sit up. I sit on you. Now I’m the blanket.”
He blinked under the mask.
Then—arms wrapping slowly around your waist—he pulled you in and let out a soft, satisfied sound from deep in his chest.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “Mein Herz (my heart).”
You nuzzled under his chin. “Told you. Problem solved. Logistics mastered. Cuddle physics defied.”
He chuckled.
And then neither of you moved for the next two hours.
Well—except for you adjusting slightly when his leg twitched in his sleep and knocked your water bottle off the nightstand.
Summary: You’ve got two Rileys in your life — one’s a dog, and the other’s a masked soldier who’s definitely not thrilled about sharing your affection.
Rating: light jealousy, fluff, and soft humor
Masterlist
---
You were curled on the couch, arms wrapped around the big lump of fur that was Riley, your German Shepherd, happily nuzzling into his neck as he thumped his tail against your thigh.
"You're such a good boy," you cooed, kissing his head. "Aren’t you just the handsomest?"
Behind you, Simon stood frozen in the doorway, one brow raised beneath his mask.
“I’m gone for ten minutes,” he muttered, “and I’m replaced by the bloody dog?”
You glanced over your shoulder, grinning. “Riley didn’t try to steal the last slice of cake.”
“He’s a dog. He can’t eat chocolate.”
“He also doesn’t snore like a freight train.”
Simon’s arms crossed. “He’s shedding all over my side of the couch.”
You gasped. “He knows that’s your side. He’s trying to bond.”
“With you, clearly.” Simon stalked over, sat beside you, and stared down Riley, who gave a smug little huff and nestled closer to your lap.
Simon narrowed his eyes. “He’s doing it on purpose.”
“You’re not seriously jealous of a dog…”
He didn’t answer — just grabbed your arm and tugged you gently away from the fluffball, pulling you into his lap instead.
“You want cuddles,” you teased.
“I want you to call me the handsomest boy.”
You laughed, kissing his masked cheek. “Fine. You’re the handsomest boy.”
Riley woofed softly from the floor, tail still wagging.
“And he knows it,” Simon grumbled. “Bloody smug mutt.”
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Summary: Getting railed to oblivion by your girlfriend Toph and the Fire Lord Zuko the two masters of their elements work together to push your body past every limit until you're nothing but a gushing, breathless mess in their arms.
Rating: NSFW, Mature and very smutty. Toph being a menace, and a tease. Zuko burning the blanket from overstimulation while steaming.
Masterlist
---
The royal chambers in the Fire Nation palace glowed with the flicker of crimson lanterns, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine incense and unspoken desire. You lay on the expansive silk sheets, heart pounding as Zuko and Toph flanked you, their presence a whirlwind of heat and earth. Zuko's golden eyes burned with hunger, his scar pulling tight as he shed his robes, revealing his toned, scarred body and his thick cock already hardening, veins pulsing along its length. Toph, ever the earthbender, grinned mischievously, her bare skin pale and freckled, small breasts perky as she stripped down, her pussy shaved smooth and already damp from the thrill.
"Hey, Twinkle Toes might be the Avatar, but tonight, we're the real elements," Toph quipped, her voice light and teasing as she crawled onto the bed, hands finding your thighs with unerring precision. "Don't worry, sugar, I'll make sure you don't get too toasty with Sparky here." Zuko shot her a glare but couldn't hide his smirk, leaning in to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue thrusting deep while his hand cupped your breast, thumb rolling your nipple until it pebbled hard.
They started with you on your back in a loose missionary tangle, Zuko kneeling between your spread legs while Toph straddled your waist, facing him. "Look at that pretty pussy, all shiny and waiting," Zuko growled, his voice rough as he dragged his cockhead through your folds, coating himself in your initial slickness. You were already wet from their touches, arousal seeping out as Toph leaned down, her mouth latching onto your other nipple, sucking with wet pops. "Mmm, tastes like victory," she joked between licks, her tongue swirling. "Bet you'll gush like a geyser when we get going."
Zuko pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your walls with his girth until he hilted, balls resting against your ass. He groaned, starting a steady rhythm, hips rolling to grind deep. Toph's hands roamed, one sliding down to rub your clit in firm circles, her earthbending sending subtle vibrations through the bed—and into your core—like a living pulse that made your pussy clench and leak more juices around Zuko's shaft. "Feel that? Earth's got your back... or front, whatever," Toph chuckled, her fingers slick with your wetness as she teased your entrance where Zuko thrust. The vibrations built pressure fast, your arousal dripping down to soak the sheets.
Zuko's thrusts picked up, slapping wetly against you, his cock dragging along your inner walls. "Fuck, you're so tight... soaking my cock already," he panted, sweat beading on his brow. Toph kissed your neck, whispering, "He's gonna steam up the place soon—don't say I didn't warn ya." Sure enough, as overstimulation hit, Zuko's skin flushed hotter, faint wisps of steam rising from his shoulders, and a nearby candle flared, wax dripping onto the side table in a small burn mark. He whimpered, thrusting harder, the heat from his body radiating into you, warming your pussy from the inside out.
Your first orgasm crashed over you, pussy spasming as you gushed, hot squirts coating Zuko's abdomen and Toph's hand. "There we go, fountain girl!" Toph laughed, lapping at the spray on her fingers. "Tastes like sweet earth." Zuko pulled out, slick and throbbing, flipping you onto your hands and knees for doggy while Toph positioned herself in front, legs spread so you could eat her out.
"On all fours, love," Zuko commanded hoarsely, hands gripping your hips as he lined up from behind, slamming back in with a grunt. The new angle let him pound deeper, cockhead battering your cervix while his balls smacked your clit. Toph tangled her fingers in your hair, guiding your mouth to her pussy. "Lick me good, or I'll bury you in a pillow fort," she teased, moaning as your tongue delved into her wet folds, tasting her tangy arousal. Her earthbending hummed again, this time vibrating through your body from the floor up, making your ass jiggle and your pussy flutter around Zuko.
Zuko's pace turned brutal, hips snapping as he watched your ass ripple. "God, you're creaming all over me... gush again, make me burn," he begged, voice breaking. Steam poured from his mouth with each exhale, and he accidentally singed the edge of the bedsheet with a flare of heat from his palm, the fabric smoldering lightly. Toph snorted. "Watch it, hothead! You're not grilling dinner here." But her jokes dissolved into gasps as you sucked her clit, her juices dripping down your chin.
The vibrations intensified under Toph's control, rumbling against your g-spot through Zuko's cock, and you shattered—pussy squirting backward in arcs that splashed his thighs and the bed. "Yes! Fuck, that's hot," Zuko groaned, the overstimulation making steam billow thicker, a potted plant in the corner wilting from the sudden heat burst that scorched its leaves. Toph came too, grinding against your face with a whoop. "Earthquake in my pants—er, no pants!" she panted, collapsing back.
Breathless, Zuko withdrew, lying on his back and pulling you into cowgirl atop him. "Ride me, both of you," he rasped, guiding your soaked pussy down onto his cock. You sank fully, the stretch delicious as you bounced, clit grinding his base. Toph straddled his face, lowering her pussy to his eager mouth while leaning forward to kiss you, her hands fondling your breasts. "Teamwork makes the dream work, huh? Don't drop me, Zuko, or I'll quake your ass," she joked, even as his tongue lapped at her folds.
You rode harder, pussy walls rippling with each drop, arousal pouring out to coat his balls in a glossy mess. Zuko's hands gripped your hips, but the fire in him surged—steam rising from where your skin met his, and he burned a faint mark into the headboard with a uncontrolled spark. "Too much... you're both so wet, clenching me," he mumbled against Toph's pussy, voice muffled and whimpering. Toph's vibrations returned, earth tremors pulsing up through the mattress to buzz your clit and inner thighs, making you gush freely, squirts soaking Zuko's chest in rhythmic bursts.
"Cum with us," Toph urged, her own peak building as Zuko's tongue thrust inside her. You did, pussy flooding him with another wave, and Toph followed, grinding down with a silly cry: "Volcano eruption—wait, that's his job!" Zuko bucked up, overstimulated to the brink, steam filling the room like a sauna, scorching a tapestry on the wall with a flare.
Finally, they shifted you to your side in a spooning tangle, Zuko behind you thrusting deep while Toph faced you, leg hooked over yours for access. His cock plunged in lazy but forceful strokes, hand reaching around to rub your clit. "One more... fill you both," he growled, though his body betrayed him with whimpers. Toph fingered your joined point, her touch grounding. "He's about to blow like a firework—hold on, sparkler." The earth vibes hummed softly now, teasing your asshole while Zuko's heat made your pussy throb hotter.
Overload hit Zuko hard; he thrust erratically, steam hissing from his skin, burning a small hole in the pillow under your head. You gushed one last time, squirting onto Toph's thigh, and he erupted—hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts, overflowing to drip down. Toph kissed you softly. "Good job, team. No casualties... mostly."
They collapsed around you, Zuko's arms wrapping tight despite the lingering steam, Toph's hand stroking your hair. "Love you both," Zuko murmured, voice spent. The room smelled of sex and singed fabric, but the warmth was all theirs—a fiery, earthy bond unbreakable.
Summary: Repopulating a nation is hard work, but Aang is nothing if not dedicated.
Rating: NSFW, Mature and spicy. Breeding kink, impropre use if air bending, a bit of dom!Aang x reader.
Masterlist
---
The chamber in the Southern Air Temple felt alive with the hum of anticipation, the air thick and charged as Aang's gray eyes locked onto yours. You were his wife, the anchor to his wandering spirit, and tonight, that bond twisted into something raw and urgent. He needed to repopulate the Air Nomads, to pour his essence into you until life sparked anew. His robes hit the floor first, revealing his lean, tattooed body, cock already rigid and veined, curving upward with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. You stripped quickly, your pussy already slick from the day's lingering thoughts of him, folds glistening under the lantern light.
Aang guided you onto your back on the thick bedding, spreading your legs wide in missionary position. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he knelt between them. "Look at you, so ready for me," he whimpered, voice cracking with need. "Your pussy's dripping already, begging for my cock to breed it." He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck, and summoned a gentle gust of air. It swirled around your clit, a teasing vortex that made your hips buck. The wind flicked faster, like tiny fingers rubbing your swollen nub, building pressure until your arousal leaked out, coating your inner thighs in a shiny sheen.
You moaned, reaching for him, but he pinned your wrists above your head with another bend of air, the invisible bonds firm yet yielding. "Not yet, love," he panted, a whine escaping as he rubbed his cockhead along your slit, parting your wet lips. "I need to make you gush first, soak me so I slide right into your womb." He thrust shallowly, just the tip breaching your entrance, while the air current intensified on your clit—circling, sucking, vibrating until your pussy clenched emptily. Juices squirted out in a small burst, splattering his shaft, and he groaned, eyes widening. "Fuck, yes... that's it, wife. Get so wet for your Avatar."
With a desperate whimper, Aang drove forward, burying his cock fully in one stroke. Your walls stretched around his thickness, hugging every inch as he bottomed out against your cervix. He started thrusting steadily, hips snapping in missionary, his balls slapping your ass with each plunge. But he enhanced it with bending—a focused push of wind from behind his back, forcing his cock deeper, grinding the head right against that inner spot. "Oh God, you're clenching so tight," he sobbed, dirty words tumbling out. "I love you... love how your pussy milks me, pulling my seed deeper. Gonna fuck you full tonight."
Your arousal built fast, the air still teasing your clit in rhythmic pulses, making your pussy flutter and leak more. Each thrust pulled wet sounds from your joined bodies, your juices coating his length and dripping down to your asshole. Aang's whimpers grew frantic, his face buried in your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "Feel that? My bending's shoving me in so deep... deeper than any man could. You're mine to breed, my perfect wife." He angled his hips, hitting your g-spot relentlessly, and the pressure coiled until you shattered, your pussy spasming, gushing hot fluid around his cock in forceful squirts that soaked the bedding beneath you.
He didn't stop, pulling out slick and shining, flipping you onto your hands and knees for doggy style. "On all fours, love," he commanded through a whine, hands spreading your ass cheeks to expose your dripping pussy. "I need to see you like this, ass up, ready to take my cum. That's it present yourself for the Avatar." He knelt behind you, cock nudging your entrance, and used air to lift your hips higher, arching your back perfectly. A breeze teased your asshole now, a cool finger circling the tight ring while his shaft slid back in, filling you completely. The position let him go even deeper, his cockhead kissing your cervix with every brutal thrust.
Aang's hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto him as he pounded away, the slap of skin echoing in the chamber. "So fucking wet... you're gushing all over my balls," he whimpered, voice breaking with overwhelming lust. "I can feel your pussy sucking me in, wanting every drop for our airbender child. I love you so much... can't stop, need to breed this tight hole." He bent air again, this time wrapping currents around your swinging breasts, pinching your nipples with invisible tugs that sent jolts straight to your core. Your arousal surged, pussy walls rippling as more wetness poured out, trickling down your thighs in rivulets.
The teasing winds returned to your clit, flicking it from below while he railed you, building you toward another peak. "Cum for me, wife," he begged, a sob in his throat. "Cum on my cock so I know you're ready." His thrusts turned erratic, cock swelling inside you, and you obeyed—orgasm ripping through, pussy contracting in waves that made you squirt backward, spraying his abdomen and the rugs. Aang cried out, but held back, his breeding kink demanding more.
Breathless, he withdrew, laying back and pulling you atop him for cowgirl. "Ride me now," he whined, guiding your soaked pussy down onto his cock. You sank fully, the new angle letting him hit even deeper, your clit grinding against his pubic bone. His hands roamed your body, but the real magic was the air—he summoned gusts to rock your hips faster, bouncing you on his length while vibrations hummed against your inner walls through his shaft. "Fuck, you're so full... look at you, tits bouncing, pussy creaming all over me," he gasped, eyes glazed with love and desperation. "I adore you, my heart. Gonna pump you so full, make your belly swell with our legacy."
You rode him hard, your gushing arousal making obscene squelching sounds, coating his balls and thighs. Aang's whimpers filled the air, mixing with filthy pleas. "Deeper... , your cervix is kissing my tip. Breed you like this, fill you up." He bent wind to press against your lower back, arching you forward so his cock dragged along your front wall, intensifying the g-spot pressure. Another orgasm built swiftly, your pussy flooding him with fresh squirts that pooled at his base.
Finally, he flipped you back to missionary, needing to see your face as he claimed you. Legs over his shoulders, he folded you in half, cock plunging impossibly deep. "One more, love" he sobbed, thrusting with air-assisted force, each drive pushing him to your womb's mouth. "Cum with me... cum while I breed you." The winds assaulted your clit and nipples simultaneously, overwhelming you. Your pussy clenched, gushing in powerful jets that soaked his chest, and Aang shattered—hips stuttering as he unloaded, thick ropes of cum erupting deep inside, flooding your core.
He stayed buried, whimpering softly as aftershocks milked him dry. "I love you," he breathed, collapsing into your arms. "Our future... it's here, inside you." The air settled, but the warmth of his seed lingered, a promise of new winds to come.
Summary: All you want is to cuddle your giant boyfriend. All König wants is to hold you properly. Too bad he’s built like a tank and your bed is definitely not regulation size.
Rating: Fluff, Humor, Tenderness, Giant Man Softness.
Masterlist
---
You tried. Really, you tried.
You tucked yourself against König’s chest like you always imagined you would—warm, safe, and surrounded by massive arms that could probably crush a car but instead held you like you were made of glass.
Except...
“I can’t feel my arm,” you muttered.
“I can’t move any of mine,” König replied glumly.
You peeked up. He looked like a folded pretzel of sorrow.
Your poor, giant Austrian boyfriend had curled himself like a shrimp on your double bed—his legs dangling off the edge, one arm pinned under you, the other flailing uselessly in search of a place to rest.
“Maybe we just—switch positions?” you suggested.
He looked at you like you’d told him Santa wasn’t real. “I want to hold you, Schatz (darling). Not be your weighted blanket.”
“I like you as my weighted blanket.”
“You keep sliding off me like a sock on tile.”
“…Okay, fair.”
You sat up, brushing hair out of your face. König groaned softly, stretching his legs with a loud pop.
“You’re too big,” you sighed dramatically.
“You’re too small,” he huffed back, folding his arms with a pout under the mask.
You laughed and crawled back to him. “Okay, compromise.”
He looked up hopefully.
You climbed into his lap, facing him, legs straddling his hips and arms wrapped around his broad chest. “You sit up. I sit on you. Now I’m the blanket.”
He blinked under the mask.
Then—arms wrapping slowly around your waist—he pulled you in and let out a soft, satisfied sound from deep in his chest.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “Mein Herz (my heart).”
You nuzzled under his chin. “Told you. Problem solved. Logistics mastered. Cuddle physics defied.”
He chuckled.
And then neither of you moved for the next two hours.
Well—except for you adjusting slightly when his leg twitched in his sleep and knocked your water bottle off the nightstand.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
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Summary: Getting railed to oblivion by your girlfriend Toph and the Fire Lord Zuko the two masters of their elements work together to push your body past every limit until you're nothing but a gushing, breathless mess in their arms.
Rating: NSFW, Mature and very smutty. Toph being a menace, and a tease. Zuko burning the blanket from overstimulation while steaming.
Masterlist
---
The royal chambers in the Fire Nation palace glowed with the flicker of crimson lanterns, the air heavy with the scent of jasmine incense and unspoken desire. You lay on the expansive silk sheets, heart pounding as Zuko and Toph flanked you, their presence a whirlwind of heat and earth. Zuko's golden eyes burned with hunger, his scar pulling tight as he shed his robes, revealing his toned, scarred body and his thick cock already hardening, veins pulsing along its length. Toph, ever the earthbender, grinned mischievously, her bare skin pale and freckled, small breasts perky as she stripped down, her pussy shaved smooth and already damp from the thrill.
"Hey, Twinkle Toes might be the Avatar, but tonight, we're the real elements," Toph quipped, her voice light and teasing as she crawled onto the bed, hands finding your thighs with unerring precision. "Don't worry, sugar, I'll make sure you don't get too toasty with Sparky here." Zuko shot her a glare but couldn't hide his smirk, leaning in to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue thrusting deep while his hand cupped your breast, thumb rolling your nipple until it pebbled hard.
They started with you on your back in a loose missionary tangle, Zuko kneeling between your spread legs while Toph straddled your waist, facing him. "Look at that pretty pussy, all shiny and waiting," Zuko growled, his voice rough as he dragged his cockhead through your folds, coating himself in your initial slickness. You were already wet from their touches, arousal seeping out as Toph leaned down, her mouth latching onto your other nipple, sucking with wet pops. "Mmm, tastes like victory," she joked between licks, her tongue swirling. "Bet you'll gush like a geyser when we get going."
Zuko pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your walls with his girth until he hilted, balls resting against your ass. He groaned, starting a steady rhythm, hips rolling to grind deep. Toph's hands roamed, one sliding down to rub your clit in firm circles, her earthbending sending subtle vibrations through the bed—and into your core—like a living pulse that made your pussy clench and leak more juices around Zuko's shaft. "Feel that? Earth's got your back... or front, whatever," Toph chuckled, her fingers slick with your wetness as she teased your entrance where Zuko thrust. The vibrations built pressure fast, your arousal dripping down to soak the sheets.
Zuko's thrusts picked up, slapping wetly against you, his cock dragging along your inner walls. "Fuck, you're so tight... soaking my cock already," he panted, sweat beading on his brow. Toph kissed your neck, whispering, "He's gonna steam up the place soon—don't say I didn't warn ya." Sure enough, as overstimulation hit, Zuko's skin flushed hotter, faint wisps of steam rising from his shoulders, and a nearby candle flared, wax dripping onto the side table in a small burn mark. He whimpered, thrusting harder, the heat from his body radiating into you, warming your pussy from the inside out.
Your first orgasm crashed over you, pussy spasming as you gushed, hot squirts coating Zuko's abdomen and Toph's hand. "There we go, fountain girl!" Toph laughed, lapping at the spray on her fingers. "Tastes like sweet earth." Zuko pulled out, slick and throbbing, flipping you onto your hands and knees for doggy while Toph positioned herself in front, legs spread so you could eat her out.
"On all fours, love," Zuko commanded hoarsely, hands gripping your hips as he lined up from behind, slamming back in with a grunt. The new angle let him pound deeper, cockhead battering your cervix while his balls smacked your clit. Toph tangled her fingers in your hair, guiding your mouth to her pussy. "Lick me good, or I'll bury you in a pillow fort," she teased, moaning as your tongue delved into her wet folds, tasting her tangy arousal. Her earthbending hummed again, this time vibrating through your body from the floor up, making your ass jiggle and your pussy flutter around Zuko.
Zuko's pace turned brutal, hips snapping as he watched your ass ripple. "God, you're creaming all over me... gush again, make me burn," he begged, voice breaking. Steam poured from his mouth with each exhale, and he accidentally singed the edge of the bedsheet with a flare of heat from his palm, the fabric smoldering lightly. Toph snorted. "Watch it, hothead! You're not grilling dinner here." But her jokes dissolved into gasps as you sucked her clit, her juices dripping down your chin.
The vibrations intensified under Toph's control, rumbling against your g-spot through Zuko's cock, and you shattered—pussy squirting backward in arcs that splashed his thighs and the bed. "Yes! Fuck, that's hot," Zuko groaned, the overstimulation making steam billow thicker, a potted plant in the corner wilting from the sudden heat burst that scorched its leaves. Toph came too, grinding against your face with a whoop. "Earthquake in my pants—er, no pants!" she panted, collapsing back.
Breathless, Zuko withdrew, lying on his back and pulling you into cowgirl atop him. "Ride me, both of you," he rasped, guiding your soaked pussy down onto his cock. You sank fully, the stretch delicious as you bounced, clit grinding his base. Toph straddled his face, lowering her pussy to his eager mouth while leaning forward to kiss you, her hands fondling your breasts. "Teamwork makes the dream work, huh? Don't drop me, Zuko, or I'll quake your ass," she joked, even as his tongue lapped at her folds.
You rode harder, pussy walls rippling with each drop, arousal pouring out to coat his balls in a glossy mess. Zuko's hands gripped your hips, but the fire in him surged—steam rising from where your skin met his, and he burned a faint mark into the headboard with a uncontrolled spark. "Too much... you're both so wet, clenching me," he mumbled against Toph's pussy, voice muffled and whimpering. Toph's vibrations returned, earth tremors pulsing up through the mattress to buzz your clit and inner thighs, making you gush freely, squirts soaking Zuko's chest in rhythmic bursts.
"Cum with us," Toph urged, her own peak building as Zuko's tongue thrust inside her. You did, pussy flooding him with another wave, and Toph followed, grinding down with a silly cry: "Volcano eruption—wait, that's his job!" Zuko bucked up, overstimulated to the brink, steam filling the room like a sauna, scorching a tapestry on the wall with a flare.
Finally, they shifted you to your side in a spooning tangle, Zuko behind you thrusting deep while Toph faced you, leg hooked over yours for access. His cock plunged in lazy but forceful strokes, hand reaching around to rub your clit. "One more... fill you both," he growled, though his body betrayed him with whimpers. Toph fingered your joined point, her touch grounding. "He's about to blow like a firework—hold on, sparkler." The earth vibes hummed softly now, teasing your asshole while Zuko's heat made your pussy throb hotter.
Overload hit Zuko hard; he thrust erratically, steam hissing from his skin, burning a small hole in the pillow under your head. You gushed one last time, squirting onto Toph's thigh, and he erupted—hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts, overflowing to drip down. Toph kissed you softly. "Good job, team. No casualties... mostly."
They collapsed around you, Zuko's arms wrapping tight despite the lingering steam, Toph's hand stroking your hair. "Love you both," Zuko murmured, voice spent. The room smelled of sex and singed fabric, but the warmth was all theirs—a fiery, earthy bond unbreakable.
Summary: Repopulating a nation is hard work, but Aang is nothing if not dedicated.
Rating: NSFW, Mature and spicy. Breeding kink, impropre use if air bending, a bit of dom!Aang x reader.
Masterlist
---
The chamber in the Southern Air Temple felt alive with the hum of anticipation, the air thick and charged as Aang's gray eyes locked onto yours. You were his wife, the anchor to his wandering spirit, and tonight, that bond twisted into something raw and urgent. He needed to repopulate the Air Nomads, to pour his essence into you until life sparked anew. His robes hit the floor first, revealing his lean, tattooed body, cock already rigid and veined, curving upward with a bead of pre-cum at the tip. You stripped quickly, your pussy already slick from the day's lingering thoughts of him, folds glistening under the lantern light.
Aang guided you onto your back on the thick bedding, spreading your legs wide in missionary position. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he knelt between them. "Look at you, so ready for me," he whimpered, voice cracking with need. "Your pussy's dripping already, begging for my cock to breed it." He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck, and summoned a gentle gust of air. It swirled around your clit, a teasing vortex that made your hips buck. The wind flicked faster, like tiny fingers rubbing your swollen nub, building pressure until your arousal leaked out, coating your inner thighs in a shiny sheen.
You moaned, reaching for him, but he pinned your wrists above your head with another bend of air, the invisible bonds firm yet yielding. "Not yet, love," he panted, a whine escaping as he rubbed his cockhead along your slit, parting your wet lips. "I need to make you gush first, soak me so I slide right into your womb." He thrust shallowly, just the tip breaching your entrance, while the air current intensified on your clit—circling, sucking, vibrating until your pussy clenched emptily. Juices squirted out in a small burst, splattering his shaft, and he groaned, eyes widening. "Fuck, yes... that's it, wife. Get so wet for your Avatar."
With a desperate whimper, Aang drove forward, burying his cock fully in one stroke. Your walls stretched around his thickness, hugging every inch as he bottomed out against your cervix. He started thrusting steadily, hips snapping in missionary, his balls slapping your ass with each plunge. But he enhanced it with bending—a focused push of wind from behind his back, forcing his cock deeper, grinding the head right against that inner spot. "Oh God, you're clenching so tight," he sobbed, dirty words tumbling out. "I love you... love how your pussy milks me, pulling my seed deeper. Gonna fuck you full tonight."
Your arousal built fast, the air still teasing your clit in rhythmic pulses, making your pussy flutter and leak more. Each thrust pulled wet sounds from your joined bodies, your juices coating his length and dripping down to your asshole. Aang's whimpers grew frantic, his face buried in your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "Feel that? My bending's shoving me in so deep... deeper than any man could. You're mine to breed, my perfect wife." He angled his hips, hitting your g-spot relentlessly, and the pressure coiled until you shattered, your pussy spasming, gushing hot fluid around his cock in forceful squirts that soaked the bedding beneath you.
He didn't stop, pulling out slick and shining, flipping you onto your hands and knees for doggy style. "On all fours, love," he commanded through a whine, hands spreading your ass cheeks to expose your dripping pussy. "I need to see you like this, ass up, ready to take my cum. That's it present yourself for the Avatar." He knelt behind you, cock nudging your entrance, and used air to lift your hips higher, arching your back perfectly. A breeze teased your asshole now, a cool finger circling the tight ring while his shaft slid back in, filling you completely. The position let him go even deeper, his cockhead kissing your cervix with every brutal thrust.
Aang's hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto him as he pounded away, the slap of skin echoing in the chamber. "So fucking wet... you're gushing all over my balls," he whimpered, voice breaking with overwhelming lust. "I can feel your pussy sucking me in, wanting every drop for our airbender child. I love you so much... can't stop, need to breed this tight hole." He bent air again, this time wrapping currents around your swinging breasts, pinching your nipples with invisible tugs that sent jolts straight to your core. Your arousal surged, pussy walls rippling as more wetness poured out, trickling down your thighs in rivulets.
The teasing winds returned to your clit, flicking it from below while he railed you, building you toward another peak. "Cum for me, wife," he begged, a sob in his throat. "Cum on my cock so I know you're ready." His thrusts turned erratic, cock swelling inside you, and you obeyed—orgasm ripping through, pussy contracting in waves that made you squirt backward, spraying his abdomen and the rugs. Aang cried out, but held back, his breeding kink demanding more.
Breathless, he withdrew, laying back and pulling you atop him for cowgirl. "Ride me now," he whined, guiding your soaked pussy down onto his cock. You sank fully, the new angle letting him hit even deeper, your clit grinding against his pubic bone. His hands roamed your body, but the real magic was the air—he summoned gusts to rock your hips faster, bouncing you on his length while vibrations hummed against your inner walls through his shaft. "Fuck, you're so full... look at you, tits bouncing, pussy creaming all over me," he gasped, eyes glazed with love and desperation. "I adore you, my heart. Gonna pump you so full, make your belly swell with our legacy."
You rode him hard, your gushing arousal making obscene squelching sounds, coating his balls and thighs. Aang's whimpers filled the air, mixing with filthy pleas. "Deeper... , your cervix is kissing my tip. Breed you like this, fill you up." He bent wind to press against your lower back, arching you forward so his cock dragged along your front wall, intensifying the g-spot pressure. Another orgasm built swiftly, your pussy flooding him with fresh squirts that pooled at his base.
Finally, he flipped you back to missionary, needing to see your face as he claimed you. Legs over his shoulders, he folded you in half, cock plunging impossibly deep. "One more, love" he sobbed, thrusting with air-assisted force, each drive pushing him to your womb's mouth. "Cum with me... cum while I breed you." The winds assaulted your clit and nipples simultaneously, overwhelming you. Your pussy clenched, gushing in powerful jets that soaked his chest, and Aang shattered—hips stuttering as he unloaded, thick ropes of cum erupting deep inside, flooding your core.
He stayed buried, whimpering softly as aftershocks milked him dry. "I love you," he breathed, collapsing into your arms. "Our future... it's here, inside you." The air settled, but the warmth of his seed lingered, a promise of new winds to come.
