krplk
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Summary
Zuko is courting Katara, and with every passing day finds new and insane ways of showing that he would quite literally move the spirit world and earth to make her happy.
In hindsight, it probably would've been better if Sokka had realised he was in love with Zuko at literally any time before this. Or preferably, never fallen for his best friend in the first place.
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[Time passes oddly. Between one second and the next, Sokka has the Fire Lord pinned to the wall with his hands around the bastard’s throat. Golden eyes (one gold eye, his mind whispers) widen in shock.
“Sokka?” he chokes out. And then he smiles.
What the fuck?
“Sokka, I—”
Sokka slams his head against the wall, once, twice, and the smile wipes off his face. Good.
“What,” Sokka bites out, “have you done to my sister?”]
Or:
An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage.
But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.
Yeah, nah.
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Zuko almost said it. He almost said the words I think I’m in love with you, but he choked them back down at the last second.
Zuko would never be able to be what Sokka wanted. They might have needed each other during the summer, when two boys with too much weight on their shoulders found comfort in each other in the only way they knew how.
But now Zuko was Fire Lord, and Sokka was leaving.
Or, a self indulgent Ambassador Sokka & Fire Lord Zuko fic set to the tune of ‘peace’ by Taylor Swift.
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► [ Although the title uses the word “Omega,” this story is not Omegaverse. ]
Vox never imagined the night would end like this: with Alastor tied to his bed, shirt torn open, breathing unevenly, ears pinned back against his hair, looking at him with a kind of intimate hatred that burned.
“You two should just fuck already!” Valentino taunted, savouring the spectacle.
And Vox could do it. He had the Radio Demon right there, bound and defiant, trembling with fury under his hands. Exactly where he had wanted him so many times. Exactly how he had fantasised about him, night after night. Wanting him, hating him, craving him.
But not like this. Never like this.
Because for the first time, Vox realised that what he’d imagined for years wasn’t dominating him… it was touching him without destroying him.
And that terrified him more than any demon in Hell.
Bookmarked by krplk
13 Jan 2026
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A single, sharp thump against his ribs. Hard enough to feel. Hard enough that his breath hitched. He couldn’t stop watching Vox. Vox shining. Vox gloating. Vox destroying the King of Hell in front of thousands. Vox basking in triumph like it was a second skin.
The cameras zoomed in on his grin. The curve of neon light across his face, lit like desire or malice or both. Alastor’s fingers flexed against the restraints. The ropes burned. He liked it. Hated that he liked it. His smile didn’t break, but it faltered, just a flicker, a millisecond, a glitch. He felt heat coil in his gut, something foreign and unwelcome and dangerously alive.
“Damn you,” he whispered, barely audible, his radio voice cracking beneath the words.
(Alastor reconsiders his feelings? for Vox after the Vox Populi performance)Series
- Part 2 of part-time soulmate, full-time problem
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Bookmarked by krplk
24 Dec 2025