#ruya.writes

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly rasp that's so unlike the cheerful man who plays with lemurs. he’s kissing your jaw, his tongue hot and wet, tracing the line where your skin meets the cold mountain air. "my girl. my perfect, beautiful girl. you’re taking all of it, aren’t you? every bit of me."

he’s sweet with his praise, calling you precious even as he uses his bending to hitch your legs higher, pinning your knees to your chest in a mating press that leaves you completely open to him. his cock is a thick, pulsing intrusion, sliding through the slick remnants of the last two times he’s come inside you.

"i want to see it leak out of you," he whispers, his words turning filthy as he thrusts deeper, hitting that sensitive spot that makes your vision go white. "i want you so full of me that you can't even walk straight. i'm going to put so much in you that your body has no choice but to keep it. you’re going to carry my children, okay? we’re going to bring them back. all of them."

the dirty talk is a shock to your system. this is the boy who blushes at a compliment, yet here he is, describing exactly how he wants to ruin you with a clinical, pervy specificity. he’s using his airbending instinctively now, small puffs of air circulating around your sensitive spots, keeping you in a state of constant, vibrating overstimulation. your clit feels like it’s being buffeted by a storm, and your internal walls are clamping down on him in desperate pulses, trying to find some kind of release that keeps being pushed just out of reach by his tireless pace.

"please... aang... i can't—" you babble, your voice breaking as he hitches your hips even higher. your back is arching off the furs, your fingers clawing at his forearms, where the blue arrows glow. "it's too much... it's too much..."

"it's not too much," he counters, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that pins you in place. "you can take more. i know you can. i want you to feel every inch of me filling you up. i want you to remember this feeling every time you look at the sky. i’m the avatar, right? i’m supposed to restore the air nomads. and i’m starting right here. with you. i’m going to fill you so full of my seed that there won't be room for anything else."

he begins to move faster, the slow, deep grinds giving way to sharp, staccato jacks that make your entire body jolt. he’s being so sweet with his hands, cupping your face, brushing the hair back from your sweaty forehead, yet his lower body is a machine of pure, unadulterated lust. the contrast is dizzying. he’s praising you, calling you his everything, his soulmate, his world, while his hips are delivering a relentless pounding against your pelvic bone.

the overstimulation is peaking. you can feel the pressure building in your lower belly, a tight, coil of heat that’s about to snap. your breath is coming in short, ragged gasps, and the room is starting to spin. the smell of him—that sweet, peachy scent of his skin combined with the raw, salty musk of his sweat—is the only thing keeping you grounded. you’re lost in the rhythm, lost in the sheer, overwhelming presence of him.

"aang, i'm... i'm gonna—"

"go for me," he groans, his own voice hitching as he senses your climax. "let it go. squeeze me. show me how much you want it."

he delivers one final, deep thrust, his cock hitting your cervix with such force that your vision literally flashes white. your cunt clamps down on him like a vice, milk-hot and desperate, and that’s what finally breaks him. aang lets out a string of inaudible words, his back arching as he slams himself into you one last time. you feel the his third release flooding into you, a thick, scalding torrent that feels like it’s filling you to the brim. he pumps into you over and over, his balls drawing up tight against your folds, his entire body shaking with the sheer volume of his climax.

the silence that follows is thick, broken only by the sound of your frantic, synchronised breathing. aang collapses onto your chest, his weight a comforting, crushing blanket. he’s panting, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against your own. you can feel the hot slickness of his cum beginning to overflow, a warm, wet trail sliding down your thighs and onto the blankets.

he stays inside you for a long time, unwilling to break the connection. he’s soft now, but the intimacy of the moment is even more intense than the sex was. he lifts his head, a lopsided, boyish grin returning to his face, though his eyes still hold that dark, lingering hunger. he reaches down, his fingers tracing the wetness between your legs, his touch gentle and possessive.

"i think i did it," he whispers, his voice light but filled with an underlying gravity. "i think i put enough in there to start a whole new generation."

he kisses you then, a soft, lingering press of lips that tastes like salt and peaches. he pulls back just an inch, his eyes sparkling in the dying candlelight as he watches a thick, white glob of his seed leak out of you and onto the dark furs.

"look at that," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "you’re practically wearing me. i told you, i’m not going to be the last airbender for much longer. we’ve got work to do."

he doesn't answer with words at first, only a guttural sound in his throat that isn't quite a snarl and isn't quite a plea. his face is a mask of tension, that familiar scar—rough and textured like dried parchment—twisting as he grits his teeth. his eyes are amber fire, narrowed and tracking the way your lips curl in defiance. he’s beautiful even when he’s being a stubborn, spoiled brat, his long dark hair falling out of its topknot in messy, silken strands that brush against your collarbone.

you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in even as you glare. your heels dig into the small of his back, feeling the ripple of lean muscle beneath his silk robes. "don't you dare shut me out now. look at me. you know i was right about the trade routes. you know it, and you're just too proud to admit your wife has a better head for diplomacy than your entire council of ancient, dusty men."

"it's about... protocol," he pants, the word breaking in the middle as you shift your hips, catching him just right. he mouths the words against the curve of your jaw, his breath smelling of cinnamon and smoke. "you can't just... ungh... you can't just speak over the firelord in front of a foreign delegation. it makes us look fractured. it makes me look weak."

you let out a harsh, mocking laugh, the sound echoing off the high ceilings where the shadows of flickering candles dance like spirits. reach up, you fist your hands into his hair, tugging downward with a sharp, uncompromising jerk. his head snaps back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat, and a broken, high-pitched moan spills from his lips—a sound so fragile it almost makes you want to soften. but you don't. you squeeze him, your walls clenching around his thick, veiny length, feeling the way he pulses inside you, a frantic heartbeat in a place that shouldn't have one.

"weak? you think i make you look weak?" you tease, your voice dropping to a low murmur.. "you’re the one currently trembling because i pulled your hair, zuko. you’re the one who can’t even finish a sentence because you’re so desperate to stay inside me. is this what a powerful firelord looks like? panting like a stray in the dirt because his wife talked back to him?"

he nips at your neck, a sharp, stinging bite that will definitely leave a mark—a dark purple bruise for the maids to whisper about tomorrow. his teeth are blunt and hot, scraping over your skin until you shiver. "shut up," he hisses, his voice cracking. "just... shut your mouth."

"make me," you challenge, and the air between you literally ignites.

zuko inhales sharply, and you see the orange glow behind his teeth, the heat radiating off him in a sudden, violent wave that makes the sweat on your skin evaporate instantly. he doesn't let go of you; instead, he shifts his grip, his large hands hooking under your thighs to hold you steady as he lunges away from the wall,, carrying your weight with a desperate, clumsy grace. he stumbles into a low table, sending a ceramic basin of water crashing to the floor—the scent of wet stone and copper rising up to join the scent of smokel—before he slams you down onto the sprawling silk mattress of his bed.

the impact jars you, but he’s already hovering over you, his knees pinning your arms down, his chest heaving. this position allows him to sink deeper, bottoming out against your cervix with a blunt force that draws a loud, unbidden moan from your throat.  you try to keep scolding him, try to find the words to tell him he’s a fool, but the way he’s filling you makes your brain feel like it’s melting into honey.

"you... you're still... a stubborn... idiot," you choke out, even as your back arches off the sheets.

he leans down, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your neck, his thumb pressing against your windpipe just enough to make you gasp. his other hand finds your tit, squeezing the soft tissue with a proprietary heat that feels like it’s branding you. he kisses you then—not a sweet kiss, but a frantic, unforgiving hunger, tasting of fury. his cock is thick, the head of it rubbing against your sensitive walls with every frantic, shallow thrust, the texture smooth but the pressure immense.

outside the heavy oak doors, the muffled sound of the palace at night continues—the distant clank of a guard’s spear, the soft chirping of turtleducks in the gardens—but inside the circle of his arms, the world is reduced to the friction of your intoxicating skin.

"my lord?" a voice calls out from the hallway, shrill and intrusive. it’s high sage ukano, his tone brimming with that self-importance zuko usually hates. 

"my lord, i apologize for the late hour, but we have received an urgent scroll from the earth kingdom regarding the borders. we must discuss the response before the morning bells."

zuko freezes, his body still buried deep inside yours, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. he breaks the kiss, looking down at you with wide, dark eyes. you start to open your mouth, a smirk forming—ready to call out, ready to ruin his dignity—but his hand is there in an instant, slapping over your lips. his palm is dry and smells of old scrolls and fire, muffling your indignant yelp.

he doesn't pull out. instead, he stays perfectly still, his cock twitching inside you, the sensation so intense it makes your toes curl into the silk. he looks toward the door, his expression shifting from frantic lover to arrogant monarch in a heartbeat, though the flush on his cheeks betrays him.

"not now, ukano," zuko calls out, his voice surprisingly steady, though there’s a smug, sharp edge to it that makes your blood simmer. he looks back down at you, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as he begins to move again, slow and agonizingly deep, watching your eyes blow out as you struggle against his hand.

 "the firelord is currently... occupied with matters of state. leave the scroll with the guard. i will deal with you in the morning."

he doesn't look away from you as the advisor’s footsteps fade. he just keeps moving, his eyes burning with a gold that’s finally, finally steady. 

"don't you have something else to say?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "i'm listening."

whoever that 1st zuko anon was... look what you started.

the ocean air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of charcoal and roasting sea-prunes from a nearby vendor. aang watched appa lounging in the shallow surf, the massive sky bison letting out a low, rumbling groan of contentment as the waves lapped against his fur. it was perfect. his mind, usually a cluttered mess of treaties and air nomad restoration plans, felt completely still. he felt lighter than he had in years, as if the gravity of the world had finally decided to give him a break.

"zuko, check this out!" aang shouted, breaking his own peaceful silence. he shifted his weight, his feet carving arcs in the sand as he moved through a firebending form he’d been practicing. it was a dragon dance variation, fluid and bright. he punched the air, sending two spiraling ribbons of flame into the sky that twisted together like braids before dissipating into orange sparks.

zuko was sitting on a nearby rock, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression fixed in that familiar, stony scowl that had barely changed since they were sixteen. he didn't even blink as the fire scorched the air inches from his line of sight. "your footwork is sloppy," zuko muttered, his voice dry and bored. "you're overextending your lead hand. you’re showing off, not bending."

aang puffed out his cheeks, his brows drawing together in a mock pout. "i’m not showing off, i'm expressing my joy through the medium of combustion! plus, that spiral was perfectly symmetrical. admit it, you’re impressed."

"i'm moderately annoyed," zuko corrected, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. he adjusted his position, his eyes drifting away from aang's fire and toward the spot where you were lying out on a towel.

you were a few yards away, eyes closed, soaking up the afternoon rays. the sun turned your skin into something glowing and warm, and you looked so peaceful that aang felt a fresh wave of affection hit him. he started to turn back to his forms, wanting to try a more complex kick, but he noticed zuko’s eyes narrow. his brow furrowed, a sharp crease forming between his eyes as he stared past aang.

aang tilted his head, following zuko’s gaze. two guys had approached your towel. they were typical ember island types—broad shoulders, deep tans, and expensive-looking silk trunks. they were standing over you, blocking your sun, and you were sitting up now, blinking against the brightness. your expression was one of mild confusion, your head tilted as they spoke to you.

"hey there," one of the guys said, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the waves. he had a wide, confident smirk that looked like it had been practiced in a mirror. "don't think we've seen you around this part of the beach before. you from the city?"

you smiled, that polite, friendly smile you gave to everyone. "just visiting for the week," you told them, rubbing the back of your neck. "the water's great today, isn't it?"

the second guy leaned in, his eyes scanning you in a way that made aang’s stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip. "the water's fine, but the view up here is way better," he drawled, his voice dripping with an obvious, oily charm. "that's a great bikini, by the way. color really suits you."

you laughed, a small, genuine sound, and thanked them. you started chatting with them about the local shops, oblivious to the way they were looming over you, their intentions written in every hungry look they exchanged. to you, they were just locals being nice. to aang, they were two guys who were very clearly trying to take something that wasn't theirs to take.

aang felt a prickle of heat beneath his skin that had nothing to do with the sun. he turned back to zuko, his eyes wide and frantic. "zuko, what are they doing? they're talking to her. they’re—they’re doing the thing, aren't they? the flirting thing?"

zuko let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "yes, aang. they are very obviously hitting on your girlfriend. it’s not exactly subtle."

"well, what do i do?" aang hissed, his hands flying up to grip his own head. "do i go over there? do i blow them away with a gust of air? no, that’s too aggressive. do i just... walk by and casually mention that i'm the avatar? no, that's arrogant. help me out here, you're the one who grew up in the fire nation! what’s the ember island protocol for this?"

zuko looked at him like he was a particularly dim-witted turtle-duck. "just go over there and be a person, aang. stand next to her. remind her you exist. it’s not a military maneuver."

"i can't just 'be a person'!" aang whispered-shouted, his face flushing a bright, embarrassed pink. "it’s weird! if i go over there now, i'll look like i'm hovering. i don't want to be a hovery boyfriend. but look at them! the tall one just touched her arm! he’s touching her, zuko!"

"then go stop him," zuko snapped, though he made no move to get up himself. "or don't. but quit vibrating. you’re making the sand jump."

"you're useless at advice," aang grumbled, his heart hammering against his ribs as he watched you laugh at another one of their jokes. "honestly, how did you ever get mai to date you? did you just scowl at her until she gave in?"

zuko’s eyes flashed with annoyance. "we are not talking about me. we are talking about you and your complete lack of social backbone. either go claim your territory or shut up and let me tan in peace."

aang opened his mouth to retort, his face flushing a deeper shade of scarlet that matched the trim of his air nomad robes, but he was cut off by a heavy arm dropping over his shoulders. sokka stood there, looking far too smug for his own good, with his other arm slung casually around suki’s waist. he was holding a half-eaten skewer of grilled squid, gesturing with it toward the two guys hovering over your towel.

"i hate to say it, buddy, but the fire lord is right," sokka said, taking a loud, aggressive bite of his snack. "you’re letting those guys move in on your perimeter. they’re basically planting their flag on your beachhead while you’re over here playing with matches. it’s embarrassing for the whole team, really."

zuko rolled his eyes so hard he practically groaned, leaning back against his rock. suki, however, leaned forward, giving aang a look that was less judgmental and more filled with genuine pity. she saw the way his fingers were twitching, the way his gray eyes kept darting back to you as you laughed at something the blonde guy said.

"ignore him, aang," suki said softly, reaching out to pat his arm. "you don't need to be aggressive. but you should probably go over there and just remind them who you are to her. be confident. you’ve faced much worse. two guys in silk shorts shouldn't make you sweat this much."

aang huffed, kicking at a mound of sand. "i know! i don't know why i'm so jumpy. people flirt with me all the time, and usually, i just laugh it off. it’s just... they’re so close to her. and they’re looking at them like they’re a prize or a trophy."

the feeling in his chest was a strange, hot pressure. he was used to being the center of attention, used to being the avatar, but seeing you being targeted by that specific kind of predatory charm made his air feel thin. he wasn't a mean person—the monks had taught him about detachment and peace—but those lessons felt miles away whenever someone else’s eyes stayed on you for too long. he felt less like a master of four elements and more like a nervous kid who didn't want to lose his favorite person.

finally, aang took a breath, puffing out his chest and trying to channel some of that earthbending stubbornness toph was always yelling at him about. he started walking, his feet heavy in the sand, moving with a purpose that felt forced and natural all at once. as he got closer, his enhanced hearing picked up the blonde guy’s voice.

"look, there's this bonfire tonight at the cove," the guy was saying, leaning down further so he was practically in your personal space. "lots of music, lots of drinks. you’d be the star of the night. why don't you let us pick you up around eight?"

aang didn't wait for your answer. he moved with a sudden burst of speed, his hand reaching out to grab your arm and gently, but firmly, pulling you up from the towel. you let out a little gasp of surprise, stumbling against him, and his other hand immediately dropped down, landing squarely and heavily on your ass. his fingers curled slightly, a possessive grip that sent a shock through your system.

"hey there!" aang chirped, his voice bright and airy, though his eyes were sharp as flint. he turned a beaming, thousand-watt smile toward the two guys, who both straightened up, looking startled by his sudden appearance. "sorry to interrupt! i hope my girlfriend hasn't been boring you with stories about the city."

before you could even get a word out—before you could ask why his hand was currently squeezing your backside in broad daylight—aang leaned in. his hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, and he pulled you into a kiss that was anything but his usual sweet, chaste affection.

it was long. it was dramatic. it was an ownership statement written in the language of breath and heat. he tasted of the salt air and the lingering warmth of the sun, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips with a hunger that made your toes curl into the sand. he tilted your head back, exposing the line of your throat to the two strangers, making sure they saw exactly how you melted into him. his heart was hammering against your chest, a frantic thud that betrayed his nerves even as he dominated the space. your brain felt like it was short-circuiting, your hands coming up to clutch at his bare chest for balance as the world narrowed down to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

when he finally broke apart, he didn't let go of you. he kept you tucked into his side, his hand returning to its firm grip on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. you were dazed, your lips swollen and your eyes wide with confusion. "aang, what—"

"a party?" aang cut you off, looking back at the two guys who were now looking a bit less confident. "that sounds like a blast! my friends and i were just looking for something to do tonight. we can all go together, right? the more the merrier!"

he forced his smile to stay wide, but he was glaring at them over his cheeks, his eyes narrowed into slits of gray ice. the tall guy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "uh, yeah. sure. everyone's welcome. we’ll... see you there, i guess."

"great! can't wait!" aang said, his voice dripping with a cheerfulness that felt like a threat.

the guys took the hint, mumbles of "see ya" following them as they quickly made their exit. the moment they were out of earshot, aang’s smile dropped. he didn't even look at you; he just grabbed your wrist and started dragging you toward the path that wound up toward zuko’s massive beach house.

"aang! stop! what is wrong with you?" you protested, digging your heels into the sand to try and slow him down. "and what was that back there? you were being so weird!"

"i wasn't being weird," he snapped, his voice low with a tension you’d rarely heard from him. he didn't slow down, leading you toward the house. "i was being thorough. they didn't get the hint, so i had to give it to them."

"thorough? you practically marked me!" you shouted as you reached the stairs of the house. you wrenched your arm away, standing your ground on the porch. "those guys were just being friendly, aang. they were inviting me to a party. there was no reason to go all... intense on them. it was embarrassing!"

aang spun around, his face flushed and his eyes blazing. the air around him began to swirl in sympathetic agitation, a small dust devil forming at his feet. "friendly? you think that was friendly? they were looking at you like you were a piece of meat! they were flirting with you right in front of me! and you were just smiling and laughing along like you didn't even care!"

"i didn't notice they were flirting!" you yelled back, stepping into his space. "i thought they were being nice! and even if they were, so what? don't you trust me?"

"of course i trust you!" aang cried, his voice cracking slightly with the sheer weight of his emotion. he dragged you through the front door and slammed it shut, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. "i don't trust them! i don't trust the way they looked at you. i don't trust the way they thought they could just walk up and take your attention away from me. you're mine. you’re with me."

the bickering continued as he pushed you toward the stairs. he was pacing back and forth in the hallway, his hands flying through the air as he ranted about the "disrespect" and the "audacity" of the locals. he looked so young when he was angry, his eyes wide and wild, but the power behind his voice was all man.

"you have no idea how it feels," he hissed, not meaning to pin you against the wall near the top of the staircase. he wasn't trying to be scary, he just looked desperate. he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "to have the whole world always wanting a piece of me, and then to finally have one thing that’s just for me... and then see some random guys try to touch it? no. absolutely not. i won't let them."

you tried to speak, but he silenced you by resting his forehead against yours. he was shaking, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. his hand reached out, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place not with force, but with a need so deep it felt spiritual.

"you’re the avatar’s girl," he whispered, his voice thick with a raw possessiveness that sounded more like a plea than a command. "and you better not forget it. i'm not sharing you with anyone. not today, not at some party, and not ever. i can't, i just can't."

without another word, he gripped your waist and practically hauled you toward the master bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you as he pulled you into his space. the sound of the latch was a final, heavy punctuation mark on the argument outside. aang didn't let go of you for even a second; he moved with that fluid, airbender agility that always made it feel like he was gliding, even when his footsteps were heavy with frustration.

you almost fell flat on your back as aang gently but firmly pushed you toward the center of the bed. you hit the soft mattress with a small bounce, your breath leaving you in a surprised puff. the yellow silk sheets felt cool against your sun-warmed skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off of him.

"aang, stop!" you squealed, half-laughing and half-breathless as you tried to sit up. "we’re going to get sand everywhere! zuko will kill us if he has to hire someone to deep-clean the upholstery because we were too impatient."

aang didn't even pause. he hovered over you, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, his shadow falling over you like a protective cloak. he dismissed your concern with a flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. "let him be mad," he muttered, his voice sounding deeper and raspier than usual. "i’ll earthbend it away afterwards. i'll bend every single grain of sand out of this house if i have to. but right now, i don't care about the floor."

he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a quick, bruising kiss that tasted of urgency. it was over before you could even respond, his lips trailing down your jawline with a desperate kind of hunger. he found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

you giggled, the vibration of it traveling through your chest as your arms wrapped instinctively around his neck. your fingers tangled in the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. "you really shouldn't be so jealous, you know," you whispered, your voice softening as you felt the tension in his shoulders start to bleed into something more primal. "you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, aang. you're my favorite person. those guys don't even exist to me."

aang let out a low, muffled groan against your skin, his lips never leaving your neck. he pouted, a small, stubborn sound escaping his throat that was almost a whine. he was being kinda pathetic, clinging to you like he was afraid you’d evaporate into spirit-smoke if he loosened his grip. he began to suck at the soft skin near your collarbone, a persistent, rhythmic pressure that made your head tilt back.

"i don't like sharing," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your throat. "i have to share my time, my energy, my bending... i have to share everything with the world. i just want to keep one thing for myself. is that so wrong?"

he was being needy, his possessiveness manifesting in the way he kept his weight pressed firmly against you, pinning you to the bed. you felt a sharp, sudden sting of a hickey forming, and you let out a small gasp, your hands moving to his chest to lightly push him back.

"aang! stop, you're giving me marks," you scolded, though there was no real heat in it. "everyone will see! we’re supposed to go to that party later, remember? i can't exactly hide that with my dresses."

aang didn't pull away. instead, he became even more handsy, his touch wandering with a boldness that was usually reserved for the dark of night. one of his hands slid up, his palm cupping your tit through the thin, damp fabric of your bikini top. his thumb brushed against you, a slow movement that made your breath hitch. his other hand was already busy, his fingers hooking into the side of your bikini bottoms, tugging at the string with a focused intent.

he looked up at you then, his gray eyes dclouded with a mixture of lingering jealousy and overwhelming adoration. he watched your reaction, his chest heaving as he worked the fabric down your hips.

"good," aang said, his voice dropping into a gravelly promise that sent a shiver straight to your core. he paused for a second, his gaze sweeping over the marks he’d already left on your skin, his expression turning smug and fiercely satisfied.

he sat back on his heels for a brief moment, his hands moving to the waistband of his beach shorts. he tugged them off with a quick, decisive motion, discarding them somewhere on the sandy floor. he looked back down at you, a slow, complacent grin spreading across his face—the look of a man who had finally claimed his territory and had no intention of letting it go.

 "then everyone at the party will know you're my girl. they can look all they want, but they'll know exactly who you're coming home with."

that was the thorn under your skin. he was leaning in, a small, genuine tilt to his lips as a daughter of a high-ranking magistrate whispered something into his ear. he looked comfortable. he looked like he belonged to them, to the nation, to everyone but you. the jealousy was a living thing in your throat, hot and jagged like a piece of flint. you couldn't breathe. the heat of the thousand flickering lanterns felt like they were blistering your skin, and before the first tear could even track a salty path through your powder, you turned on your heel.

the corridors of the palace were long and winding, lit by the low, flickering glow of dragon-bone torches that cast dancing, distorted shadows against the walls. you hurried, your silk skirts swishing with an agitated rhythm as you sought the silence of the royal gardens. the night air hit you with the scent of midnight-blooming jasmine and the dampness of the koi pond, a welcome relief from the stifling perfume of the banquet. you let out a ragged, choked sob, the sound small and pathetic against the vast silence of the stone courtyard.

"go away!" you cried out, not even looking back when the heavy thud of familiar boots echoed against the pavement. you knew that stride anywhere. it was purposeful, slightly heavy, the gait of someone who spent years chasing shadows and was no longer willing to let one slip away.

"no," zuko's voice cracked the stillness, sounding deeper than it had moments ago when he was charming the nobility.

you didn't stop. you tried to walk faster, the heels of your shoes clicking rhythmically, but he was faster. he was a master of the hunt and within seconds, he was there. his fingers, calloused from years of broadsword practice and firebending forms, wrapped firmly but gently around your wrists. you tried to yank your hands back, your face burning with a shame so intense it felt like physical heat, but he held fast.

"leave me alone, zuko," you hissed, your voice wet and thick. you used your shoulder to try and scrub at your eyes, desperate to hide the evidence of your crumbling composure. "it's stupid. i'm being stupid. just go back to your guests. they’re waiting for their fire lord to come back and smile at them."

zuko didn't move. he stood there in the moonlight, his ceremonial gold headpiece catching the pale light, looking every bit the formidable ruler, yet his eyes were clouded with a frantic, awkward sort of worry. he frowned, his brow furrowing in that specific way that meant he was overthinking every word before it left his mouth. he released one of your wrists, only to bring his hand up to cup your cheek. his palm was incredibly warm—the steady, pulsing heat of a powerful firebender—and it felt like a brand against your cool, tear-slicked skin.

"you're crying," he stated. it was so blunt, so painfully obvious, so typically zuko that for a fleeting second, the sob in your throat turned into a jagged, watery laugh.

"wow, your majesty," you snorted, leaning your head away even as you melted into the warmth of his hand. "nothing gets past you, does it? truly a master of observation."

zuko's face instantly flushed a deep, sunset crimson, the color spreading from his neck up to the tips of his ears. he looked indignant, his jaw tightening as he huffed out a small puff of smoke from his nostrils—a nervous habit he’d never quite outgrown. "i'm trying to comfort you! you're the one who ran off into the dark for... for no reason!"

"i had a reason," you whispered, the jealousy flaring up again, though it was tempered now by the sheer ridiculousness of him standing here in his royal finery, arguing with you in a garden.

"then tell me," he demanded, his voice softening. he used his thumb to brush away a fresh tear, his touch so light it was almost a caress. "stop trying to pull away. i'm not letting you go back inside until you're okay."

you looked up at him, at the scar that mapped his past and the gold eyes that promised a future, and you felt your heart do a slow, painful roll in your chest. "you suck at this," you muttered, though you stopped fighting his grip. "you're supposed to be charming and say something poetic, not just point out that i'm leaking from my face."

he scoffed, a short, sharp sound, but his hand stayed glued to your face. "well, i didn't see any of those 'poetic' guys following you out here, did i?" a smug, almost mischievous glint entered his eyes then. he realized he had the upper hand. he leaned in closer, his scent—charcoal, expensive sandalwood, and that underlying spicy musk of his own skin—overwhelming your senses.

"are you jealous?" he teased, his voice dropping to a playful rumble. "was it the magistrate's daughter? or maybe the lady from the eastern isles? she did have a very large hat."

"stop it," you giggled, the sound bubbling up despite your best efforts to remain miserable. you tried to swat at his chest, but he just caught your hand and held it against his heart. you could feel it thumping—fast and entirely yours.

"oh, i think the great fire lord has a crybaby on his hands," zuko continued, his grin widening into something truly wicked. he was enjoying this far too much. "a little, weeping turtle-duck. quack, quack."

"zuko, i hate you!" you cried out, laughing now, the tears finally drying as the absurdity of the situation took over.

he didn't answer with words. instead, he leaned down, his face inches from yours. his golden eyes were blown wide, full of a heat that had nothing to do with bending. then, he started to kiss your face. they were loud, obnoxious, exaggerated mwahs. he kissed your forehead, then your temple, then the tip of your nose, making a ridiculous smacking sound with every contact.

mwah! mwah! mwah!

"stop! people will hear!" you shrieked softly, squirming in his arms as he peppered your cheeks with the wet, noisy kisses. it was so unlike the brooding, serious fire lord the world knew, and that was exactly why it worked. he was being a dork just to see you smile.

finally, he caught your lips with one last, dramatically loud mwah. he pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your mouth. his smug smile was still there, but his eyes were soft, molten gold.

"see?" he whispered, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "i think i do a pretty good job at comforting my crybaby."

you sighed, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back down. the garden was silent, the crickets chirping in the distance, and for the first time all night, the air felt exactly right. "yeah," you murmured against his skin. "you're doing okay, jerk bender."

she’s eating you out with a messy, focused hunger, her tongue swirling with an agonizing precision that makes your toes curl into the dirt. every few seconds, she pulls back just enough to let out a muffled comment, her voice vibrating against your clit. "wow, you’re really shaking, aren’t you? i can feel your pulse jumping all the way in your toes. i didn't know i was that good, or maybe you're just that desperate."

you let out a sharp, fractured breath, your fingers knotting into her long, messy hair as you try to push her back down. "shut up, toph. please, just... shut up and finish."

the vibration stops instantly. she pulls away, sitting back on her heels with a slow grace that makes your skin scream for the return of her warmth. you find yourself let out a pathetic, high-pitched whine, your hips arching instinctively to follow her, but she stays just out of reach. her unseeing, milky eyes are fixed somewhere over your shoulder, a smug, lopsided grin stretching across her face.

"did the little lady just tell me what to do?" she asks, her tone dripping with a mock-offended sweetness that makes your face burn. "i thought you were enjoying the commentary. it helps me keep track of how close you are to melting into a puddle."

you’re practically begging now, your voice a soft, breathless wreck as you look at her. "toph, don't be mean. i didn't mean it, just... i'm so close. please."

she sighs, a dramatic, huffing sound that echoes off the jagged cave walls. she tilts her head to the side, staring blankly at a cluster of stalactites as if she’s searching for inspiration in the silence. suddenly, she lets out a sharp, clicking sound with her tongue—an oh! of realization that makes your stomach flip with a mix of confusion and dread. she remembers a specific shape, a specific weight she’s felt through the soles of her feet in the darker corners of the earth kingdom’s bustling markets.

toph reaches out a hand, her fingers twitching in the air. a few feet away, a discarded crate of iron scraps begins to rattle, the metal shrieking as it’s torn from the wood. you watch, mesmerized and horrified, as the shards fly toward her, hovering in a swirling cloud of grey. her arm muscles ripple beneath her tunic, the definition in her shoulders and biceps on full display as she begins to mold the iron with the focused intensity of a master smith. she’s sculpting, you realized, her brow furrowing as she feels the internal structure of the metal shift and smooth under her command.

the realization of what she’s making hits you all at once. the jagged edges melt away, replaced by a thick, rounded head and a long, sturdy shaft that curves slightly at the tip. 

it’s unmistakable. 

your jaw drops, a hot flush of mortification sweeping from your chest up to your hairline. "toph! how do you even—how do you know what that looks like?"

she barks out a loud, rough laugh that echoes like a landslide. "sugar tits, i don't need to see to know what people are hiding under their floorboards. i’ve felt the vibration of these things in half the inns we've stayed at. you think people are quiet? they’re not. and the shape is pretty intuitive once you realize what it’s for."

she flicks her wrist, and the newly formed metal dildo—still warm from the friction of the bend—hovers over your entrance. she uses the magnetic pull of her bending to brush the tip against your swollen folds, teasing the sensitive skin with a cold, hard contrast that makes you shiver. "this is so weird," you lie, your voice cracking as you try to pull your legs together. "toph, seriously, this is... it's weird. put it away."

toph’s smirk only deepens, her head tilting as she 'listens' to the floor beneath you. "you’re a terrible liar. your heart is hammering against the stone like a trapped sparrow. it’s practically screaming at me to keep going. why do you bother lying to a woman who can literally feel your muscles twitching?"

you start to splutter out an excuse, something about the coldness of the metal or the absurdity of the situation, but she cuts you off with a sharp, flicking motion of her fingers. the metal dildo prods firmly against your opening, the weight of it immense and uncompromising. before you can even draw a breath to protest, she slides it in—one smooth  motion that stretches you wide and fills the aching void she left behind.

a choked, jagged moan escapes your lips as you feel the solid, unyielding weight of the iron inside you. it’s different from her tongue, different from her fingers; it’s a constant, cold pressure that makes you feel utterly conquered. toph moves her hand in a rhythmic, back-and-forth motion, her eyebrows raised in concentration as she feels the resistance of your internal walls through the metal.

she starts to increase the speed, the dildo thrusting into you with a mechanical, tireless force that no human could ever match. you’re squirming against the stone, your heels digging into the dirt as you try to find a rhythm, but toph is the one in control of the pace. she begins to talk, her voice low and raspy, vibrating through the air and the floor.

"look at you, shaking for a piece of scrap metal i just pulled out of the trash. you like how deep it goes, don't you? i can feel your cunt gripping it, trying to hold onto it. you’re so wet i’m surprised you haven’t short-circuited the bending yet. give it to me, sugar tits. let me feel exactly how much you can take before you break."

you’re biting your lip so hard you taste copper, desperate to keep the loudest of your moans from bouncing off the cave walls, but it’s a losing battle. the metal is moving so fast now, hitting your g-spot with a blunt, rhythmic thud that makes your vision go dark at the edges. you’re a mess of friction and sound, your body reacting to the cold iron as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

toph leans in closer, her face inches from yours, her breath smelling of mint and earth. she can feel the tension in your thighs reaching a breaking point, the way your entire skeletal structure is vibrating with the impending release. she slows the bending for just a second, a cruel, calculated pause that makes you sob out a plea.

"you can let go, you know," she whispers, her voice a rough caress. "i’ve got you. the earth isn't going anywhere. just let it out so i can feel the impact."

the permission is what finally undoes you. you let out a long, shuddering scream that tears through the silence of the quarry, your body bucking upward as the orgasm ripples through you in violent, agonizing waves. you’re so embarrassed by the sheer volume of it, by the way you’re clutching at her arms as if she’s the only solid thing left in the universe.

toph waits until the last of your tremors has faded into a soft, twitching heat before she calmly bends the metal away. she guides it back to the scrap pile, the iron shrieking one last time as it settles into the dust. she leans forward then, her movements surprisingly gentle as she presses a soft, lingering kiss to your inner thigh, right where the skin is most sensitive.

she pulls back, sitting in the dirt with her legs crossed, a massive, shit-eating grin plastered across her face as she wipes a stray smudge of dirt from her cheek.

"see? i told you iron was good for more than just armor. next time, maybe don't try to lie to the girl who can feel your toes curling from a mile away."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “Because I do not want to make a fool of myself. You know that.”

“You could never be a fool.” He said it with ease, like a truth that needed no argument, but the way he looked at you—head tilted, eyes lidded—was a look akin to what mates give each other. 

You missed it completely.

“I’m serious,” you huffed, scowling at the strand that slipped from your braid-in-progress. “This is supposed to be for Tuktirey. I want it to be perfect.”

Neteyam made a soft sound, barely a hum, and sat beside you. His thigh pressed against yours, warm and solid, his skin smelling faintly of crushed leaves and sweat. “She will love it,” he said. “Even if you tie all the pieces backwards. It is from you.”

Your fingers stilled. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

It came without hesitation. Like he was already certain of every word you hadn’t yet said. Like he’d spent moons learning the rhythm of your voice, the exact pitch of it when you doubted yourself. There were so many things he knew about you. How you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. The way your tail curled around your ankle when you were cold. That you never called him by his full name when you were truly angry with him.

But still, somehow, you didn’t notice when he flirted.

He shifted closer, the curve of his mouth sharpening. “Do you want to know a secret?”

You turned to him slowly, wary but curious. “What kind of secret?”

His eyes glinted with mischief, teeth catching in the brief grin that flashed across his face. “One from the sky people. My father told me. It is something they do when they are… very close.”

You tilted your head, shoulders tense, unsure if you were meant to feel wary or honored. “Close? Like mated?”

“No,” he said, voice dropping, “not always. Sometimes just… very good friends.”

“Friends do this?”

He nodded solemnly, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “Yes. It is called… kissing.”

Your brow furrowed. “Kissing?”

He leaned in. “You press your lips to another’s lips. Soft. Maybe warm. It is not about touching bodies. It is… how they show trust. Care. It is not like the Na’vi ways. But it means something.”

You considered him carefully. “You say they do this with friends?”

“Very close friends,” he repeated, his voice dropping even lower, smoky, touched with a sweetness that curled in your chest like the first flickers of a fire. “Friends who mean… very much to one another.”

He saw the hesitation in your eyes and reached for your hand slowly, reverently, like he was handling a wounded bird. His thumb swept the back of your knuckles. “We are close, are we not?”

You blinked. “Of course we are.”

Neteyam’s smile widened just a breath, but there was no cruelty in it, only the soft swell of affection, fond and burning. “I have always known your heart. I see you. And I know you trust me.”

You nodded. “With everything.”

The moment hung there, suspended between heartbeats. The wind didn’t move. The forest seemed to hush, holding its breath. Your pulse beat heavy in your ears, not from fear, but from the strange warmth beginning to unfurl behind your ribs. You hadn’t known Neteyam could look at you like that. Like you were more than bark-woven necklaces and careful hands. Like you were more than a friend.

Still, you asked, quiet but unflinching: “Why do you want to do it?”

He didn’t flinch either. His gaze didn’t wander. “Because you are important to me. I want to… show you. Not just say it.”

You stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge if this was another game, another soft trick of his tongue, like when he teased you about your clumsy knots or your wild braids in the morning. But he was still, the kind of still that felt sacred, like he was baring something raw and rare.

“Alright,” you said, finally. Your voice didn’t shake. “I trust you.”

Neteyam’s laugh was quiet, breathy, a sound that tasted like joy. He squeezed your hand, then guided you down until you both sat cross-legged, knees pressed together, your palms still joined. His hands were large, warm, and gentle, holding you with a care you hadn’t noticed before, or maybe hadn’t wanted to.

He brought his other hand to your jaw, fingertips brushing the skin just below your ear, and your breath hitched. His touch wasn’t demanding. It was reverent. Careful. Like he was asking permission every step of the way.

“You just… close your eyes,” he murmured. “Let it happen.”

Your heart stumbled, but you obeyed. Your lashes lowered. The forest behind your eyelids seemed brighter, painted in strange colors. You could feel every inch of him. His warmth, his breath, the slow rhythm of his thumb against your cheek.

When his lips met yours, it was soft, curious, like a question. His mouth was warm, and the press of it was light, but sure. You felt the world tilt, just slightly, like the ground beneath your legs had shifted.

He didn’t move fast, didn’t deepen it. He stayed there, close, his lips grazing yours like a whisper, like a vow. You exhaled through your nose, instinctively leaning into him, and the smallest, trembling sound escaped you—half a sigh, half a question.

Neteyam pulled back only a breath, his lips still barely touching yours. “Did you feel that?” he whispered.

You nodded.

“That is how sky people show their hearts.”

Your eyes stayed locked on his mouth, the fullness of his lower lip, the way it glistened faintly where it had just touched yours. His breath fanned across your skin and you didn’t lean back, didn’t blink, barely remembered to breathe. The world around you had not changed, but it felt newly born, as if the trees stood taller and the light had melted gold across every leaf. It was your heartbeat that filled your ears, your pulse that echoed, a thrum against your ribs like distant drums. There was a strange pull in your chest, an ache both exhilarating and unknown, as though your body recognized something before your mind had named it.

His fingers tightened around your hand,  with a firm kind of intimacy that grounded you like a vine anchoring into earth. Your breath fled your lungs in a stuttering exhale, and the small, involuntary giggle that escaped your mouth was light as air, startled and soft.

“So…” you tilted your head, eyes closing just slightly, your voice touched with curiosity, “…your father did this with all his close sky friends?”

Neteyam’s expression fractured in real time. First, his brows lifted, the color visibly draining from his face in a rush of disbelief and horror, his mouth parting as if he meant to answer but hadn’t yet found the words. The silence between you stretched taut, and for a moment, he only blinked, as if caught by a dart to the chest. But then his shoulders shook once, and he let out a shaky, unconvincing laugh.

“Y—yes,” he managed, barely above a whisper. “All of them.”

You gave a solemn nod, like you were weighing this new custom with the same reverence you gave the sacred rites of Eywa. “I see,” you said. “I think I understand now… why they do it.”

He gave a sound, half-strangled in his throat, and his eyes searched yours, frantic and unguarded. The lie hung between you like smoke, transparent but cloying, and he must’ve known how little you believed it. But your tone held no accusation, only a quiet, curious honesty, warm as the hand still nestled in his.

“Would you…” he began, voice hushed. “Would you want to do it again?”

The humming sound you made was quiet but clear, the vibration of it rising from your chest with the ease of certainty. He exhaled, a breath that seemed to unspool all the tension from his spine, and without needing to be told, he moved.

He lifted his hand to your face, palm gentle against your cheek, fingertips tracing just beneath your eye with the caution of someone brushing pollen from a flower. You hadn’t expected him to touch you like that, with a reverence usually reserved for prayer. His thumb rested against your jaw, and your lips parted slightly at the feel of it, a soft intake of breath betraying how much it affected you. He leaned in closer, until your noses brushed. The contact was tender, barely there, a subtle rub of bone against bone, warm and close and achingly gentle.

“Ma’ yawne,” he whispered against your mouth, the words trembling on the edge of sound, caught between truth and confession. His voice was velvet, low and hoarse, shaped by the weight of something he hadn’t dared to say before. You didn’t ask what it meant. You only smiled, mouth curling beneath his, your breath warm as you leaned into the kiss he gave you.

This one was not shy.

Where the first had been a question, this was an answer—full and certain. His lips pressed to yours with a quiet urgency, deeper, fuller, hungry in a way he’d tried to hide. His hand slipped from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, holding you in place as he tilted his head, guiding the kiss into uncharted territory. Your breath caught in your throat, and your hands, once limp between you, rose on instinct to clutch at his shoulders, fingers curling into his skin like vines wrapping around stone.

Your bodies tilted inward, the space between you vanishing until his chest pressed to yours, his thighs bracketed against your knees. The heat of him soaked through every layer of skin, and your pulse drummed wildly where your heart met his, your stomach tightening with a deep, curling ache. He kissed you like he needed you to understand what his words couldn’t say yet, like every press of his mouth was a piece of language, building a story only you could read.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, his mouth still brushing yours. His voice came ragged, his words shaped against your lips like a spell.

“Relax.”

Your whole body shuddered with the weight of that word. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d drawn yourself inward, how every muscle had gone taut with the effort of not dissolving. The way he said it. Soft, coaxing, protective, cut through your defenses. Your exhale was slow, trembling, and you melted beneath his hands, your weight pressing into him more fully. The kiss that followed was less urgent, but no less intense. There was trust in it now, not just curiosity, not just wonder, but a sense of giving in.

Neteyam made a sound in his throat, deep and low, like he hadn’t expected the way you melted into him. His hand slid down your back, just enough to steady you as you shifted, your thighs sliding over his, bodies drawn together like branches in a storm.

“I did not think you would let me,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours as his breath fanned over your mouth. His eyes were still closed, lips still parted.

“Why would you think that?” you asked softly, barely more than a breath, your voice threading between you. “We are friends.”

He didn’t answer with words. His silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t heavy with guilt or uncertainty. His silence was controlled only by the last, fraying edge of restraint. He leaned forward, erasing the space you’d left him, lips closing over yours with a suddenness that stole your breath. This kiss was not shy. It was quiet, but insistent. A low-burning ember set against the skin, smoldering hotter than before. His breath came harder through his nose, warmer now, and the tremor that passed through his body wasn’t subtle.

Your hand moved without thinking, splaying over his chest, your palm landing just above his heart. His skin was hot beneath your touch, his muscles taut, breathing ragged and uneven. He made a sound that was sharp, surprised, almost a growl, shook through his throat and into your mouth, and your body reacted before your mind could make sense of it. Your gasp was soft but clear, lips parting, and in that instant, he surged forward, tongue sliding against yours in a motion so smooth and shameless you whined into the kiss without meaning to.

Neteyam did not wait. His hands slid down your sides,  fingers pressing into your waist as he pulled you fully into his lap, positioning you over his thighs with a possessiveness you had never seen from him before. His body was hot, his pulse thudding beneath your hand like a drumline, and when your hips settled against his, the moan he swallowed into your mouth vibrated through every inch of him. His hands moved freely now, no longer hesitant—one gripping your lower back, the other slipping up your spine, fingers brushing the knots of your necklace, the dip of your waist, the curve of your ribs. The noise that left him was low, pathetic, as if he couldn’t contain the sensation of having you so close, so pliant, so willing.

Your tails flicked between you, brushing, curling, twisting in the chaotic rhythm of your bodies. His moved like it was alive with its own hunger, wrapping and twitching, a mirror of his building tension. Yours betrayed every spike of surprise, each involuntary thrill that coursed through you with every glide of his tongue against yours, every possessive pull of your body closer. Your breathing grew unsteady, helpless against the way his touch mapped you like a newly discovered land, like he wanted to learn every inch of you through fingertips and lips alone.

Neteyam’s hand slid up, into your hair, searching with purpose. His fingers caught the thick braid that lay over your shoulder, and he gave it a firm tug, sharp enough to jolt your attention. Your lips parted from his with a wet gasp, eyes wide, lips damp and swollen. You blinked up at him in dazed confusion, a sound barely escaping you. You didn’t speak, but your expression asked everything: What is it?

He stared at you, lips parted, chest rising in quick, uneven heaves, his golden eyes darkened and wild. His mouth opened, the beginning of a thought taking form on his tongue, the truth curling just behind his teeth.

But before he could speak, the branches overhead rustled.

Not in the distant way of wildlife. Not in the idle, lazy way wind tousles the leaves. This was footsteps. 

Neteyam froze.

The tension in his body snapped taut, like a bowstring drawn too far, and his entire frame locked beneath you. His hands went still. His eyes widened in alarm, lips still hovering close to yours, his breath caught like a trapped animal.

Neytiri’s silhouette slipped through the canopy.

The sight of her; tall, radiant, fierce, descended like cold water over hot stone, hissing through the air. Her presence was quiet but impossible to ignore, a gaze sharp enough to pierce bark and bone alike. She said nothing at first. She only stood, eyes moving slowly between you and her eldest son, face confused.

Neteyam reacted fast. Too fast.

His hands gripped your waist and lifted you off him in one fluid, practiced motion, depositing you onto the soft ground beside him as though your body had burned him. His posture straightened, jaw clenched, tail tucked tight around his thigh, ears snapping back flat in alarm. He looked every bit the warrior-in-training again, despite the rapid flush of color that still stained his cheeks, and the unmistakable wet shine on his lips.

Neytiri stared at you both, her brow arched, arms crossing over her chest. “What is this?”

You blinked at her. A beat passed. Neteyam looked one gust of wind away from fainting, and your own heart thudded high in your throat.

You smiled.

Sweet. Innocent. Like the question was about gathering berries or collecting beads.

“Kissing,” you announced brightly, tilting your head. “We were kissing!”

Neteyam made a noise—a strangled, horrified groan—as his hands flew to his face, dragging down across his features in sheer disbelief.

Neteyam’s ears twitched. His head turned, catching your face where you flew a few lengths behind. You tried to hide your grin behind your hand, but it was too late. His eyes caught yours, and his smirk curved sharp and satisfied.

When you all finally touched down, your ikran’s talons scraping over the packed dirt near the edge of the village, Neteyam hopped off with that same cocky swagger still clinging to his frame. He stretched with exaggerated flair, arms raised high as he arched his back, tail flicking behind him. “Another win,” he said, all mock-solemn. “Truly, Eywa has blessed me today.”

Lo’ak snorted, dragging his fingers through his braids. “Eywa has blessed you with a head start, you skxawng.”

Neteyam only grinned wider, fangs flashing. “Excuses.” He nudged his brother with an elbow that was more shove than anything, ignoring the way Lo’ak shoved back twice as hard. “You just hate losing in front of her.”

“Please,” Lo’ak muttered, brushing past them both, “as if she cares.”

You dismounted last, patting your ikran’s flank in thanks. When you turned around, Lo’ak was already vanishing into the crowd, muttering about needing to wash the wind from his teeth. Neteyam stayed behind.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched you with that look he always wore when no one else was around; quiet and amused, eyes glinting like sunlight scattered on water. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles flexed beneath skin dappled in gold light. There was a satisfaction in his posture, lazy and feline, like a hunter who already knew he’d caught his prey.

“You laughed at me,” he said finally, voice low with feigned betrayal.

You blinked. “What?”

“In the sky,” he said, stepping closer. “You laughed when I asked who the mighty warrior was.”

You fought the smile threatening your lips. “Because it was stupid.”

His brows lifted, mock-offended. “Stupid?”

You nodded, biting back a giggle. “Very stupid.”

His tail swayed behind him. “You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest, but his eyes were warm—molten gold, laced with humor. “You should have defended me. Said my name. You know I am the mightiest.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “You really need me to say it?”

His grin curved wider. “It sounds better when you do.”

You looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a loose braid falling into your face, but your cheeks felt too warm, your skin prickling under the weight of his gaze. He noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed. Neteyam stepped close enough that his shadow brushed yours, his voice dropping just slightly.

“You laugh at me, tease me, never say my name when it counts… I begin to think you do not take me seriously.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “You’re right. I don’t.”

He chuckled, but his eyes never left yours. “A shame,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth, “because I take you very seriously.”

Your stomach dipped, the warmth of his tone rippling through you in waves. You opened your mouth to answer—to laugh, to deflect, to say something that would keep things light and easy between you, the way they always were,  but the words tangled in your throat.

Neteyam’s expression shifted. Just barely. His smile softened, the curve of it gentler now. His hand lifted, slow, fingers brushing the end of one of your braids where it curled against your collarbone. His touch was barely there, featherlight, but the look in his eyes burned.

“You know,” he said softly, “you are the reason I let Lo’ak fly ahead at the start.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I wanted you behind me.” His voice was hushed, but sure. “So I could hear you laugh. So I could look back and see your face.”

Your breath caught. He tilted his head, searching your expression for something you hadn’t quite figured out how to show him. His fingers skimmed yours where your hands hung at your sides, a ghost of a touch, barely brushing, but it sent a jolt up your spine.

You swallowed. “Neteyam…”

He leaned in just a fraction, the scent of him filling your nose; salt and sun and wind, familiar and grounding. “You really do not see, do you?” he whispered.

“See what?”

His smile tilted, eyes gleaming. “How I look at you.”

You stared up at him, pulse stuttering, the world suddenly too quiet. He stepped closer still, close enough that your arms brushed, close enough to count the flecks of green in his eyes. His voice dipped low, nearly lost in the rustle of wind through the leaves.

“I will make you say it,” he said. “That I am the mighty warrior.”

You couldn’t help it. The laugh escaped you before you had time to catch it, quick and breathy and bright. You clamped both hands over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, as if that might preserve what little dignity he had left. But it was useless. The look on your face, the way your eyes crinkled, gave you away instantly.

Neteyam groaned softly, though the exasperation didn’t reach his eyes. He reached forward without hesitation, fingers curling around your wrists with practiced ease. His touch was firm but never rough, the pads of his fingers warm against your skin. He tugged your hands down from your face, holding them low between you, gaze fixed on your lips with the kind of intent that stripped the air from your lungs.

The laughter faded like dew beneath sunlight.

Your breath hitched, shallow in your throat, and in that stillness that settled between you, Neteyam just looked at you. No teasing now. No smug smile or cocky flair. His eyes had gone quiet, darker, like a stormcloud just beginning to stir at the edge of a hot sky. His lips parted as if he might speak, but instead he simply leaned in, no hesitation, and kissed you.

Your thoughts stuttered to a halt.

His mouth was soft, warm, pressing against yours with an ease that spoke of long-held want, not hurried hunger. His hands slid from your wrists, letting them fall gently as his touch drifted to your waist, fingers curling against the dip of it like he’d done it in dreams. The other hand rose to your cheek, palm cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye with reverence that made your knees feel unsteady.

You were frozen for half a heartbeat—the shock of him, the surprise of how natural it felt,  and then your body remembered what your mind was still catching up to. You kissed him back, slow and unsure at first, but it didn’t matter. He met you where you were, always had, molding to your rhythm like he had all the time in the world.

Neteyam smiled into the kiss. A faint, crooked thing, full of triumph and affection, before parting from your lips just enough to speak. His breath was hot against your mouth, his voice low and thick, threaded with teasing. “Say it.”

You blinked, heart hammering. “Say what?”

He leaned closer, brushing his nose against yours. “That I am the mighty warrior.”

Your lips twitched.

He was close enough that you could see every line in his irises, the way they shimmered like dusk through honey. His grip had tightened just slightly, the hand at your waist anchoring you, the other tracing slow circles behind your jaw. He was so sure of himself. So convinced.

You smiled and shook your head. “No.”

Neteyam let out a sharp exhale that sounded like half a whine, the corner of his mouth curling in disbelief. He didn’t argue. He didn’t give you the chance to gloat. He surged forward and kissed you again, harder this time, mouth parting against yours with all the breathless urgency he'd held back. Your breath caught, hands flying up to steady yourself; one against his chest, the other curling into the beads of his shoulder strap,  as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a heat that made your legs tremble.

His lips moved over yours like a promise, slow but insistent, full of all the things he’d never said out loud. His fingers splayed at your waist, pulling you flush to him, and the space between your bodies vanished in a rush of heat and need. His tail brushed yours in a slow arc, the contact electric, sending sparks licking up your spine.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed between his lips, and felt the smile that curved against you in answer—smug, satisfied, utterly Neteyam. He didn’t pull back this time. Not fully. He lingered, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours, his voice a murmur between panting breaths.

“Still don’t want to say it?”

You closed your eyes, dazed, trying to collect your thoughts. “Never.”

He kissed you again before the word had fully left your mouth, lips slanting over yours with a hunger that made your knees buckle. His tongue brushed your lower lip, a tease that sent a bolt of heat through your core, tightening every muscle in your body. You barely had time to react before your back met the tree, the bark cool and unyielding against your spine. His body pressed into yours, heat rolling off him in waves, his presence filling every inch of space you didn’t know you’d been missing.

Your tail lashed behind you, twitching with frantic energy, coiling on itself in chaotic spirals. You couldn’t hide the way your breath caught, couldn’t pretend that this wasn’t affecting you. Not when his hand found your hip again, fingers spreading wide like he needed to feel all of you beneath his palm. His other hand settled on your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek with a softness that contrasted the heat of his kiss.

When Neteyam broke the kiss, your lips were left parted, breath shallow, a low whine slipping out before you could catch it. His mouth lingered barely a breath away, close enough that his exhales tickled your chin. His eyes gleamed, dark with mischief, hunger, pride, but he didn’t speak.

He dipped his head instead, mouth tracing a molten path along the curve of your neck. His lips brushed your pulse point first, barely touching, and you shivered against him. His voice came next, low and amused and thick with velvet heat, each word murmured directly into your skin. “You’re so easy to tease,” he breathed, letting his lips drag upward just beneath your jaw. “I kiss you once and you forget how to stand.”

You giggled despite yourself, fingers digging into his hips where your hands had settled, clinging like you needed to anchor yourself to him or else drift out into the air with no hope of return. Your head tilted instinctively, offering more of your neck to him, not consciously, but with the kind of blind trust that had always lived between you.

Neteyam noticed, of course. He always noticed.

His tail curled around your thigh like a vine climbing a trunk. The strength of it startled you, not because it hurt, but because it held. It gripped you, claiming space on your body like it had always belonged there, sending shivers racing up your spine. You felt his tail shift slightly, the smooth band of muscle flexing as it squeezed, drawing your leg flush against him.

Your breath escaped in a quiet moan, muffled into the space between his shoulder and neck, your lips brushing skin before you realized how close you were. You startled at the sound you’d made, face flushing with sudden heat. Your voice came stammering and small. “Sorry.”

His chuckle was low and pleased, rich as honey and warm as firelight. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes narrowed slightly with that same mischievous glint he always wore when he had the upper hand. His grin was crooked, mouth glistening where he’d kissed you, and his thumb brushed the corner of your lip like he was savoring the look on your face.

“Why are you apologizing, syulang?” he asked, voice soft but thick with heat. “You think I didn’t like that sound?”

Your lips parted to speak—a protest, maybe, or just an excuse, but no words came. Your mouth went dry under his gaze, the intensity of it all-consuming. You couldn’t hide from the way he was looking at you now. Like he was seeing you for exactly who you were, and loving every second of it.

His fingers drifted lower, slipping beneath the edge of your waist wrap with casual ease, knuckles brushing the skin just above your hipbone. He didn’t push or pull, at least not yet. He just toyed with the fabric, eyes never leaving yours. His tail remained coiled around your thigh, the contact impossible to ignore, each twitch a reminder of how close he was, how tightly he held you.

“So,” he murmured, leaning close again until his lips hovered just beside your ear. “Tell me, yawne…”

The word coiled in your stomach like fire. My beloved. He’d never called you that before. Not even once.

“…who is the mighty warrior now?”

You swallowed hard, trying to will your face back to neutrality, trying to resist the flush you knew was crawling up your chest. “Still not you,” you whispered, breath trembling.

Neteyam’s answering groan was low and dramatic, but it vibrated through you where his chest pressed to yours. “You are stubborn,” he murmured. “So stubborn.”

Your fingers shifted on his hips, curling into the bone beneath the skin. “You like that about me.”

He laughed against your throat, his mouth returning there with a soft, open-mouthed kiss, no longer teasing. The heat in it made your spine arch subtly, your hips pressing closer into him. He responded instantly, pressing you harder against the tree, his hands sliding down to cup the underside of your thighs. You barely had time to react before he lifted you, strong arms curling beneath your legs as he pressed forward.

Your thighs parted instinctively to accommodate him, wrapping around his waist as your back hit the tree again. His strength wasn’t something he flaunted often, but in moments like this, when he lifted you like you weighed nothing, like carrying you was as easy as breathing, sent your heart racing, a heady thrill that soaked into your bones.

He held you pinned, firm but gentle, one hand gripping the curve of your thigh, the other bracing beside your head against the bark. His mouth found yours again, slower this time. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize the taste of your breath, like each movement of his lips over yours was carving the memory into his skin. You met him there, your arms sliding around his shoulders, hands threading into his braids, holding on tightly as heat bloomed through you like sunlight spreading across damp earth.

His body shifted against yours, fitting himself into you like puzzle pieces finally aligning. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his breath, the rhythm of his pulse beneath your palms. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t pushing. He was sinking into you slowly, like he’d waited long enough and didn’t want to miss a single second of it.

“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against your mouth, voice hoarse, full of unsaid things. “For a long time.”

You nodded before you realized you had. Your voice came barely louder than a whisper. “Me too.”

His eyes closed, a pained kind of relief washing over his face. His forehead dropped to yours, noses brushing again, breaths mingling. You could feel every part of him, every inch of skin pressed to yours, every breath he drew like it was tethered to your lungs.

“Say it now,” he whispered, smiling slightly. “I earned it.”

You laughed softly, the sound shaking with nerves and heat, hands sliding down to his chest. His heart pounded beneath your touch, steady and strong. You leaned forward, brushing your lips across his jaw. “You’re close,” you said, voice teasing. “Very close.”

His groan was muffled against your throat as he nuzzled into you, lips dragging across your skin in slow, reverent sweeps. “Cruel,” he said. “You are cruel to me.”

But his voice was full of warmth, affection wound tight into every syllable. There was no frustration in him, only hunger, only delight. You could feel how much he was holding back, how carefully he moved even now, as though he was restraining every instinct that begged to go faster, rougher, deeper.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice low against your ear. “I’ll give it.”

You inhaled slowly, dragging the breath deep into your lungs, letting your body remain still in his arms. His words hung heavy in the thick air between you, charged with the weight of promise, of invitation. Your lips parted like you might speak, but instead you tilted your head slightly, gaze rising to meet his through thick lashes.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, teasingly, though your eyes gleamed with mischief. “I think I need more time to decide.”

Neteyam clicked his tongue with exaggerated disapproval, the sound low and sharp, like a scolding chieftain addressing a rebellious warrior. His head tipped back slightly as he sighed, drawing the breath in slow and letting it spill over your neck in a warm stream that made you shiver. His arms flexed around you, holding you tighter against the firm lines of his body.

“You test me,” he murmured, mouth brushing your throat as he spoke. “Eywa help me, you test me so well.”

His lips pressed to your neck again, softer this time, a slow drag of his mouth over your skin, punctuated by a nip that made your toes curl. He stayed there, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. Every press of his lips was a question, and every shift of his body said he already knew the answer.

His hips rolled against yours, the weight of him grinding into your core with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t a thoughtless motion, not the clumsy urgency of a boy chasing heat. He moved with purpose, dragging the thick press of his arousal up against the thin barrier of your wrap, the friction sending sparks blooming through your nerves. A moan tore from your throat before you could catch it, the sound cracking through the trees like wind breaking open the sky.

Your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively, holding him close, your fingers threading into his braids. He was so warm, so solid against you. The rhythm of his hips, the strength of his arms, the way he held you like you were precious and breakable, even as he rutted against you like he was half-feral. Your legs tightened around his waist, breath coming fast, heart hammering in your chest like war drums.

Neteyam groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest. His nose brushed the underside of your jaw, his voice a dark purr against your skin. “That’s it,” he said. “You feel that? You’re making such sweet sounds for me, yawne.”

You couldn’t answer. Not properly, not when your body arched into his without thought, not when every nerve had narrowed to the place where he moved against you. Your hips rocked forward helplessly, seeking friction, more pressure, more of him.

“Neteyam,” you gasped, voice cracking. “Please. Please give me more.”

His pace slowed, cruel in its precision, as his lips curled into a smirk against your throat. “More?” he asked, his tone soft but thick with heat. “I’ll give you anything you want. All you have to do is say it.”

You whimpered, breath shuddering as you clung tighter to him, but he didn’t let up. His hips pressed harder, his movements grinding up into your core with just enough restraint to make you ache. Every pass of his body sent heat pooling low in your belly, every roll of his hips making your wrap cling wet and clumsy to your skin. Your body was on fire, alive beneath him, need curling in every breath.

“Say what I want to hear,” he whispered, voice hot against your ear.

You bit your lip, teeth digging into the tender flesh, your face flushed from heat and friction and the unbearable tension in your spine. He kept moving, kept dragging himself against you like he had all the time in the world, like he didn’t care that your breath was catching in sobs, that you were unraveling for him.

He moved his hand then, sliding it up beneath your top wrap, fingers curling against your bare ribs as his thumb brushed just under the swell of your breast. His touch was teasing, maddeningly slow, dragging another broken sound from your lips.

“Say it,” he said again, slower now, drawing each syllable like a kiss against your ear. “Call me the mighty warrior.”

You shook your head, half in protest, half in desperation. “Please…”

Neteyam groaned at the sound of your voice, hips rutting harder this time, less controlled. Your entire body jolted with the sudden pressure, your mouth falling open in a breathless gasp.

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” he said, voice low, breath ragged. “You wanted more.”

Your body arched again, head falling back against the tree, mouth parted, lips trembling. The pressure was unbearable now, your whole body taut with the promise of release that hovered just out of reach. Every pass of his hips made your thighs twitch, your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

Your voice broke again, soft, pleading. “Neteyam…”

He pulled back, just far enough to meet your eyes, golden and wild. “Say it.”

You looked at him, really looked. His flushed cheeks, the mess of his braids, the sweat glistening on his brow. The way his mouth was swollen, the way his chest heaved against yours. He was beautiful like this.

“Neteyam,” you whispered again, voice hoarse with need.

He stilled, hips pressing forward one last time, the friction deep and perfect. Your mouth fell open, your whole body tightening, every breath a shudder. You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Not the moan, not the answer, not the way your hands trembled as they cupped his face.

“You,” you breathed, gasping the words like they were sacred. “You are the mighty warrior.”

His groan was full of stunned pleasure and unrestrained pride. He kissed you again, hard, swallowing your moan with a whimper that left you breathless.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“You are the mighty warrior,” you repeated, voice trembling.

“Thought so.”

"you look like you’re struggling, zuko," you whisper, leaning forward until your tits—flushed with a blooming warmth—brush against his scarred chest. you move your hips in a slow circle, feeling the way his thick, veiny cock hitches inside you, dragging against your sensitive walls with a friction that makes your vision swim. "where’s all that fire lord dignity? did it stay back at the palace, or did it just melt the second i climbed on top?"

he glares at you, but there’s no real heat in his amber eyes, only a simmering, helpless desire that he’s trying his best to mask. his face is a study in restrained agony; the scar tissue around his eye ripples as he knits his brows together, and he bites his lower lip so hard a tiny bead of blood threatens to surface. you watch his throat bob as he swallows a sound, his chest heaving under your palms. the texture of his skin is a map of his history—rough in some places, silk-smooth in others—and you splay your fingers wide, wanting to feel every inch of his heartbeat.

you shift your weight, picking up the pace until the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs drowns out the airship's engines. the sound is wet and heavy, a testament to how slick you’ve become for him. your body feels light, soaring high above the mundane worries of the gaang and their endless quest, as if you’ve bonded with an ikran and taken to the skies of a distant, glowing moon. you feel like the toruk makto of this tiny room, riding the whirlwind of his cock.

"shhh," he hisses, the sound escaping through his clenched teeth. he glances nervously toward the thin wooden door that separates your cabin from the rest of the sleeping crew. "you’re being... you’re too loud. be quiet before sokka hears something."

you let out a shameless snicker, shaking your head so your hair brushes against his heated cheeks. you have no intention of being quiet. in fact, the danger of being caught only makes the ache between your legs intensify. "let them hear. let them know exactly what their precious fire lord is doing in the middle of the night."

his hand snaps up, the movement a blur of fire-nation training, and he presses his palm firmly over your mouth to stifle your next laugh. his skin is hot, smelling of cinnamon and woodsmoke, and for a second, you just stare down at him, your eyes dancing with mischief. then, you flick your tongue out, dragging it slowly across the center of his palm, tasting the salt of his skin.

zuko let out a strangled, muffled groan—and his eyes widen in disbelief at your audacity. his fingers twitch against your face, and you can feel the exact moment his patience finally snaps. the fond annoyance he usually carries for your antics evaporates, replaced by the need to reclaim the tempo of the night.

he suddenly heaves his hips upward, a powerful thrust that buries him so deep you feel the head of his cock blunt against your cervix. the sensation is overwhelming, a physical jolt that sends sparks behind your eyelids like bioluminescent flora reacting to a footfall. your head falls back, your spine arching into a delicate bow as you try to protest, but the sound is trapped behind his hand, turning into a wet, desperate whimper.

you’re drooling on his fingers now, your saliva slicking his palm as he continues to drive up into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm. he’s no longer dealing with your nonsense; he’s answering every tease with a heavy, sliding friction that makes your cunt clench and spasm around him in a losing battle for composure. he’s cussing under his breath, a string of oaths that are too low and gravelly to make out, his voice a broken rasp near your ear.

the climax hits you like a strike of lightning, a shimmering explosion of sensation that makes your entire body vibrate. you squeeze him so tight it’s almost painful, your walls pulsing against his length in a milking grip. you feel him shudder beneath you, his fingers digging into your waist with enough pressure to leave crescent moons on your skin as he finally lets go. he groans into the crook of your neck, his body racking with the force of his release as he fills you with a thick rush of seed—an accidental creampie that leaves you both breathless and trembling.

as the high begins to fade into a soft, hazy glow, you slowly collapse onto his chest, your heart hammering a frantic duet against his. you reach up with a shaky hand, cupping his flushed face and tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb. he looks so vulnerable in the aftermath, the fire lord crown replaced by messy hair and a dazed-eyed stare.

"you know, for a man who commands an entire empire, you're remarkably easy to rattle," you murmur, your voice thick with sleepiness and the honeyed ache of lingering pleasure as you nuzzle into the hollow of his throat. "all i have to do is laugh at you once and the mighty fire lord just... completely loses his head."

zuko’s face instantly floods with a deep, crimson blush that starts at his neck and works its way up to the tips of his ears. he looks away, a huff of indignant breath escaping his nose, but his hands never leave your waist. he pulls you closer instead, tucking your head under his chin with a fondness that contradicts the annoyed twitch of his brow. he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips hot against your skin.

"you are the most frustrating person in any world," he grumbles, though he doesn’t let go. "now go to sleep before i decide to actually throw you overboard."

ˎˊ˗ makto : ride or rider

ˎˊ˗ toruk makto : rider of the great leonopteryx (avatar fauna)

ˎˊ˗ zuko makto : rider of zuko (LMFAOOO)