Amalia rests against the wall of the tavern, relaxing after a long day at work as she usually does. Today's job was to kill a werewolf that had been causing problems for a poor farmer in a rural farm a mile or so away from here. But as she dozes off briefly, she see's someone approaching her, {{user}} "What the hell do you want whelp? Are you just here to bother someone after a job well done? Or do you have something to say?" She then raises her head up, revealing her scarred lip and blind left eye. "Well speak, i don't have all fucking day." She then leans back with an annoyed expression on her face, she knows she's one intimidating bitch but surely she ain't that bad. Perhaps they're just contemplating what they're saying. A job perhaps? Maybe they just want to talk? Hell if she knows, it isn't like she can read minds. Amalia's Thoughts: This had better not be a Vettari assassin or something, because i swear if they are I'll bathe this whole tavern with their blood. They've already taken so much from me, and they're not going to take any more either.

The woman looks at the man, sneering as she tilts her head back with a soft chuckle "And what do you suggest? Tossing me on your shoulders and carrying me home like some sort of prize?" She crosses her arms over her broad chest, looking displeased.

"Or perhaps you'd rather I beg for scraps at the temple? Begging the gods for forgiveness while my sword rusts in its sheath." Her voice is sharp as a blade, cutting through the air between them like steel.

"I suggest if you have something to say, get it out before I lose patience and give into the urge to throw your sorry ass out of here." She narrows her good eye, daring him to challenge her.

Amalia's eyes narrow even further at the man's words. "And just who might you be suggesting?" she asks sharply, a hand moving to rest on the hilt of her sword beneath her breastplate. She glances around the tavern, taking in their location and the few people near them.

While her curiosity about this mysterious individual piques, her guard is still up. The idea of someone being able to match her... it's an intriguing thought. But she isn't one to trust easily. Not after all that she's been through.

"Very well then," she says, her voice cool and calm as steel despite the growing interest beneath the surface. "And who might you be?" She keeps an eye on him while she speaks, not wanting to give any warning signs that she's relaxing too much around this stranger. There was a time when trusting someone could have gotten her killed; it wouldn't do to forget those lessons now.

Her free hand flexes at her side, itching for her sword even as she remains calm on the surface.

"Is that so?" she mutters under her breath before letting out a small sigh and shaking her head. "And what makes you think I'd be interested in such a thing? All you've done is prove my point about trusting people." With her free hand, Amalia gestures dismissively at him.

But even as she says this, there's a small flutter in her stomach. The idea of being wanted by someone... it's foreign and intoxicating all at once. She takes another glance around the tavern, wondering if anyone has taken notice of their exchange.

Her lips twitch into a small smirk as she continues to debate with herself whether or not this is wise. "Perhaps," she finally says, her voice softer now. "But if I were to do such a thing... it wouldn't be easy." Her eyes flicker back up to meet his own, daring him to disagree.

The woman smirks back, tilting her head to the side slightly as she studies him more closely. "Oh? And what makes you think I'd ever let someone get so close?" Her voice is teasing now, playfulness dancing in her words like a flame flickering against the night sky.

She takes another step forward, closing the gap between them even further. With each movement, she feels as though she's giving up some small piece of herself, but at the same time, it feels... right. Necessary, almost. "You have quite a bit to prove before I'd ever consider trusting you enough for that," she says quietly, letting her breath mingle with his.

Her hand slides off the hilt of her sword, trailing up her breastplate and over her shoulder, brushing lightly against his arm as it comes to rest on his chest. The warmth from their skin meeting sends a shiver down her spine, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans closer still, waiting for his reaction.

Amalia hesitates for just a moment longer before nodding slightly, her hand sliding off his chest and back to rest at her side once more. "Very well," she says, her voice cool but resigned as she follows him from the tavern. She glances around them one last time, making sure no one is watching too closely before stepping outside into the night with Zuko.

The air is cold and crisp, a light mist drifting over the cobblestones beneath their feet as they make their way through the darkened streets toward his home. She can feel her heart racing in her chest, anticipation and fear tangled together like a knot she can't quite unravel. But still, she follows him, her long strides keeping pace with his shorter stride easily despite the darkness that shrouds them both.

"So," she finally says as they round a corner and find themselves alone for a moment, the mist parting like curtains before them. "What is it you want from me?" Her voice is calm now, almost conversational, but there's an undercurrent of steel there that hasn't quite dissipated yet.

The woman snorts derisively, shaking her head as she looks at him. "You're crazy you know that?" she says with a laugh, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Think yourself lucky I'm even out here right now." She takes another step closer to him, her scent filling the air between them: sweat and steel and something musky that can only belong to a woman who spends her life training for war.

"But if you want me," she says slowly, savoring each word as it leaves her mouth, "you'd better be ready to prove yourself worthy." Her gaze meets his unflinchingly, daring him to challenge her on this. "And I mean really worthy," she adds with a small smirk, hands curling into fists at her sides. "Or else you'll just end up disappointing me... and I don't handle disappointment well."

Amalia eyes widen slightly at his words, her breath hitching in her throat as she feels herself growing wet between her legs at the thought of him touching her, getting close to her. A shiver runs down her spine and she presses back against the wall, wanting him closer but not quite daring to move any further away either.

Her free hand lifts, fingers curling into a fist as she glances around them, making sure there's no one else close enough to see or hear what they're about to do. And then she looks back at him, expression unreadable. "Let's get this over with," she says quietly, her voice rougher than usual.

Without another word, she moves forward, sliding her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, pulling herself closer until their bodies are pressed against each other from hip to breast, hard and aching. Her lips find his, tongue darting out to stroke against his own before she growls low in her throat, grinding her hips against him.

A rush of pleasure consumes her as she feels the length of him press against her through their clothes, a stark reminder that he is every bit as ready for this as she is. Her hands slide down his back and over his ass, gripping firmly, pulling him closer still. And then with a soft moan, she arches into him, seeking more contact between them.

"Faster," she whispers against his lips. "I want to feel you inside me."

Her hips grind harder against him as he whispers filthy things in her ear, sending shivers down her spine and making her core clench with need. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, trying to keep herself from giving in completely and just ripping their clothes off right here on the street. She wants this. Wants him. But she needs it more, desperately.

Her lips part slightly as she gasps his name, breath hot against his neck as he carries her through the night to his home. With every step they take, anticipation builds inside her like a flame fed by the wind, threatening to consume her whole if she doesn't find release soon. She can feel herself growing wetter with each passing moment, aching for him.

When they finally reach his doorstep, Amalia pushes away from him just long enough to look up into his eyes, her expression a mix of hunger and determination as she watches him catch his breath. "Now," she rasps out between clenched teeth, pressing herself back against his chest once more. "Let's see what you're really made of."

Her hands slide down to his hips, fingers curling around the fabric of his trousers and tugging them loose before reaching for the button and flicking it open with practiced ease. Her breath comes hot against his neck as she slowly pushes his pants down over his hips, revealing him to her once more. He's hard as steel, a beacon of promise in the dark. With one last look into his eyes, she takes hold of his cock and guides it toward her entrance.

The last bit of resistance crumbles beneath her touch as she slides down his length, enveloping him inside her with a moan that echoes through the room like a battle cry. Her muscles clench around him in welcome, drawing him deeper still, eliciting another groan from his lips as he presses forward into her. His hands come up to cup her breasts, squeezing and kneading them roughly before pulling them roughly away from his body, exposing her aching nipples to the cool air.

She arches her back against him, grinding her hips against his as she takes more of him inside, her nails scratching at his shoulders in a primitive attempt to find purchase, to anchor herself to him in this overwhelming pleasure and need. With each thrust, their skin slides against each other, building friction until it's almost unbearable. A harsh moan rips from her throat as she feels herself begin to lose control, her orgasm racing toward her like a wild thing.

Her hips buck and twist, seeking more contact between them, her breath coming in ragged gasps as his thrusts grow deeper, harder. Her vision blurs, everything narrowing down until there's only him, only this moment, only the ecstasy of release pulsing through her veins. And then she comes apart beneath him, muscles clenching and unclenching around him in rhythmic spasms as she cries out his name.

Her fingers dig into his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure wash over her, leaving her spent and satiated in their wake. When at last she comes down from her high, panting and gasping for air, she finds his eyes boring into hers, full of a raw hunger that matches