Mochi

ᯓ★ bf!valko who has a ridiculously attractive laugh. you thought it would probably be a little silly, but you were wrong. the first time you heard him really laugh out of true amusement, your entire face got red. not to mention the fact that his fangs and dimples show when he's laughing. also has those smile lines that everyone finds hot.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who never lets you carry anything, ever. whenever you two go out shopping for fun or for groceries, he will hold all the bags with both hands, bulging veins nearly popping out of his biceps as he holds onto 5 bags with each hand. but you still have the audacity to tease him.

"why don't you wanna hold my hand? are you angry at me?" you feign offense, pouting as you eye his obviously full hands.

he freezes, turning to the side to glance at you over his shoulder. "you serious?"

you nod, your frown only deepening as you stare up at him.

he shifts the bags in his left hand and barely manages to hold out his pinky finger to you. "c'mon," he points forward with a gesture of his head.

you chuckle, grabbing onto his pinky finger and walking alongside him.

"happy?" he asks with a scoff, but is unable to hide his grin. once you hum in agreement, his eyes return to the path ahead, his smile widening.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who, just like wolves who pick their partners for life and stick by their decision, saved himself for you. never dated, never kissed, never hooked up, never even flirted. he knew that the one meant for him was out there, and that he'd know it was them the moment he'd meet them. and when you ran into each other the first time? yeah, he knew you were the one. his nose and intuition never failed him afterall.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who acts very suave and confident, which he kinda is, but not all the time. it's kind of a cover-up that became half true somewhere along the way (fake it till you make it). sure he's much cooler now than in his teenage years, but he's still the virgin tech nerd who annotated biology textbooks for fun while having national geographic wildlife documentaries playing in the background.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who's a very outdoorsy man. always suggests going on walks, runs, or hikes with you. but he never takes the same path or trail twice. always insists on seeing new things. however, he knows that most people aren't big fans of hiking and stuff, so he never forces you, and is always encouraging when you do decide to. (also super grateful that you try out his hobbies for him)

"how much longer until we get back..." you whine, your arms dangling in front of you as they rest against valko's shoulders.

he readjusts you, tightening his grip on your legs as you melt further against him, threatening to fall off his back. "hey— you don't get to complain when you're being carried." he huffs.

"fine." you roll your eyes. "but you're the one who suggested carrying me around in the first place."

"what was I supposed to do? let my girlfriend limp the whole way back? how gentlemanly." he chuckles.

feeling his chest vibrate underneath you, and the warmth emanating from him, you can't help but laugh as well. "alright, alright I get it." you press a quick peck to his cheek. "thanks."

ᯓ★ bf!valko who loves lying in bed with you, face smushed between your thighs. unconsciously gnaws and bites at the flesh of your inner thighs like it's a chew toy.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who sleeps with nothing but a pair of boxers on. with his naturally high body temperature, he's probably more comfortable sleeping nearly naked. never really thought much about it, but when you pointed it out the first time you slept together, he kinda got flustered. thankfully though, you reassured him you didn't mind as long as he was comfortable which he was grateful for (more eye candy for you).

ᯓ★ bf!valko who's a mouth breather sometimes, sorry. (canines expel heat and absorb fresh air from their mouths). he tries to stop it, and it's fine most of the time, but sometimes he can't help his instinctive nature and catches himself doing it unwillingly. gets a little embarrassed when you tease him for it. also snores.

ᯓ★ bf!valko whose fangs sometimes poke your lips or get stuck in the flesh while you two make out. it's gotten to the point where you're used to it and don't mind, but he still kinda freaks out everytime.

you're resting atop his lap, your lips moving against his like you needed him to breathe. and he returned that energy tenfold. his excitement caused him to be a little careless however.

you feel a sharp sting on the corner of your bottom lip and wince away from him. your tongue darts out to feel the spot he accidentally poked. there's no blood, but you can feel a little dent.

he eyes you with wide and worried eyes. "fuck, I'm sorry—" he lets out a quiet whine. "are you okay?"

you nod, chuckling at his pout.

his pout turns into a frown as he furrows his eyebrows at you. "I'm worried about you and you're laughing at me?"

that makes your chuckle turn into a full laugh. you lean into him, cupping his face tenderly before peppering kisses all over his face. "can you blame me? you look cute angry."

"... I'm not cute. I'm a grown man." he huffs, trying his best to stay annoyed, but once your lips press against a particularly sensitive spot near his jaw, he melts against you.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who loves seeing you try out new clothes, or pampering yourself. he just likes showing you off, and he loves it even more when you show off for him. probably loves praising you too. "you look so hot." "can't believe that's all mine." "that's the top you weren't sure about? it was made for you." and so on and so forth.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who steals food off your plate, especially stuff like dumplings or fries. will quickly grab the food and eat it in front of you while smirking. oh, and don't hold your sandwich up near him and look away for even a second, because he will lean in and take a bite of it. also the type to take huge bites whenever you offer him small bites of your food.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who puts his hand over your head when you're about to smack your head on something. doesn't even do it to be chivalrous or anything, it's automatic. also does it when it's raining.

── SUGGESTIVE

ᯓ★ bf!valko who would not care about you having body hair. he knows it's the natural state of your body, and likes it for that reason. would be devastated if you shaved your bush.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who's a munch. he likes it because it's one of the places where your scent is the strongest. likes giving more than receiving.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who wants you before you shower. when he texts you he's coming home, he always makes sure to add "don't wash". he loves your natural scent and musk, and doesn't want it to be erased by the artificial scent of body shampoo and soap. that's not to say he's unhygienic or anything, he likes both but has a very clear preference.

ᯓ★ bf!valko who you find yourself laughing with during intimacy. whether it's you mocking him for a strangled noise he let out, or him chuckling at your pleading face, the two of you always find a way to smile through it.

a/n: come back home dada please

And you try. You really do.

You try to relax, but Caleb's tongue is circling your clit, slow and deliberate, tracing the shape of you like he's painting, like he's got all night and he's determined to use every second. His hair is soft against your inner thighs, tickling the sensitive skin, his breath is hot and uneven, and when he moans against you the vibration of it shoots through your clit and for a moment you you feel the sound in all the way up in your teeth.

"That's it," Valko murmurs when you let out something akin to a sob and a moan all mixed into one pathetic little sound, and his voice is softer now, almost reverent, his lips brushing your hair. "That's my girl. Taking it so well. Let him have you."

You're faintly aware of how Valko grinds against you everytime Caleb dips down to slurp at your juices.

Caleb pulls back just enough to breathe, and his chin is slick, glossy in the dim light, his lips parted and reddened. He looks up at you, meets your eyes, and grins, a dark shadow glazing over his eyes, something that makes you feel like prey. "She's dripping," he says, and his voice is shot, wrecked, barely a whisper as he makes a show of his eyes locking with Valko's behind you, licking his lips. "Everywhere. Valko, she's—"

"I know." Valko's hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying flat, feeling the way you clench. "I can feel her." He presses a kiss to the corner of your jaw, soft, almost gentle. "She's so responsive, isn't she? Gets so wet when we both look at her."

Caleb doesn't answer — he looks so fucked out already that you don't think he can — he just dives back in, and this time he's faster, greedier, his tongue fucking into you while his thumb presses against your clit, circling, pressing, finding that rhythm that has your toes curling and your back arching against Valko's chest. The more you try to run from the zinging pleasure of Caleb's mouth the harder Valko pushes you right into it.

"Please—" you gasp, and your voice is broken, barely coherent and more pathetic than you've ever heard it sound, "—please, I can't—"

"Yes, you can." Valko's voice is flat, calm, like he's telling you the weather. "You can take it. You're going to cum on his tongue like the good girl you are, and then I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. That's what you wanted, isn't it?" His claws drag down your hip, leaving pale lines that bloom pink. "That's why you're here, pup."

And when you come, hard, fast and shaking, with Caleb's name in your mouth — when you finally break, your whole body shaking and your vision goes white with pleasure —Caleb doesn't stop. He drinks you, his tongue relentless, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you know there will be bruises to discover the next morning, and Valko is right there, murmuring against your ear.

"Atta girl. That's it. That's my perfect girl."

You slump helplessly against him, your body still humming with embers of pleasure Valko decides tips your chin up, forcing you to look at Caleb and his current state... dark eyed and soaked from his nose to his chin in your juices that he makes a show of licking up, his grin sharpening when he sees Valko stiffening behind you.

"We're not done with you yet. You know that, right?" Valko murmurs, dragging his tongue against the side of your neck, collecting a bead of sweat that had pooled at your collarbone. His one hand slides up to embrace the side of your jaw, tilting your head forward. "Why don't you give your boyfriend a nice big kiss, hm? Have a taste."

Caleb's jaw twitches.

Valko smiles. "Then it's my turn."

“Caleb, I-I'm sorry, please, just don't-"

Without warning, Caleb smashed his lips against yours, catching you off guard in a matter of seconds. He didn't listen. He didn't fucking listen.

You tried to wriggle away from him, your palms pushing at his chest with all the might you had. But Caleb grabbed your wrists securely, and he shuffled around to lay you on the bed. You fell with a thud, hands above your head as you heard him taunt you.

"You've been such a bad girl. What makes you think I'll listen to you?"

Once his hands were shuffling underneath your dress, panic flooded your veins, the tears in your eyes enveloping your vision. You shouldn't let this happen, but every time you tried, Caleb would threaten you, holding a gun to your head. 

This time, his gun wasn’t on him, and before you could even try to protest again, an invisible weighted blanket descended upon your arms and hips, holding you against the mattress. His evol.

He slowly dragged down your cotton panties, an arrogant smirk planted on his face as he cooed at you, wiping your tears with his thumb.

"Don't cry, you know what happens if I catch you doing something wrong," his lips suck on your collarbones and his hand finds your bare pussy, "don't you remember what happened before, hm? Fucked your brains out when you tried to attack me with my gun.”

His fingers rubbed your clit in a soothing motion, and you shut your eyes for a moment. The heat that grew inside you was supposed to be forbidden, yet your body let it happen. You shuddered as his words turned more erotic by the second, and his fingers soon collected your slick that made your pussy glisten with bliss.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're getting turned on pretty quickly."

Caleb groaned at the thought of having you all over again, and his lips connected to yours. This time, it’s messy. His tongue licks at your open mouth, teeth clashing against each other, and you whimper into the kiss. His hands are rubbing you at a faster pace before he slips a finger inside and you moan.

He pushes his finger in and out, curling at your walls, the perfect touch setting you ablaze as you cry out. He begins to add another finger, pumping them slowly as he feels you clench around him. The pleasure starts to grow on you immensely—breaths getting heavier, sweat clinging onto your neck as you bite your tongue to stifle out another moan. Caleb notices; he always notices everything. 

He scoffs at you, pulling the straps of your dress down, and his eyes lock onto your perky tits. 

“Poor baby.” 

He tilts his head at you before his lips attach to one of them, hungrily sucking on them. His wet tongue rolls around your nipple, teeth clamping onto it harshly, causing you to involuntarily arch your back. The mix of pleasure and pain increases your arousal, heat now dancing on your skin as your heart pounds in your chest. You were practically immobilised by his evol, unable to do anything to get him off of you. Yet, that feeling in your stomach tightened, and your legs twitched for a split second, and you knew what was coming. 

“Gonna cum pipsqueak?”

His words vibrate on your chest as his mouth moves onto the other one. You catch the mess decorated on your breasts, spit glistening from Caleb’s act, and when he catches you staring at him, he emits a low growl, fingers pressing deeper into that spot that has you gasping. Fuck, just seeing Caleb like this made you clench harder on his fingers. Your consciousness of getting out of this situation was withering away, and your mind slowed with your thoughts, and bile rose in your throat. 

Shit.

This wasn’t right. 

You watch as Caleb continues to litter your body with marks, hot-wet kisses peppered from your neck to your thighs. His fingers continued to hit that spot, palm grazing your aching clit. The knot in your stomach was tightening, and anxiety was washing over you—the words leave your mouth before you could stop them. 

“Caleb, just fucking stop, please.” 

Your voice wavers at the end, your lip trembling as the tears begin to stream out. His fingers slow down, and his eyes soften at the sight of you. He leans his face close to you, and you admire his features: the messy brown hair and those alluring violet eyes. The very features that drew you to him, the Caleb you thought you had always known. Though when his facade began to crack, and his real persona shone through, you had no chance of getting away from him. Not when he wanted you all to himself. 

He doesn’t wipe your tears, though. 

No.

He’s admiring you. Admiring how scared you are of him, and he grins menacingly. Your heart sinks at his next words.

“Aww, pip’s we’re doing this again? You just don’t wanna cum do you?” 

You have no time to respond when he grabs your thighs, spreading your legs wider as he brings them close to your head and his fingers piston in and out of you. The new angle has you squirming, a whine emitting from you. You feel his evol wrap around your legs, entrapping you in this position. His eyes are giving you a mocking look, and he lets out a dark chuckle, whispering right on your lips. 

“Have you forgotten why you’re here, hm? Is my darling slut forgetting the rules I have placed? Why don’t you tell me what you did today?” 

His fingers hit that spot deliciously with the new angle, and it has you trembling, mumbling a soft ‘fuck’ as you feel your orgasm approach closer. It’s getting harder to fight off the pleasure, your mind screaming at you to do something. It doesn’t help when he purposely pinches your clit with his other hand, and you cry out.

He grabs your face, eyes darkening as he glares at you.

“Aw, going dumb already? Tch, I asked you a question—what did you do today?” 

The look on his face with his condescending words made you realise you didn’t have a choice. 

A sob broke out of your lips, “I-ah- tried to leave.” 

Caleb nods his head slowly, a mocking gesture as he watches your breath get shakier, feeling your needy cunt clench tighter. 

“What a smart girl, yet you weren’t smart today, were you?” His tone is flat, disappointing and irritated, while fingers rub at your clit now, your orgasm approaching quicker. 

“Smart girls don’t break rules; they follow them. And when I tell you that you can’t leave the house at all, then you can’t leave. Understand pips?”

You meekly nod your head, and Caleb leans down to whisper in your ear. 

“Because of that… you’re going to come on my fingers, and I’m going to fill you up as many times as I want.” 

Your heart stutters at his words, and you can barely register what happens next as your orgasm crashes, a silent moan leaving you, and you soak up the sheets as well as Caleb’s fingers. You don’t have time to catch a breath when you hear the sound of a zipper that catches your attention, and you protest immediately. 

“Caleb, please don’t do this. Don’t come in me, please.”

When his cock springs free, your eyes lock onto the angry red tip, his girthy size and length twitching, aching to be inside you. He ignores your pleas, aligning his cock right at your entrance. 

Instead, he grins wickedly. 

“This will give you a reason not to leave again.”

He slides in one single push, groaning as he throws his head back, teeth biting his bottom lip harshly as he slowly starts to set a pace. 

“Shit, you’re tighhtt.” You hear the roughness behind his lustful tone. 

Feeling his big cock inside your needy pussy instead of his fingers had you in a chokehold. Your face contorts in pleasure once he gets faster, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix at every thrust. His hand latches onto your throat, his balls slapping against your ass, and he lets out a deep moan. 

“Look at you,” he coos and taunts when your eyes roll back, “smart girl goin’ dumb on her gege’s cock.” 

You clench at his words, whining when you feel his fingers on your clit again.

“Fuckkk, aren’t you such a filthy girl? I know you wanna come so bad, pips. Come all over this big cock that’s turning you into a brainless slut?”

His degrading words have the knot in your stomach tighten further while he groans.

“Shit, I’m close pips.”

“I’m gonna come in you, okay? Gonna—fuck— come in this fucking needy cunt, and fill you up. Gonna make you have my babies. Fuck, don’t you want that pips? Be pregnant with my kids?” 

Caleb rubs your clit in fast circles, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder as he thrusts even deeper into you. You arch your back, the pleasure overwhelming your senses as he spits onto your pussy, watching the way his cock slides in and out of you, wet and sticky with your arousal, and the sight alone has him nearly coming. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna get you pregnant. That way, you’re always tied to me even if you—shit— try to leave me again.” 

His words fall on deaf ears, and you struggle to form a coherent sentence as you clench tightly around him. The pressure builds, toes curling as a high-pitched moan escapes you when you come on his cock, some of it spraying on his bare chest and thighs. He moans, his cock coming to a halt, twitching as thick, hot ropes of cum spill inside you.

“Fuck…”

His cock slips out of your hole, and he awes at the sight of your cum-filled pussy. His fingers gather up the mess, watching it drip out, and he pushes some of it back inside while biting back a groan. You feel so drained, so betrayed because he never came in you before. You don’t have the energy to fight him further, not when he flips you onto your stomach, feeling him behind you as his arm flexes around your neck, bicep pressing right at your pulse point. 

He kisses behind your ear, and you don’t notice the dark look on his face when he whispers to you. 

“You’re never going to leave me ever, not when you’re mine.”

Don't Leave ©Copyright -2026- themochiverse - All Rights Reserved

when the mask drops and the armour clatters to the floor after it — zuko can be himself, let the tension roll off of him like the ocean’s steady drum beat against its sandy substrate counterpart. he can be free. like he is with his friends and the people who truly love him.

so it comes as no surprise when fire lord zuko becomes just zuko and chooses to spend his twenty-four hour release with you. 

duties have decided to be kind to you both. falling away and granting you a day where the stars align as though they’ve been perfectly hung next to each other in the sky — and the two of you have time to spare, time to spend by one another’s side. the princess no longer adorning her crown and the fire lord abandoning his armour. 

“what will you do?” zuko averts his eyes, amber finding cold slabs of stone beneath his feet more entertaining than the natural grace of the western water tribe’s very own princess. it’s amusing how shy he turns in the presence of someone who’s known him so long. even still, you treat him with the same amount of care as one would a beloved keepsake, as though he is the very book you reach for when new material runs dry. whose pages greet you with familiar scents of ash mixed with lost love. “w-with your time away?” he adds quickly.

the final council meeting of the week has long since ended. he finds himself at your side and a tower too high above your head as you walk with nowhere particular in mind. away from duty. away from honour. free. like a bird making use of its wings after hibernation. 

the grin you give zuko slips onto your face as though it’d been hiding somewhere away from the world, buried in the kinetic sand. “home.” where the water warms you and the sand is smooth and white and soft between your toes. a tropical solace away from the claws of advisors and military clerks. you stop in your tracks, the sea that you wear on your clothes fluttering around you — light, like sakura petals drifting in the breeze. then you pause, as though you’ve been struck by a poised tip of lightning — and if you lean into him any closer, the shock might wind between you both and zap right through him. “would you like to join me? you could use the sun on your skin and some warmth to your face, fire lord.” 

accepting your invite is as easy as turning a page, following the kind of naturalness that accompanies the desire to read past the final chapter before bed. zuko finds himself wanting to investigate between the lines of what he already knows from reading about you. you’ve been scorched by him before, as children, teenagers who moved with the type of attitude that feels like the world has dubbed them a mistake. he couldn’t tell you how he felt about you then, when he hadn’t learned the words or known how to protect you from himself. but he can now, now that you’re older and perhaps willing to forgive him. 

zuko follows you home for the day, with the hope of understanding the involuted web of his feelings. spider’s silk interwoven into a future he can't see, a mess he can’t make sense of.

those emotions that linger between every breath of saltine air — inhaled in his nostrils fresh, crisp like the snap of an apple. biting against his cheeks. different to that of the fire nation. his feelings sit there, ones he can’t explain away with battle plans and politics. things that make sense to him. not blurred or jumbled. you are confusing, complex, a puzzle piece he has trouble finding the right place for or an equation that has taken several centuries for even the best mathematicians to solve. yet, he’d follow you away from his home just for a taste of yours.

the western water tribe welcomes zuko with wide spread arms, as though he has finally come home. he’s visited before, on state business and for missions lead by aang… but not just for you. not with just you. at first the fire lord thinks that those of the tribe turn towards him just as if he were a source of godly light or heat — much like the spirited wildlife that weaves its way through the walls and arenaceous streets of your equatorial kingdom — because, like you, he is royalty. he is respected.

instead, zuko’s heart beams and yours shies away ( like the running tide, back home to its mother, the moon ) once he learns that is really because of  how fondly you spread word of him around the kingdom — the cabbalistic message is passed onto him from the people of your tribe. tales told to children born of salt water depicting him as a hero, your hero, in battle. secrets and gossip shared with elders who are loose-lipped confirming his beauty, his kindness. harsh critique and comparison to the fire nation passed onto the guards in the most leery parts of your kingdom — that compliment his battle strategy rather than disparage it like his elders.

in his absence, you speak of zuko with a certain air of fondness; the type that goes hand in hand with missing someone. someone more than a friend, but not quite a lover. someone who passes you like you are two ships passing by on different routes. different waters. longing lingering in the sea spray, heartache from the stars and the moon directing their crew.

perhaps, zuko observes, it is time to stop sailing on by. 

your laughter is light and kind and submerges him like the roots of a lily pad making a host out of spring stream — polite behind your hand — when the handmaids in your palace make an attempt to convince the fire lord that blue looks best draped against the pearlescent notes of his skin, rather than red. there’s a look of dread that washes over zuko’s features like a spill of oil on the surface of the sea. slick on his lips as they downturn at the corners, forming an amusing pout, whilst he turns in the mirrors. fabrics twirl loose and foreign on his body. free. where the lord’s usual armour sits tight and restricting like a militant regime. 

but then you melt when you look at him, as though you’re made of mercury or tungsten touched by a torch burning at the highest torrid degrees. palpable affection generously bubbling over, as though you’re admiring the most beautiful piece of art you’ve ever seen, almost as if he belongs where you do and where that is…is here.

he decides then that casting his anchor here would not be so bad. 

“do not worry,” you are honest when you reassure the fire lord. the beginnings of your heart, which he had once splintered unwittingly in his youth out of fear he could not love the way he had never been taught to, staring to peer out from its glass cage in your chest and behind the rise and fall of your ribs. “the colours match your eyes perfectly.” 

blue and yellow. amber and indigo. the sun and the sky. the tropical fish and the marine sea.

the colours of your home and your kingdom. the same colours that have and will stream through your life from start to finish, only dulling to grey when you inevitably  come to pass and fade from this world. the very colours of the people who have taken their time to help shape you into the formidable woman you are today. 

as soon as you say it, heat floods your face and broils beneath the surface of your sun-drenched skin. as soon as he hears it, zuko averts his gaze — feigning interest in the smooth silk that kisses his fingertips as though an angel had been there. his smile is tiny, breaching his visage. in the same manner that a blue whale would surface for air — gradual, slow, with the need to bring life into itself and the eyes of others. 

“thank you,” he unveils the compliment with carefully crafted earnestness — like protecting a sandcastle from the torrid temper of the sea on a bad day — overcoming the lodge in his throat to force his quiet fondness for you into the salty air. “yours too.”

this time, you look away — but he does not miss the spread of your lips into your cheeks. radiant, yet shy. something precious, a delicate secret. for him and for you. 

zuko thinks that he could stay here, set carefully adrift to become one with the landscape. spilling into the picturesque view of your kingdom as if someone had knocked over a palette of watercolour. 

that afternoon, zuko walks by your side with a little more confidence. the tropic’s coastal zephyr moves through your hair with the same force as unbridled joy — let loose, carrying no weight from the world and its own problems. 

it whips through the airy material of your clothes — shades of sapphire and ruby glimmering in the summer shine to your kingdom. you match each other, parallels of the elements that somehow go together. water and fire turn into fingers in gloves, two sides of the same coin, or two halves of a whole. faultlessly fashioned keys for long lost locks that open things never meant to be closed.

you are harmonious in a way zuko wished he believed in when he was younger. perhaps then there wouldn’t be this awkward distance between you — a push and pull of magnets that comes with the orbiting of one another. if he had realised back then, that loving you was nothing to fear in the first place, he wouldn’t have to wait for a pause in his duties to spend more than a morsel of time with you. searching for scraps in between schedules and missions just to breathe the scent of salt in your hair and sweet hibiscus on your skin — it's a desperation that wouldn’t even exist. 

because you would be his and he would be yours and nothing, not even a whisper, could keep zuko from you.

now, he is six hours into a day by your side that seems to be slipping through his coarse fingers like sand in an hourglass. except the day cannot be endlessly flipped to start again.

“i want to show you around,” you say with the cadence of someone who is proud of the roots their existence is founded on. there’s love in your heart, not just for your nation but it’s mothers and the mothers before them. zuko isn’t sure he knows what that’s like — the pride of being fire nation doesn’t come with tenderness. killing. lying. treachery. love comes from only a few close people in his life,  fleeting presences like a small spark between rocks. his mother. uncle iroh. his friends. you.

“but we don’t have much time left. there’s so much to see.” you add, your wistfulness curling into a pleasant gust of sea breeze as though your tone is reaching for a hand of comfort. these days, memories of your home grow faint despite the manners in which water holds it shape — between royal duties, adventures with aang along with the others and travelling in the hopes of keeping peace — replace what you knew as a child, 

palm trees wave to zuko as though they are friends he seems to have forgotten. something tells him that they know you too, calling to their queen as if to offer some kind of reassurance. the sand is still the same; even when the water dries; the parts of you that die still leave memories that remain. he doesn’t want you to be sad, to think that the kingdom you lead with such grace has forgotten about the lopsided grin from your youth and the funny way that you laugh to fill the silence, when the sound of turning tides is missed. he wants you to know that every flower of every tropical taint wishes to mimic your sweetness and your scent, that the people walking this path pause with awe when you smile at them as though they are family. 

your home loves you in the way that a mother loves her growing child. no matter the time apart, there are hands there to mend the holes in your heart with a stitch bearing threads of affection. 

the fire lord’s thoughts skip back to the present, your swaying fingertips brush. a sign. a vote of confidence for zuko.

breathing clean air into his lungs before he takes a leap, the firelord he claps at your hand in a silent promise of forever — one as vast as the stretching blue, deep as it is wide. zuko stands before you, willing to run wherever with you by the guidance of the beach’s breath — something firm about his grip, tender like he’s been blessed with something more precious than pearls and oil where he is but the foolish man that would dare to waste them. the carefree gentle lines of his face that creep into the edges of his scar read as though he knows which direction to head. as if he’s lived here within the western water tribe all his life and the song of the seashore knows his name, writing it in seashells right next to yours. destined in handwriting forged from the fingertips of the forces of nature. 

“then show me the parts you love the most,” zuko heaves with admission — heart open, flame free. “on our next day off, show me the rest. i want to see it all by your side.” he crafts his response with the same heedfulness as an artist close to completing a portrait — each brushstroke perfectly poised to ensure every colour conveys proper meaning.

the cognac and honey hue to his eyes have always signified safety and virtue.

you can trust when zuko says he wants to see it all. 

see it all. 

with you.

a wave crests against the sea wall that you walk together. thick and bold concrete that once would protect against the fire nation — but today, you think, you might let the defence fall. just enough to let him in.

“what about the day after that?” you whisper.

acting on an impulse of bravery, he squeezes the palm of your hand. 

“i’ll show you my home. more than just the council room.” he murmurs back. 

the implication is flirtatious, yet entirely too honest, see through like a sheet of paper held up to subtropical. perhaps there’s slightly more to zuko that you understand now that he’s older — you see his attempts to try. to fix what he broke as a boy with nothing but his honour at stake. at first your girlish heart feels scared to lean into it and trust the words to catch you like a friend who stands with open arms when you fall. 

but then you remember that you know him, like the salt only knows a home swirling at sea and the fishes know their reef, and the tide knows its tune. 

“okay,” you grin with the easy focus of someone taking the lead. ready to show zuko the world whilst intertwining your fingers like the stronghold rope your ancestors have used to fish and to survive for centuries before your birth. tied and knotted together with purpose. maybe, there is some kind of purpose in sharing this time with zuko — two souls bound to meet under the same sky with their fortune written in the cosmic stars. maybe. you lean into the feeling. you take him where your heart thrives most. 

you take zuko to the places where time stands still. the fish market that bustles with life by the docks, where he haggles with the monger to bring down the price and somehow leaves with three red snappers — that he has no idea how to prepare —  and a lobster he’d grown fond of due to its rich blue shell. (“will you eat it?” “i don’t think i can, it’s too cute.”). then, you spend two hours  rock pooling with the children darting from the school house down to the cove — because apparently they find it mind blowing that the fire lord has never touched a star fish before. 

unfortunately for them, you scold them all. including zuko, reducing the lord to an apologetic mess — because he almost finds himself poisoned by a brightly coloured sea slug lodged between bleached coral and barnacles. whilst bushy tailed and vibrant in personality, the children eagerly show zuko how to crack a muscle with nothing but a rock and the type of strength only a determined child would possess. their laughter meets the sea’s cooling breath at zuko’s many failed attempts.

his temper flares like that of bursting firework, a blush on his cheeks that rivals the red of his scar, because you’re watching and although it’s childish — he feels a need to prove himself to you. the failure, temporary, is worth it. for your hands gritty with sand and yet as soft as the briny ocean air against his cheeks, you teach him how to crack it open. cold water fingers on fiery warm skin. two opposites that make a whole. 

zuko he finds a pearl within a clam, one he gifts to you because it had reminded him of the gleam in your eyes. something about his boyish charm and the way he nearly slips on seaweed slick rocks just to give it to you as you tend to the children, melts your heart into a fond stupor. where the walls of your palace are adorned with the kind offerings and riches of the sea, a simple onyx pearl from the fire lord himself means more than anything in the world to you. 

someone who has everything, including the burdens of her own crown.

around lunch, an auntie at her market stall goads the young fire lord into trying a saltfish fritter — forgetting to mention the notes of scotch bonnet tucked into the batter and you swear on all things avatar that steam rolls from his ears and nose at the level of spice on his tongue. 

“you can’t handle a little heat? you’re the fire lord!”

 “i — hah — don’t see you trying one!” he fans his tongue with the same fierce determination that aang, the air bender, often displays. 

with silver coin you buy him a coconut flavoured ice-drink from another merchant, hoping it’ll cool the fever in his mouth. it melts too quickly between the warmth of zuko’s palms because you’re so close it makes him nervous enough to sweat. 

“ah, here!” you coo without realising. smaller palms gliding over zuko’s like water running over polished glass. “don’t let that melt.”

ice crystallises over the outside of his cup, freezing the condensation in place — it’s not as though you’ve frozen time but to the fire lord, the moment lasts forever. the instinctivity of your touch, the ease in which you tend to him, his stomach turns over itself like the switch of a current when the weather swaps its mood. 

he gulps, swallows — studies you with wonder like you’ve turned wine to water. “thanks… thank you, princess.” 

your own gaze follows the trail of his whispered words upwards, and your eyes meet. his laden with the kind of longing you’ve seen only exist between those destined to love in the stars. yours with surprise, hidden yearning lost in the colours of your eyes that reflect the light of sun on sea.

princess.

the pet name makes you turn away with embarrassment. zuko coughs to conceal his own. 

any onlookers must think their princess and the lord are utterly, tragically hopeless.

eventually, zuko finds himself entertaining the littler water benders, whilst you nurse the village back to order. too kind to say no to the people of your home when they seek your help — even on your day off. he doesn’t mind it too much, a spark of idolatry sitting within his sternum as he kindles flames for them to easily put out using splashes. as they grow bored, zuko sits still and patient as the young water bender girls take to weaving tropical flowers into his ink black hair — three  clambered into his lap and clinging to the broadness of his frame as they work with the better determination than his handmaids back home. you pretend that the jealousy in your gut isn’t there when you catch the sweet little girls  ask him to marry him and if they’ll become princesses when they do. 

zuko laughs them off, polite and patiently, gentle as the wisp of clouds streaking through the sky. “you should want to marry someone because they love you. not because they’re a prince.” 

“do you love someone, fire lord zuko?” one of the girls ask, nuzzling into his arm — eyes wide and glimmering like the surface of the sea catching on the sun. 

like second nature, amber eyes find your figure flowing through your tribe’s village as if you’d never left — carving out your path like water does when forming a new river channel. you move so naturally, playing with children one moment before you’re helping the elders wash their fruit and prep their fish in the next — rinsing it all off with your delicately practised water bending and his heart skips a beat as if it were missing from his chest for just a moment. 

“very much,” he hums around the words that feel like a weight off his chest to say, warm in the sense that they roll through his blood stream in search of replacing any cortisol there. of course, with a sprinkle of dopamine. “i think i always have.”

the fire lord — no — zuko, realises with frightening devastation that he loves you and never wants to leave you. here. home. he wants to be the wind beneath your soaring wings if you were to ever become a bird of the sea. he wants to wake up next to you with the view of crystallised aquamarine waters every morning and sometimes the burnt orange skies of his own nation. he wants to explore the chambers of your heart like a hidden cove off the coast and claim it as his own personal, secret treasure. 

later that night when the cries of gulls have quietened to the simple beat of their wings and the tropical sun tiptoes down the horizon to rest — zuko stands before you on the sea shore, heart on his sleeve so unlike him. so rare. feelings were never something that existed when he was younger, they were to be had and never to be spoken. the only emotions he knew how to express were rage. bitterness. souring anger. 

you’ve found your way to the beach once more; you know that his boat will dock here in the early hours — but you feel it would be better to say goodbye away from prying eyes of palace officials and diplomats that only wish him well for the sake of appearances and peace. quietly, you tip toe along the line of frothing white peaks of water and golden sand — arms out as if the wind will catch you if you fall from the unsteady drum to your heart. zuko follows you, not too close and not too far, as though he needs the space to think.

to speak what’s brewing in his mind, taking on the shape of a storm front. 

now, with the sky tinged pink, like his cheeks with the fresh heat in his face — zuko tells you of the warmth that burdens his heart as best he can. awkward, but still trying. 

“i think i might be in love with you.”

your body is still, then, but your garments — blue robes traded for something looser, teal ocean turned into silk — moves with the sea breeze that whips behind you. takes the ends of your braids and twirls it through windy fingertips. 

“might?” you ask, pure and curious.

“i know it.” zuko swears in return, quickly, like he’s been asked to recite an oath in exchange for his life.

crossing your arms over your chest, as though you’re shielding your vital organs from a cruel jab, you frown. “it doesn’t take a day to fall in love, my lord.” 

formalities come up quickly like a sea defence. you shield yourself from the angry wrath of your sea of memories. rejection from the past spilling over into the present day.

“yes princess,” he is even more hasty in his reply during this turn of conversation, in the sense that it almost feels like he is running out of time. your day off has dissolved like ice on hot rock, trickling away from you into a distant memory. soon, a boat will arrive to whisk him home and then there will be nothing but space between you once again. “but it has been years. since i—” zuko swallows. “since i first knew.”

“zuko.” you’re warning him, as one does before finding themselves eye to eye with an equatorial storm, because you’re not sure if you can go back to the way you felt before. humiliated and foolish. you’re no longer a little girl, a princess waiting for her crown and zuko isn’t the prince who left everything he knew behind anymore  — yet somehow he manages to wave it all away. the duty, the honour, the pressure put on young shoulders and the standards to uphold. 

you’re both children again, ones who feel like the world will end if they don’t do it right — hardly any room between their hearts and their lungs to take in love behind every breath and shout it out from roof tops where words stay trapped behind their teeth. was it love back then? when you had confessed your brewing feelings to zuko like it was as natural as bending and shaping the water to your will. how can it be love now? when you exist as different versions of yourselves. carved like a coast, adapting to circumstances like water takes to the vessel it is contained by. 

he whispers your name. “it doesn’t take a day to fall in love… but it has taken just one… for me to be brave,” zuko’s feelings spill from his lips like the blood of ocean prey drawn into water by a predator —  crimson against cerulean. you didn’t ask for an answer, but his comes as though it is a kiss pressed to your lips, unable to conceal a lie that’s lasted a decade. a falsehood where he doesn’t return your affections. “i’m not… i don’t lead with my heart. i walk into fights with my mind, not my emotions, because if i do, then the people i care so deeply about get hurt. but…  the greatest battle i’ve ever been in, is the one where my heart fought with my head and i failed to tell you what’s really been in my heart this entire time.” 

“i love you,” salt sits in the cracks of his lips as he licks them, anxiety sitting like a rock made of dense peridotite in his chest — weighing down his heart. if there was any inkling of you feeling the same, it would lift him.  “you… you don’t have to return any feelings for now. o-or at all! you may have even lost those feelings for me but…” zuko stumbles through his words, ones that take the shape of bended metal bullets — now that they sit bare between you both like a stretch of sand between shore and sea — he cannot take them back. “but just know it’s always been there, lingering in my mind, and i know now. that i have always loved you.”

the fire lord lays out his confession as though he is stood at the gallows begging for mercy on his life. 

and the realisation does not strike you all at once. instead, it is slow like the slip of the sun beneath the horizon as the world turns on and day fades into night. the whole day, you’ve been walking the edge, the thin and fine line that marks the divide between nostalgic comfort as friends and something a little more than lovers. like offering a shell that shines in the palms of zuko’s hands, he lets the decision land in your court. you decide what comes from this, where the winds take your spirits next.

for zuko, it has always been you. never a doubt. a single fact that rings true for as long as the heavens and sky above remain blue underneath pure white cotton cloud cover. 

what is it for you? was he always it for you? 

the version of the world from your eyes begins to blur with the tears that well in them. everything becomes a mess of water coloured skies and visions of zuko’s sunset silhouette as they fall fast while meaning well, a lifting relief washing away any dark in your heart like the way the waves rinse written word from sand. “you are so stupid, it’s nearly insulting,” you blubber, akin to your childish self from the past — stumbling into the fire lord’s arms before he can even think to hold them open for you. “the audacity for you to even believe, that for a second, that i stopped—” 

you nuzzle into his chest, his arms wrap around you like the sea that welcomes you home every time. familiar. warm against your skin. “that i ever stopped loving you,” you birth the words against his chest, covered in your colours and your fabrics and your life story. you feel his heart beat against your lips, your damp cupid’s bow, wild like the wind and somehow — calming. “the fire nation is ruled by an idiot.”

“i-i’m sorry?” zuko barks out a half laugh, one that whirls between the butterflies ablaze in his stomach. 

“don’t make it worse.” 

“i won’t anymore,” he quips, toes curling in the sand as if to hold himself steady. perhaps he feels faint, because in truth, you want him too. “it’ll be better. i will be.”

“i love you, zuko,” with your chin rooted against your chest, you peer up at the prince now grown into your first and only love — clinging onto his embers that catch in sea breeze as if to keep him in this moment with you forever. your confession vibrates through his bones and settles in their weariness, soothing their ache, letting his limbs rest after swimming against his true current for so long. “like the moon loves the sea. i miss you when you’re not with me, like the moon misses the sun when it sleeps.”

“i know. i’ve always known and i’m sorry that it took me so long to meet you here,” he commits, meeting you the rest of the way. under the same sky, a solar eclipse of two hearts. opposites. “i’m also sorry for being a teenage boy,” zuko chimes, unlocking a memory and distant conversation. “katara tells me that we are all the same.”

“you mean stupid? i’ve come to like you that way.” 

you beam with the same kind of mirth that zuko has always known to make his heart stop. from the moment he met you when the world needed saving up to now — where every person and every nation is coming to terms with the concept of peace. building a new future of harmony has not been easy and every day you do your parts to ensure the world never sees what it was one hundred years ago, ever again. right now, zuko thinks, he could be at peace, adrift with you like this. all the time. forever more, if you’d have him.

“love, don’t you mean?” the fire lord retorts after some silence lost to the roll of waves along the beach. answering your question with another question. his tone playful, voice lowered to a breathy whisper that coasts along the shell of your ear until you shudder wholly against him.

seeking warmth in him amidst the cooling tropical eve.

“shut up.” you say, not cruel. just careful and shy. you don’t pull away — even when the temperature drops to an icy evening chill and the moon breaks through the clouds to take the hand of the tide, luring it back to sleep and signifying the birth of night.

zuko shrouds you, crowds you into a hug — the type you give when you’re trying not to forget the way happiness feels. he refuses to let you slip through his fingers, not now, not ever again. “never,” he murmurs, like a quiet release of breath that runs along the coast of your hairline. “you’ve got me.” 

his final words fall like the precise stroke of a sword and land exactly where you need them. you can’t doubt him now, when they’re as good as a promise. zuko loves you and that is fact, written in scripture for generations to come and read and know like your love is to be treated as a piece of crucial history.

a boat will come in the morning to bring zuko back to the fire nation where he will resume his throne, bare the burdens and lace up his armour once more. except when he leaves, it won’t be dread that courses through his body and his soul — rather, it’ll be a sense of calm, the memories of your heart in his hand as he’s set adrift with you occupying his mind.

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vacancy and blankness become common themes in your mind whenever the avatar dares to be near. he leans down to your height, an easy going smile slanted onto his lips with the type of carelessness that comes with throwing caution into the wind too many times to count. “hm?” he’ll often say, as though the added height makes it harder to hear and aang is always so keen to listen, clinging onto your every word as though it’s ancient scripture. you’ve never had this problem before, not growing up glued to his side and watching him become the world’s hero — at least you think. 

perhaps your heart has always fluttered for him like petals in a breeze.

it’s just worse. now that you know each other intimately. 

aang takes up space.

the tent you’ve set up for the night feels cramped, fit for a bird who doesn’t dare fly free. what one might call a prison, another would call a dwelling for something precious. the width of his shoulders, down to the angular taper of his torso are somehow large enough to shield the bare bones of your body from any one who may happen to pass by. you feel sheltered underneath him, daunted by his mountainous shape that seems to cast a shadow over you — one where you can hide the quiver in your bottom lip, not from fear but from anticipation. a root in your lungs that intermingled with the bronchial trees that help you breathe. the root then florets and flutters, bringing a pleasant tingle south of where your mind grows misty as though a cool fog has broken over a calm body of water. 

it’s all because of how…thickset and strapping he’s become. 

your dainty fingers traverse the mountainous man like an explorer trying to reach the top, you feel the way the jus les in aang’s back ripple and interlock underneath his clothes that strain to keep him contained. he peers down at you with a kind of … alluring patience. the fact that he’s willing to wait, won’t use his strength against you, worsens the lurch of lust in your lower stomach and between your thighs which part to make room for his waistline. through the smog that clouds your sensibilities, you manage to take a peek at the avatar, let your gaze fall over the edge to admire the sights of his plush heaving chest and the sky blue arrowhead markings that he wears proudly on his sleeves — you can’t believe how beautiful he is. that he’s yours. that he puts his shoes next to your own when he steps into your home, that he’s got a favourite pillow on his side of the bed that you share, that he—!

“are you sure you want to do this?” his voice breaks through the clouds like a striking ray of sunshine ready to ghost its warmth over your skin. when you blink, aang is already looking, already analysing you the way one would read over their favourite passage in a book to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. he drinks in the details of your visage, the breathless part of your lips and the dilation to your sparkling eyes — there’s hunger within them, an appetite only aang has the ability to appease. he knows the answer to his question before he’s even asked it, unspoken as the words hang his perfect pearly white teeth. hooked there like they’re the keys to your heart.  

“aang,” your heart, that organ of yours — the one that keeps you alive and present and in the moment. it skips a beat, enough to make you notice but not enough to make you worry. it won’t beat out of your chest, you won’t die of a heartache if the way he looks at you doesn’t kill you first. something out of history, something timeless to be admired for generations to come. you wait for your heartbeat to settle under the nightly ambience outside of your tent, though you’re sure aang might have picked up on it already. “i said yes.” 

he leans away from you to shrug off a flurry of orange and yellow fabrics — revealing a battle scarred and well-carved body. there’s so many colours within aang, the sun, the sky at golden hour, the brilliant blue of the morning, the stormy grey whirling in his eyes. he could be a painting, a work of art they’d speak of for millennia to come… but he’s yours. taking up space in your mind as though he hasn’t a dime of rent to pay.

there were times where you’d hesitate to reach out and touch the avatar, to smooth over the sketching of his scars in the middle of his chest. now you’re sure, certain, pressing your fingers into it because it has to mean something. you have to affect him as much as he affects you. 

“aang.” you repeat all the letters of his name, seriousness stirred between them — blending like honey in milk.

an infallible, perhaps teetering on the edge of omniscient, beam breaks out on the smooth canvas of the avatar’s face. no longer youthful like you remember, but older, handsomely aged like a brew perfected over time. “if you’re positive.” he says, cheerful — so maybe a little childlike, tongue darting out to playfully nip your fingers that now cup his chin. wagging his clean shaven head from side to side.

so handsome, there’s barely enough room in your head to think anything else in the world could be this pretty.

you almost forget that you’re bare. naked as the day you were born. you shudder when aang’s bare hand presses firm against your sternum — warm because, of course, he’s the avatar who can bend the elements at his skilled will. it’s heated a touch, but still goosebumps rise on your skin in a tidal wave, and your nipples harden into whipped peaks. aang ignores them in search of something more, not that he doesn’t want to take his time with you. you’re just undeniable, you’ve been waiting all day for more than intimately placed touches and soft lips against your forehead. there’s more he intends to give to you. 

the avatar finds your slick entrance with the kind of practised ease only a man in love would possess. there’s no need for guidance when he can effortlessly find the points and spots that have you dulcetly drawling his name as though it’s one of your prized possessions. a best kept secret. a hidden treasure. two digits, thick and calloused, slide in with little to no resistance and curl almost instantly in search for your sweet spot — pressing down hard on the gooey nub nestled further along your walls. for the whole duration, aang waits for your silent please, consent for more, with baited breath. his lungs full of enough anticipatory air to give birth to a thunderstorm.

that’s all the sign he needs to navigate further south, follow the pulse of your blood flow to the aching buzz hardening in your clit. cheekily, the avatar tacks the pad of his thumb to the pleasure button, brushing it from side to side, round and round in tight circles — launching you into the stratosphere with what feels like a gust of blistering hot wind. meanwhile, his deft fingers between pudgy thighs get to work — the pace aang begins with reflects exactly who he is, unyielding and unpredictable. the intensity doesn’t build slow, it’s rapid akin to that of a dangerous river sectional. though his movements are not rushed, the flex of his wrist aids the two digits scissoring you open for the stretch that’s yet to come.

your entrance grows sappy and filthy around what manages to fit inside — filling you and dragging along your molten ichorous walls, so hot you’d put a fire bender to shame. the little squeaks  that escape you, airy and feather light layer messily over lewd squelching sounds echoing from between your shaky legs that tremble as though the earth has decided to split in two. grey eyes start to glimmer, mimicking the moonshine through nightly cloud cover, and a wry grin splinters on the avatar’s soft lips — a result of your precious cunt, making a spectacle around aang’s fingers. rippling and drooling down arrow shaped tattoos that twist around the length of his muscled arm and wrist. 

aang maps you out, travelling your gooey walls as though he’s trying to rediscover a place he once called home. familiar. welcoming. like discovering a new island, he pinions against pleasure spots lining your walls that you’d never be able to reach without him . although your tightness presents as resistance, the manner in which you paw at his wrist in a quiet plea for more and anything further to placate the twist in your gut, tells aang that you want this. need this. soaring high, aang flies you to new heights of ecstasy — sets your body adrift, floating above cloud nine.

he’s mesmerised, watching his favourite view, the squeeze of your cunt around him to prevent escape. each time his digits pump in and out of you, you cutely clench at the knuckle, as if to stop him from going too far. under the candle light, the avatar can’t help but flux into the giddy feeling like a slow drip of pale candle wax pooling at the base of its holder. simply knowing that he is the one making your pussy gush, translucent essence sliding down the length of your swollen slit and into the rustling fabrics below, licks his ego. stokes it like coals on a flame. 

“so wet here, so soft.” aang makes a sort of chuffing noise against your hairline, swooping down to level flat against the flooring of your tent. chest to chest, hearts beating in sync as though they’re drums following a similar tune. though aang’s voice dips low, the baritone register winding ropes within your lower stomach,  his intonation is cheery — bright like the sun at noon. “pretty baby, just look at you chasin’ it.” 

your hips twitch upwards at the avid taunting, called upon by his convincing siren’s song. you wonder if he’s bending your body in the same way he does with the four elements because you arch your back into the centre of him, magnetised by the lull of his heart beating for you. 

“someone’s impatient, easy baby.” neither mean nor gentle, aang divulges objective fact — sweat settling into the smile lines that bracket his subtle smirk. his teasing is as relentless as the press of his digits against the one special spot that clears your mind completely. he gives, gifting you another slab of arcadia until it stacks high to come tumbling down because aang has always been so, so kind. your quivering hole stretches wide over the broad stroke of his fingers, clear and sticky essence a glimmering glaze over them, wetter and wetter by the second beside you can’t stop bucking against their force. 

you point him in the right direction as he navigates your ecstasy, helping him erratically assault your pussy even though the avatar is more than capable of crumbling you like precious stone. but you burn everywhere, in your pelvis and your muscles pulled tight with the tension of holding back — flames burn at the oxygen nurturing your lungs and if aang weren’t the center star that boils to a billion degrees, the heat in your face would be enough to rival him. 

a dopey, delirious smile creates a habitat amongst your sweat-slicked features — carved against them like ancient scripture on stone only a man such as aang has the skill to decipher. “been waiting all day...” waiting for more than just hands under clothes. more than just yearning gazes swapped between the motions of your friends. “please, please, please. need you more…” the plea tastes like desperation against the tip of your tongue, the kind you only feel when your whole world is about to cave in, the sort that brings a tear to your eyes with the same sharp rapidness of a tidal boar. 

aang grounds you, soothes you, becomes the very force that brings you back to land out of fear the waters may wash you away. he takes up that space around your heart that knocks the beat down to a level that’s sustainable. with sweltering kisses marked against your hairline, chaste balmy from his own layer of perspiration, appearing almost like a second skin.  in response, a heatwave crashes through your body like a desert breeze — particles of unadulterated lust and hunger catching on the high points of your body. 

the back of the avatar’s head is clammy where you reach to it for leverage, crossing your arms at the back of his head. you bring the hardline of aang’s body against you, his stomach meeting yours with a wet slap because so much arousal has pooled there. his cock, leaky, hard and monstrous, rocks against soft flesh — jumping between you both like a glaring warning sign because he is just so big. 

“i don’t want to hurt you, might not be ready yet.” he says with the same restraint as a child being told to wait until after dinner for a sweet treat. aang is good, he regards you gently as though you’re something that might fracture with too much pressure — yet he knows what you can take, how much you can endure for the sake of losing yourself to him for a little while. just like his body on top of yours, aang’s large palm slots perfectly against your pussy — the seat of his palm grinding against your puffy clit alongside the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. nirvana begins to flash behind your eyes, blurting your vision as you blink up at him meekly. 

you like the burn. the stretch. the pain that comes with taking aang and he reads it in your darkening eyes, open like a book.

“it won’t hurt,” you argue back, though your words carry no weight. they taper into a cottony sigh, whisked away from the night’s breeze — icy against your temperate skin. sweat drops from his shoulders to your chest, glueing him to you. he’s a solid mass on top of you, contrary to the silky webbing of your mound, ruined beneath his fingers that work you unrelentingly. pleasure breaks through you like the sun rising above the horizon, highlighting the glow of your body as an orgasm nears. “please don’t make me wait, aang…”

aang chuckles, the weight of it carried by whirling winds and his fingers leave you for just a moment, an empty hole waiting to be filled – trembling without him. seamlessly, his delicate caress glides over your throbbing mound, growing cold and slick as time passes by. strings of clear, tarry elixir pruriently prevents his touch from straying too far from where you need him most. “you’re so pretty when you say please.” he exhales through his nose in a serene gust, spreading his fingers to watch your arousal web amidst them.

“aang–!”

“how about i make you cum?” he volunteers, and you despite the steamroll of fog starting to cloud your mind, you fail to miss the playful lilt that clings to his every word. it’s more of a statement than a suggestion, with aang riding the clouds between your thoughts, there’s no room to argue either. he acts first, on the same kind of brave impulse you’ve seen from him in battle many times before, delivering a few sappy love taps to your unattended sex. toying with you through a guise of a half-lidded smile that lures you into feeling safe.

he discerns your swollen clit from equally swollen folds once more, a muddlement of sin to be solved by one of the most powerful beings on earth, and draws his name across the hood of the sensitive little nub — drawing back the extra skin just to press your own slick into it. your back peels away from the tent’s flooring from where sweat had gathered to cleave the skin to it, trembling and twitching as you bow into aang, invade his space, crawl into it for sanctuary. though, in this safety net – you find yourself pincered, caught between his lips that descend upon yours and the lengthy, agile pointers that act with the alacrity of the sky’s breath. aang licks into your mouth briskier than your brain can keep up, stealing every soft breath and shackly snuffle that lays underneath your tongue. he tastes you like he’s losing a memory he wants to keep, tracking your flavour in your breezy breath before you have the sense to plead for more.

in due time, he’ll give it to you.

he’ll instimulate the careful crease between your brows and the petulant little pout that drags down the corners of your mouth even as you meet his with the same balance of the elements. harmonious and restorative all at once. he kisses you like it’ll heal him, the dulling phantom ache in his scars, the mass of loss in his past and the burdens of the future. you take it all to your lungs, inhale it into the space within your vital organs because pain like his should never be borne alone.

even still, the avatar hisses with a mix of awed ail when your nails break carmine crescent moons against the blue sails of his arrowhead tattoos. you grasp at his sinewy forearms for stability, something grounding like a plant taking root in new soils, and clench around dexterous digits that once more reclaim the claggy path of your ruined insides. whilst you howl like a storm’s winds and chase the seed of pleasure flourishing within your bubbling tummy – aang has a vision, like one of those who have walked the same path before him, casting imagery of hurricanes pulled from skies and storm clouds torn to little tufts in the name of you. 

because he loves you. 

your struggling, shuddering thighs and aerated gasps. the way you hold onto him like a lifeline as your orgasm brings you right to the edge of balance – the pendulum threatening to knock you off. aang’s fingers twist and brush amongst your sensitivity and it’s not long before all the pleasure that had been building crumbles under the tidal wave of arousal that crashes through you. “let go for me, baby,” he whispers earnestly against your cupid’s bow, hoping that it coaxes you along and unties the tightness lingering there. “there you go, good girl…” 

his words undo you like your binding holding you together never existed, weakened by time and attention. the care aang takes to bring you to heaven pushes you into release, one that has your juices splashing down the length of aang’s burly arms as though he’s squeezed a ripened fruit. all at once, you seize beneath him and gush into his palm seat, quaking through aftershocks where your cunt is the epicentre. he finds your mouth, fallen open in a whiney mewl, and wheedles you into a soothing wet kiss where tongue’s tangle and breathing draws ragged like the sharp edge of an earth-bended mountain.

once you’re calm, reduced to the gentle rock of a boat on the very water aang controls, your needy screams retreat too. everything melting  into soft pants and a dreamy gaze through your droopy eyelids. 

your appetite remains unruly, however.

“wan’ more.” you mumble in a quiet wisp – demanding, nearing playful. a challenge laying in the candle light like a trap for the avatar, plans barely concealed by the mirth swirling in your clearing, glassy eyes.

in their reflection, aang sees himself. body worn but spirit never tired of the games you play with one another. he heedily lowers you back to the flooring of the tent, arranges you neatly amongst fur pelts and blankets that soften like his leer on you.a picturesque view, skin shining like the surface of silk, thighs sticky with your body’s syrup, bare chest heaving like you’ve got oxygen to spare. you’re so beautiful it's easy to give into you. if there were any weakness the avatar were to possess, it would be you.

silence, bearable and conservant, is born between your bodies. it steals space, not unkindly, because you know aang’s quiet  gives way to his next actions, the plan he’ll take to bring you to bliss once more. his large palms, coarse from weathering the elements, span down your being again – through the valley of your breasts, down your sternum and into the soft fleshiness of your tummy.

“you’re sure?” he laughs, holding breath under his tongue. even as he questions you, aang shuffles onto his haunches to shred the last of his dignity – the fabric of his pants whirring across the tent.

your vision stoops low, following the arrows that point to the one thing you’ve been craving all evening. to say the avatar is … gifted… would be an under estimation – his shaft is ample in both size and weight, dripping from the dull tip and seedy slit, slightly curved with balls that are pink and plump. ripe with seed. you feel your stomach twitch underneath his touch and he does too – as though its preparing to take his size fully. grey eyes darken with a storm of lust once you find aang’s face again – merriment dawning on his features.

“you’ve asked me that a million times already,” you huff, cadence carrying petulance. “you don’t think i can handle you, avatar?’

he shakes his head. “i know what you can handle, i pay attention to your limits.” he says it like he knows something you don’t, a trick up his metaphorical sleeve to be unveiled the further this game advances. your move. it reads.

crawling over you once more, broad upper body blocking out the world and a slender waist shuffles between your thighs. aang is at your neck this time, gently nipping at your neck to leave his mark in the same manner that you’ve left one on his heart. saliva soothes the crease of his teeth indented into your skin, warm and distracting while the hands once at your stomach press into the lissome fat at your hips – manhandling you in the position he desires most. 

there’s no space between you know, not even a millimetre, ardent flesh bonding and soon to become one. the beat of your heart links like the next note of a song, nipples brushing sensitively as they harden under the night air. aang throws your legs over his wide-set shoulders, spreading you open and parting the webs of slick glueing together your swollen folds. a warm, gooey pressure burns against your entrance, his hips jutting forward to run his cock through the length of your slit – the sensation is not unwelcome, the slight sting of pain feels just like returning home after a long journey. where everything aches and nothing seems to settle.

his tip dully breaks through the translucent netting gathering at your entrance, gradually filling you inch by inch until you physically feel swole just from the tip. you flutter around him weakly, once for every throb of his girth against your nociceptive ridges.

only half of what he has makes it in, and even then, you experience the kind of fullness that comes with that of a full moon. hard to ignore, a sight to behold. you lift your lower half, circling your hips down to swallow what he offers, because too much is never enough and you have always been greedy when it comes to aang.

he’s a hero to the world, barely something you get to keep sacred and to yourself.

it’s hard to miss, impossible not to notice and aang bucks forward ever so slightly, rewarding you with more stretch, more burn, more of his cock. you suction around the rippling pang and clasp the back of his damp neck while your body accommodates for his size. “aang…m-more!’ your voice is raw, throat bobbing from the delighted tears you’ve been holding back and the avatar’s strong hands lift your lips higher, hoping it’ll alleviate the ache for more.

“baby, you’re being so greedy tonight, what’s with that?” the question slips into the sudden torrid atmosphere, though it’s amused – sitting behind a smile you can’t see ( it blurs as you sniffle ), aang groans. fractured, lust living between the cracks. “just take this much for now,” he doesn’t bottom out, only thrusts shallowly, letting the sweltersome head of his cock nudge your ribbed walls. “can’t give you all of my cock… have to be somewhere you can get help if it goes wrong,” 

that should be enough to destroy you.

aang fucks you half way down his length all whilst caging you in, his sweet mouse caught in a trap, pushing and pulling from your adorably selfish hole – beginning a sensual, swing to his own hips. you feel the wiry muscle of his thighs crook against your ass as the avatar practically puts you through the bedding. in your mind, aang makes up the middle of the universe, yet to him, your pleasure becomes the heart of his – he uses the strength bursting from his biceps to jerk you back and forth on what plugs you full. 

he is not rough, but focused, relishing in the juices you baste him in – smearing your juices along his hard stomach, where it pools against his tattoos and his belly button. the force he uses to roll into you lulls a symphony of whiney bleats from between your wet and kiss swollen lips, a sweet song that mingles with the soft slap of skin on skin filling your tent.

your body threatens to break once more, your arms like a loose neck tie around his thick throat and your shaky  hands finding purchase on his clean shaken head. all you can do is sink into him, let him overrule your body, taking it over— mind, body and soul. in return, he frees a hand to angles in your roots like the winds rushing through your hair, hugging you close so that you never fade away. even then he kisses you as though the world has taken you from him, too much all at once, overwhelming you with the curve of his tongue breaching realms beyond your pearly white teeth. aang tastes you, and tastes you, lips balmy  moving against yours with such vigor it nearly distracts you from the intensity of his thrusts.

where aang usually carries the scent of freshly cut grass and freedom – the fragrance twists into something more profane, the husk from your cunt and the sweat evaporating on your skin from how frequently it all meets. the atmosphere tingles with his devotion to you. 

your calves start to tingle where they violently shake on aang’s shoulders, every part of you spasms even down to your cunt that wraps around him like a vice. you feel ravaged, fractured, pathetically split open on his thickness even though it’s still only half. 

it doesn’t matter how you thrash and whine in a desperate effort to swallow another inch, aang remains sturdy above you. immovable. where the blankets and pelts begin to slip from the motion of your bodies working together, the avatar allows his mouth to cover you – silken spit drying against your breasts that bounce from passionate motion. he acts with the motion of a starved man who cannot go a second without another meal, tongue circling your areolas at a speed that matches the feverish punch of his weighty girth against your g-spot.

you cannot imagine a world without aang in it, without aang’s presence filling every corner like the sunrise in an empty room. kisses golden and glowing. the way he looks down at you like you’re worth a war and regards you with cool toned eyes that feel free of burden when you’re in view – draws you closer to a peak. there are so many feelings in aang’s eyes, slithering between your bodies, he fills you with more with each rut of his hips into yours, a creamy and lewd ring frothing around what doesn’t fit inside. 

“y-you’re so good,” you babble him earnestly, losing breath to his intensity, pussy pulsating over the prominent veins and ridges twirling around aang’s chubby girth. his thrusts pull and push at your spongy insides – bumping against pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had. “c-can you please just…give me more…?”

“you’re so needy, baby,” aang circles an arm around your waist and leans back on his haunches. his knees resting pelts whilst he manoeuvres himself  in a kneeling position. this time, he is able to bottom out fully, unexpectedly. he hits the hilt with a low, rumbling sound against the crown of your head – as if finally being sheathed inside of you has pulled him to pieces before you.“how’s this? d-deeper? fuller?”

in this new position, you’re sure you’ve crossed over to the spirit world. the new pressure is blinding, the assault on your g-spot is constant and mimics the ever-turning of the planet you live on. if you could, you’d cry out for the aid of a spirit but instead, through the lasciviousness lodged in your throat, his name is born like a prayer on your lips. “a-aang!”

“yeah, i know,” he mutters, overcome with emotion, eyes on you everywhere. the angelic contortions of your face, the drip of nectar from your hypersensitive cunt to his balls. everywhere.  “gods i know, you’re practically choking me out down there. that’s nice… so nice.”

your eyes become misty and aang’s voice becomes a murky strain, breaths of exertion coasting over your heated face as he strikes up an almost bullying, breezy pace to his slender hips as they pummel into your sex. now, he is able to hit deep — twist and turn your gummy organs up and drag over the sensitive ridges you can’t reach normally.

clawing at aang’s neck, you use the last of your vigour to grind against him. futile but sweet. your second release borders on pain since you’re spread over him, dull head of his cock near kissing the entrance to your womb. you asked for this, now you’re slumped and weak in his lap. a pathetic ragdoll that’s loved more than it’s toyed with. neither of you mind the fade in your endurance, after all the support and care you’ve given to aang through his hardest moments – he adores being able to return the favour like this. watch himself bulge in your tummy whilst your mind slips away from you. watch the faint part of your lips as you cry his praises and flit of your lashes whilst you attempt to hold his gaze.

“you like it better like this, i know.” aang coos, tone not too far off from wonder. lilt a little more than condescending. without disparaging his strength, he hauls you back and forth on his soiled shaft, a crude mix of precum and the sweet nectar your cunt drools helping him glide through your tightness.   “when i…. move you up and down up and down… there we go,” for the millionth time that night, he laughs. pure and bright, sparking your nerve endings. that’s when you gush, when the chord of tension snaps and you begin to violently convulse with your second orgasm.

he leans an arm past your back to steady himself with balls of air at his finger tips, other hand jumping up to span into the curve of your spine whilst you keen into him. wailing high like whistling winds. “you’re so cute when you’re cumming.” he purrs, boyishly devoted to your pleasure  just as you reach the summit on the mountain, your peak, squirting all the way down aang’s thickness. 

the world around you blurs as though water has mixed with wet paint used to capture darling memories,. a scream rips through you and burns at the fraying edges of your voice. clear streams of arousal shoot from your sluice sex and dampen the pelts, soak aang to the bone – nearly forcing his drowning dick out of you.

his rhythm barely wavers; not even when he is chasing both of your releases, running with the wind as his tip nudges against your pleasure spot over and over. moans rising in octave with every step he takes closer to orgasm.

for a moment, you think, your presence fills aang with as much light and life as he does with you. 

a thumb winds down to your clit with a brand new purpose, noting the aftershocks running through you that bring him his own sense of euphoria. he’s careful with you now, gently jerking you in his lap while his thoughts turn blank, mind crowded with thoughts of only you.  “so small… compared to me. it’s adorable, god, you really are —!” when aang cums, his forehead falls to yours, grey eyes brimming with a glowing blue that extends to the tattoos painted permanently into his body. he glows bright, a beacon of love in the night. then he hiccups, airy and low, succumbing to your shuddering warmth – ecstasy twisting through him like a tornado that’s grown over time. “perfect.”

opaque white shoots into you in viscous ropes, clinging to your wet walls – gathering in a frothy ring at your entrance. none of it is wasted, the avatar insistent on plugging you full. he finds sanctuary in the curve of your neck, breathy curses tattooed into your skin which tickle pleasantly. aang keeps you in his arms before exhaustion settles into your bones and his body threatens to cop out completely—  he just about manages to land on his side before his weight crushes you.

a pregnant silence takes up space in the tenant. tender as your weary eyes meet and heart rates slow to a standstill. aang’s face creases with adoring attachment, triumphant and adoring and childish. you don’t need words to know that he loves you, that he would give up anything to stay right here with you.

i love you.

it comes easy, reciprocating – you find his fingers in your heap of lips and brush a kiss against them so briskly one might mistake your light affection for a breeze.

i love you always.

aang takes up space, in your room next to your things. in your mind where all your best memories lie. and most importantly, in your heart.

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

it wasn’t the first time you and sylus tried to have sex, you’ve been at this for weeks and frustration seeped into your limbs with each poorly failed attempt. you knew sylus wanted nothing more than to claim every piece of flesh of your body, but every time he’d try to push his cock past your warm folds, the pain became unbearable and the idea of pleasure would fade away like dust into thin air.

sylus could sense your irritation—feel it simmering beneath your skin. therefore, he decided to take matters into his own hands. he made it his mission to prepare you properly, determined to ensure you could take him without any trouble. not that he hadn’t taken his time before—but now? now you were going to grow dizzy from the sheer amount of foreplay he intended to put you through.

an hour of foreplay had gone by—he’d taken his time with you. his fingers had worked you open, his mouth had eaten you out like he needed it to live, and he’d even slipped a vibrator inside you to ease you up more. he’d gone as far as using a special lube meant to make the stretch feel smoother, more satisfying.

you’d already come three times. your thighs were quivering and your seemingly unsatisfied insides spammed as though they craved more and more. numb limbs and blissed-out eyes. exactly the kind of state sylus enjoyed reducing you to.

finally, after what felt like forever, you felt his mushroom head pressing against your entrance, walls already clenching in anticipation.

sylus chuckled as his fingers traced lazy, soothing patterns along your leg, which was draped over your shoulder. “eager, aren’t we?” he tapped his tip against your clit twice as he spoke. “don’t think i love your excitement, kitten, but you need to relax just a little more.”

you obeyed, loosening your insides as requested. you exhaled sharply before mewling. “sy, please just put it in. you’ve prepped me enough.”

his knuckles brushed against the fat of your cheeks, his touch carrying more than mere affection. “there’s no need to beg, yes? i’ll give you what you want, you know it, sweetie.” he pressed a cute peck against your swollen lips. “you just need to be more patient.”

you huffed, a mix of frustration and anxiousness mingling in your breath. “ugh, sylus! i’ve been waiting and cumming like crazy for an hour already and you haven’t even fucked me yet!“

sylus didn’t meet your eye while you were rambling on; his attention was fixated on your fluttering walls and his reddened girth. though you continued spluttering words. “c’mon just fuck me and quit messing aroun—angh!”

his tip eased into you, his crimson irises drawn in the way his cock disappeared inside you as he pushed more and more. he huffed before his famous smirk curved his lips. “you’re in such a rush. thought you liked it when i took my time.”

your breath grew more elaborated, chest rising and falling as you stuttered intelligible words. with furrowed brows and shaky thighs, you tried to keep as relaxed as you could whilst sylus’ girth made its way up your hole. slowly, torturing you.

your vocabulary was replaced by sweet, high-pitched whines. your eyes drifted to where your bodies met before you murmured lowly. “i-is it all in yet?”

“i’m not even half way in, my love.” his low baritone rumbled in your ear whilst he provided soothing, lingering traces of love along your outer thighs. “are you alright? does it hurt?”

you tried to make your words sound clear through your fuzzy, hazy mind. “‘m fine just—ngh, take it s-slow, please.”

“of course, sweetie.”

sylus’ big cock penetrated your insides little by little, burying himself deeper and deeper with each passing second. still, he took it slow just as you had asked. sylus was aware of his girthy length and wanted nothing but to bring you satisfaction, pleasure—and if that meant not rushing things, then that was what he was going to do.

the unrushed pace of the whole affair allowed sylus to savor everything: the way your walls constricted around him, having trouble taking him whole; the way your eyes welled up and rolled to the back of your skull with each inch he pushed in—the mix of pain and pleasure was arousing for him.

after what felt like the longest—both for you and him—, sylus bottomed out, his hips meeting your asscheeks, heavy balls colliding with your rim. he heaved out a lustful grunt as he felt the entirety of his dick being squeezed by your warmth. he had craved this closeness to you for far too long and the fact that it was now you and him united as one body, one soul, drove him mad.

but to be honest, what drove him madder was the sight of his cockhead poking out your belly.

“syyy—mghh! please move, feel like i’m burning inside.”

the aforementioned man smirked, the low vibration of a chuckle sending chills through your body. “as you wish, kitten.”

sylus rammed himself into your enveloping heat, with each thrust your breasts bounced in a hypnotizing motion—one that he could not resist as he directed his mouth toward your perked nipples, alternating between licking and teasing with his fingers.

every single one of his ministrations reduced your brain to mush and your body to a panting, whiny mess.

you begged with half-lidded eyes. “f-fuck sy, ‘s too much—gah!”

sylus faintly grazed your g-spot and your walls fluttered around him, your mouth fell agape as a string of moans echoed through the room.

sylus smiled to himself. “that’s the spot, isn’t it?”

you nodded incessantly, completely lost in the hot, sinful aura that wrapped your bodies. “yesyesyes! keep fucking me, please!“

as much as sylus loved seeing this destroyed-by-pleasure state of yours, he could not help but be a dick about it. “mhm, suddenly i’m feeling a little tired, kitten.”

he uttered before slowing down the pace. though you could feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, it wasn’t what you needed at the moment.

what you needed was for him to ruthlessly slam his big cock against that sweet spot over and over again.

your ankles, which were draped over his shoulders, locked around his neck, pushing him down forcefully—your forehead almost colliding with his. “i told you to keep fucking me.”

his rich laugh fanned over your face, amusement written all over his. “i am fucking you, kitten. i don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ll have to be more-“

you cut out his insufferable asshole act as you purposefully clenched around his tip, the only part of his dick that was still inside of you, earning a deep and velvety grunt from the man.

“sylus. qin.”

you deadpanned with a clearly unamused expression on your face, belying your rosy, tear-streaked cheeks. and god, wasn’t sylus turned on by your stunt?

his right eye glinted dangerously, bright redness shining in the dark room. he slid a hand down your leg, gently parting your ankles as he placed a wet, lingering kiss on your skin, holding your gaze the entire time, a devilish fire hiding behind those rubies.

“yes, ma’am.”

☰ masterlist !

A part of you wanted to question how your friend even found this to begin with, but a bigger concern was how the fuck didn’t you know that your long-term friend with benefits was secretly a porn star. Actually, it clearly wasn’t much of a secret; the shit had millions of views. When you clicked on the account that posted the video, you quickly saw an entire portfolio of work. The tags on some of them were sick, really—master and slave, slapping, sadism, even fucking watersports. Just as you were about to let your curiosity consume you to open another video, you heard the sound of a key jingling in your front door. You didn’t even have time to turn your phone off; you just threw it to the other side of the couch.

“Ohhh, you’re gonna wanna fuck me so bad when you see what I’ve got behind my back.” The familiar voice rang out across the room, the same tattooed fingers revealing a brown paper bag with grease spots staining the bottom as Rafayel stepped through the door.

“Stopped by your favorite food truck. No need to pay me back or anything— I think I’d rather take my reimbursement in the form of head.” He laughed at his own words, as if it were a joke. You tried to get the image out of your head, but it seemed nearly impossible as he walked closer to your seat on the couch, placing the bag on the coffee table between you.

“You good? You look like you’re gonna be sick.” He wasn’t wrong. He could see the little beads of sweat forming on your neck, your eyes wide as if you’d seen a ghost. You cleared your throat, desperately trying to redirect your thoughts.

“Didn’t I tell you that key was for emergencies, Rafayel?” He hummed in agreement.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his phone, and unlocked it. “When someone texts you, ‘I need to see you so bad. I’m so pent up I’m dying, literally.’ It kinda seems like an urgent situation.” You turned your head, opting to grab the food instead of making eye contact with him. He sucked his teeth at your lack of rebuttal.

“Okay, damn, I’m sorry. Did I scare you? Is that what’s got you so tense? In my defense, I did say I was on the way. Next time, though, I’ll knock, yeah?” You nodded absentmindedly. Sensing the unusual tension in the room, he stepped around the coffee table, sitting down on the couch beside you. He placed a tattooed hand on your bare thigh.

“Seriously, tell me what’s up. It obviously isn’t just about the key.” His other hand reached across you, grabbing the sides of your face to turn your gaze onto his completely.

“Look—I get that lately we’ve only seen each other to hookup. But don’t forget about the friends part of friends with benefits, yeah? If you wanna talk, I’ve got time. You can tell me anything,” he said, voice completely softened now. Just as you were about to reply, your lips inching to form a sentence, you heard it. Those same lewd sounds from earlier, only this time they were slightly muffled. There was no fucking way.

Rafayel’s face contorted, and he shuffled around in his seat to see where the noise was coming from. He’d started to reach for his phone, but then he saw an illuminated screen tightly tucked between the cushions. You reached for it at the same time, desperately trying to dig for your phone to silence those fucking sounds, but it was no use. Before you could even try to wrestle it out of his hands, he saw it. There he was on your phone screen, the tip of his cock inching towards the back of some girl’s throat. All you could do was cover your face in horror.

“No fucking way!” He was dying laughing, the filthy sound of someone gagging on his cock filling the space.

“You’re watching porn of me? How’d you even find this? I thought you said you didn’t like that kinda stuff?” he asked between gasps of laughter.

“I don’t.” You reached back for your phone, snatching it away this time as he was too busy cackling at you to fight back. You clicked the power button this time, the filthy sounds now dissipating.

“Clearly you do, or at least you do if I’m in it.” He was so fucking smug about it, too, amused at your humiliation as he reached out for the bag of food, fishing out a taco for himself.

“I wasn’t fucking watching it. Someone sent it to me.”

“That’s actually weirder. What the fuck were they even doing to find that? It’s not like it’s Twitter porn, you’ve gotta dig to find that kinda shit,” he retorted before taking a bite.

“I don’t feel like you’re in any position to talk about what’s weird when you’re recording yourself fucking whoever. Some of those videos are disgusting.” He shrugged it off.

“No shame in my game. Fucking is an art, and I am an artist. Forgive me for sharing my talent with the world.” He could barely get the line out before laughing again, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

“Well, how come you never told me you were into that kinda stuff? Huh, what happened to ‘friends can tell each other anything’ or whatever the fuck?” you asked, halfway offended.

“Uhhh, because you act so vanilla,” he said with no hesitation. Well, now you were fully offended.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You reached out to smack his shoulder, which he barely felt through the layer of muscle.

“I didn’t say you were vanilla. I said you act vanilla. It’s not a bad thing. You like what you like, and I like what I like. Doesn’t bother me, but it’s the truth.” He said it like he was simply stating that the sky was blue, so fucking matter-of-factly.

“Why would you even say that, though? What about me is so vanilla?” He could tell you weren’t gonna let this go anytime soon, so he shoved the rest of the taco in his mouth, taking far too long to chew and swallow for your liking before he replied.

“Okay, first, you never make any noise.” Your eyebrows furrowed at the comment.

“That’s not true!”

“It most certainly is. It’s like sometimes I can hear you about to moan, but then you cover your mouth or bite your lip or something to stop it. Uhhh, let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, you never let me go down on you.”

“Letting you eat me out wouldn’t be freaky if that’s what you’re implying.” He noticed how you conveniently didn’t respond to the former accusation about being too quiet.

“Exactly my point! If you won’t even let me eat you out, which is like basic shit, then of course I wouldn’t try to do anything else. I damn sure wouldn’t ask you to film.” You fell silent at the annoyingly logical point, but then something even more troubling fell over you.

“Be honest...Am I not hot enough to fuck on camera?” Rafayel tried his best to stifle another fit of laughter, now aware that you were actually being serious.

“That’s not it at all. You are so—so fucking sexy. Of course, I think people would want to see you naked—hell, I want to see you naked. In fact, I wish you were naked right now instead of wasting time with this ridiculous conversation.” You rolled your eyes, now more irritated than anything else by his evasive answers. You weren’t sure why it bothered you that he never offered. Maybe it was the fact that he had hundreds of videos posted, and each one seemed to have a different girl—he had no problem asking every single one of them, so why not you? You were about to get up from the couch, suddenly needing some space from the man, but he reached out for your wrist, guiding you back down to your seat.

“Okay, okay, wait. Look at me for a second, yeah?” You did so, reluctantly.

“You are one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, really, and we have good sex. I mean it, really, I always have a good time with you,” he said, as if it were no big deal.

“Good? It’s just good to you?”

“I mean, yeah. I cum. You cum. What’s not to like?"

"The problem is, though—” He took a second, wondering whether brutal honesty would hurt or help in this situation. In the end, he decided to continue anyway. “I never asked you to film because you perform too much. It’s inauthentic.” For a second, you thought he was going to say something genuine or romantic, like that he thought you were too good to do something like that. Instead, though, it seemed like this was a worse insult than before. Before you could object, he spoke again.

“What I mean by that is— okay, I make a lot of money off of those videos, y’know. Like some of the most popular ones have been worth almost a grand.” Okay, so what you heard was that you wouldn’t make him enough money because you’re not that good at fucking.

“Let me finish—” he pleaded, anticipating an interruption. “You know what most of those videos have in common?”

“Every woman in them has clearly had a boob job.” He smiled at your remark.

“Not every, but sure. What I was going to say is that those videos are all super degrading. I’m saying mean shit and being rough. Begging on camera for someone to spank you or choke you or whatever the fuck—that’s not something someone can half-ass, and in a way, it only works if you’re willing to be real. You’re always so caught up in trying to perform, super concerned about what other people are gonna think.” You didn’t even allow his monologue any time to sit in the air.

“That is not true!”

“No? Okay, then tell me why you don’t moan when we fuck, huh?” There was a hint of a challenge in his eyes, a provocation to see if you would tell the truth.

“Maybe it’s because you’re just not that good at fucking. Did you ever consider that?” He hummed in acknowledgment.

“We both know that’s not it. You’re performing. You think that if you get too loud or if you let me go down on you, that I’ll see you differently. You’re scared of looking like a slut, even though it’s obvious that you are one.” You gasped at the allegation.

“Oh, and don’t say you’re not because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have slipped up that one night and called me daddy when we were drunk, or I wouldn’t have been able to hear you fucking yourself in bed every night through the walls when we were roommates. Actually, if you weren’t a slut, you wouldn’t be so hung up on the fact that I didn’t try to recruit you to make a porn video.” You were actually speechless now. His delivery implied that this wasn’t an impromptu speech.

“Better yet—” He reached down to grab one of your ankles, pulling you closer to him before wrapping your leg around his waist. You were basically in his lap now, and you could feel his length painfully hard beneath you. “Let me show you why you couldn’t get fucked on camera.” He wasted no time slipping his hand between your bodies, reaching beneath the hem of your t-shirt to find the waistband of your panties. You hadn’t bothered with pants due to the previously scheduled booty call, which was quickly taking a turn for the worse.

“Well, see. Look at that—you’re certainly wet like a slut.” He had no trouble finding your clit beneath the fabric, his middle finger rolling over the button unbearably slowly. You lied earlier; he actually was that good at fucking. He noticed the way your eyes had started to flutter closed with each little movement of his finger against you.

“Does that feel good, hm?” he whispered, leaning into you, your chests pressed against one another as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. You stayed quiet, focusing on calming your breathing and holding the moan that had been building up in the back of your throat from escaping. Rafayel had always been a bit theatrical in bed, clearly loving the sound of his own voice. He was never shy about moaning or telling you what he wanted. This was different, though; now, he was going to make you participate.

“Speak up, or I’ll stop.” His words seemed like a command, but the way he pressed a soft kiss onto your neck gave a different impression.

“You’re not serious,” you said, and not even a full second later, he slid his hand from underneath your panties, the absence of his finger’s warmth quickly showing that he was indeed serious.

“Rafayel—“

“Nu-uh, you said you could fuck on camera, right? Well, this is your audition, angel, and if I’m honest, you’re failing miserably.” He readjusted your hips on his lap, pushing you off of him in the process.

“I’m not asking you to act. If it doesn’t feel good, say that, but if it does, then you have to show me because right now, I’m not convinced. I'm not gonna touch someone who’s not enjoying it,” he said it so nonchalantly, like it was basic math before shrugging it off and turning to reach for the food again.

“It did.” He raised an eyebrow at your commentary, intrigued, but still not satisfied.

“It did—what? What is it and what did it do, exactly?” he questioned, a devious grin slowly growing on his face.

“You—your fingers did feel good.” He hummed in approval.

“Ahh, see? Now I’m following. So do you want me to keep touching you then?” You nodded, eyes growing wide at the offer.

“No, no no—you were just starting to do good for me, don’t get shy now,” he said, voice sickly sweet as he turned back toward you, his body leaning closer and closer to yours, forcing you to lie on your back, your legs wrapped around him once again.

“I’ll help you out, yeah?” he whispered, his large hands rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thighs, getting so close to where you wanted him before dancing away again.

“When I’m filming with someone new, and they get a little camera shy, sometimes it helps if I feed them lines. It keeps them from worrying about saying the right thing—loosens them up a little. Let’s try that, hm?” You nodded, once again, at a loss for words as his hand, still wet from your juices, pressed flat against your pussy, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties.

“You’re so wet, baby. I can feel you getting your panties all messy. You want me to keep touching you like this?” His fingers danced between your slit at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Yes.” It was soft, a shameful confession whispered into his ear, but he’d heard you, and that was a victory he was happy to accept.

“Yeah? I can tell it feels good. You’re getting my hand all sloppy, pretty girl.” His lips hovered against the skin of your neck, his warm breath making your eyes flutter into the back of your head as he tried not to chuckle at how cute you looked when you were frustrated.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “No one else is here. It’s just me…tell me what you need, baby.” He could feel the way you tensed up at the request, pressure building in your chest as all of the dirty words you wanted to say got stuck in your throat.

“I’ll help you again, okay?” You could barely even focus on the lesson as his thumb slowly circled your clit, his lips pressing a kiss onto your skin between words.

“Repeat after me—say, please put your finger inside of me.” It was so straightforward, no flowery wording or beating around the bush. He’d told you to say exactly what you wanted, leaving no room for interpretation. You almost couldn’t focus on how humiliating the request was because the heat building between your thighs was becoming unbearable.

The feeling of Rafayel slowing his fingers down slightly served as a warning—he was not afraid to stop touching you again. You had no choice but to repeat the script, every word, verbatim. You could feel him smile against you in success.

“Aw, you did such a good job. Of course, I can do that for you, angel. Relax for me, yeah?” As he felt your heartbeat even out against his chest, he slowly slid the tip of his middle finger past your entrance.

You waited a beat, expecting to feel him reach deeper inside, but he didn’t move, leaving you clenching around the tip of his finger. He could feel you shifting around beneath him.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He was playing so fucking coy. You were so frustrated that a little whine left your mouth just before you could bite your bottom lip to silence yourself.

“Ooh, that was a pretty sound. I must’ve spoiled you too much, hm? Otherwise, I would’ve gotten to hear the cute little noises you make when you don’t get your way. Is that it? Have I been too nice to you?” Only more noises left your lips as you tried to push yourself further onto his finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he said, taunting you, as his free hand moved to pin your hips down against the couch cushions, forcing you to whine again, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“You gonna whine some more, or you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Can you use your big girl words for me?” He never moved to look you in your eyes, knowing that the eye contact would only make you crawl back into your shell again, but you knew that he was doing everything in his power not to use his hand to force your gaze onto his.

“Just…tell me what to say, Rafayel.” You were indeed whining some more, but at least you’d said something.

“Hmm, I want to hear you say please again. I liked it earlier.” You didn’t even bother to quip back, realizing that this was all about stroking his ego.

“Please, tell me what to say, Rafayel.” He knew you’d rolled your eyes, but he let it slide.

“I think I wanna hear you beg. Say please, play with my pussy. Ask me to make you cum, nicely.” At this point, you were so frustrated that you just agreed to whatever he asked, each word falling from your lips, much to his enjoyment.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You’re making me so proud, angel. You want a treat?” he said. He’d always praise you in bed, loving the way it made you tighten up around him, and this time was no exception.

“Yes, please.” As the words fell from your lips, he forced the remaining length of his finger inside of you, effortlessly brushing the tip of his finger against your G-spot. His thumb found your clit again, slowly teasing it as his finger slid in and out.

“My good girl, using her manners. I loved the way that sounded, so desperate. Doesn’t it feel so much better to get what you want when you had to work for it?” Just as you opened your mouth to deliver a slick remark, he slid a second finger inside, forcing a loud moan from your chest. You rushed to slap your hand across your mouth, as if you were trying to stuff the noise back inside, but it was too late.

For the first time, he’d moved his head, his face only inches away from yours, a look in his eyes that you’d never seen before, pupils darkening his irises, like a vampire that hadn’t fed in weeks. He’d released your hips from his grip, opting to grab your wrist instead, gently freeing your lips.

“It’s okay if it feels good, you know? No one can hear you but me, and I like hearing you. Don’t you trust me?” He allowed you to just nod this time, not trying to ruin the moment by forcing you to a script when he finally had you right where he wanted you—out of control.

“Don’t hold back anymore, okay? You're allowed to feel good. I want you to feel good. I won’t think differently of you. You’re still so smart and sweet and funny—those parts of you are still there when we’re like this. I like every part of you, so just be you with me.”  You nodded in agreement, eyes watering again from the intimate moment, as you felt his hand loosen on your face just a little, before his fingers started playing with you again.

“You can close your eyes if you want. Just think about how it feels, okay, baby?” You did, which heightened every act of stimulation as he moved his lips back to that spot that made you shiver beneath him. He knew it wouldn’t take much more for you to cum, but he was tempted to edge you a bit, desperate to see you like this just a little longer. He was so eager to hear that noise again, he swore it was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard—the song of an angel. You could tell by the way he wasted no time curling his fingers again, pressing against that spot rhythmically in time with his thumb on your clit. You were trying to ignore that filthy sound that flooded your ears each time he pushed his fingers in your cunt. You physically couldn’t hold your moans back any longer if you tried, and Rafayel could not have been more in awe of you in that moment.

“You’re dripping down my fucking wrist, angel. Am I making you feel that good, hm?” All you could say was yes over and over again, each one more broken and pleading than the last.

“Yeah? You look so fucking pretty for me, sound so fucking good. I need you to cum for me—want to hear it so fucking bad.” All you could do was whine as he quickened his pace again while he felt you tighten up around him, the familiar sensation telling him that you were unbearably close.

“Fuck—I think I’m gonna—” The word kept getting stuck in your throat, the sound of him breathing so heavily in your ear was fogging up your brain.

“Aw, what is it, baby? You’re gonna what, hm? Tell me what’s gonna happen if I keep pressing against this spot right here?” he mocked. You were actually crying now, the stimulation close to making you cum harder than you ever had before.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, angel? You think you can be good and do one last thing for me?” You were nodding so quickly, like an excited puppy, mouth open, desperately trying to catch your breath. His grip on your cheeks tightened once again.

“Look at me, please.” You hesitated, just for a second, but it didn’t last long, the need to cum outweighing any shame at this point.

“No script—you wanna cum? Beg me.” So, you begged, a series of pleas and moans leaving your lips. He tried his best not to change his expression, scared that any reaction might make you self-conscious. All he did was press light kisses against your cheeks. He could taste the salt from your tears as you whined against him.

“It’s okay, baby. You can cum for me. You earned it, pretty girl, cum for me, please. All over my hand—that’s it. Yeah? Oh my god—fuck, yes. Good job, angel, sound so fucking sexy like this.” Your thighs were clamping down around his wrist, forcing him still as you shook and writhed against him. He closed his eyes while he listened to you moan and beg, for what, you weren't exactly sure, but he was addicted to the sound.

“Damn you really were pent up, huh? I’m so proud of you, baby. Cumming so good on my fingers, making all those pretty noises for me. Just like thattt—fuck, keep cumming. Let it all out for me.” Ever so slightly, he kept rubbing his thumb on your clit. It was as if he were in some sort of trance, studying the way your breath would catch in your throat and how you whined like such a little crybaby. It was so overstimulating that your moans had turned into screams before you begged him to stop.

“Sorry, I just—got carried away, I guess. You were just so…” he hesitated.

“Loud?” you asked, still out of breath and doing your best not to cover your face, embarrassment heating your cheeks as the nasty sounds you had made rang in your ears.

“No, no—so beautiful. It was like getting to look at a masterpiece. That was art.”

“Yeah? Good enough to record?”