"Come in, let me have a look at you."

He enters slowly, wincing as the floor creaks like the entire floor may crack under the pressure he was feeling. Every foot step sounded like thunder so late at night. He shouldn't be awake, not when Azula is safely tucked in bed, dreaming sweet, worriless dreams in her favored little head. He's only fourteen after all, and he should really get to bed.

"Very nice. You look so much like your mother."

His cheeks warm up as if he'd just stepped into a bath house. He feels so…uncomfortable? Yes, when doesn't he? He shouldn't by now, he should be used to it. This should no longer be so frightening.

"Closer, my beautiful little flower."

He hates those nicknames. He's no flower. Flowers and beauty are for weak, sensitive little girls. Not boys like him. Humiliation wriggles its way into his throat and he swallows hard. Stepping forward, he wills himself to stay frozen as a statue while Ozai's callused and slightly heated fingers brush over the pale silk of his cheeks. Flawless like a China doll from Ba Sing Se and just as easy to break.

"Lovely. Take off that silly robe, it's just us."

This is the part he doesn't like. A feeling of impending doom pangs in his chest and he wants to turn and run out of the room. Flee through the halls and hide away until he dies but he knows that Ozai will catch him. Ozai is strong, but he is weak. Ozai is fast, but he is slow. And he doesn't want to think of what happened the last time he tried to run. A moment's hesitation and he let the satin robe fall, exposing the milky white skin on his shoulders. The sleeves catch on his wrists and he leaves it there, allowing himself some modesty for just a few more seconds. Strong, aggressive hands that can grip his arm completely brush over the skin, baby smooth and void of any and all hair.

"Come now, sweetheart. Onto the bed."

He looks up, his amber eyes practically vibrating with fear and apprehension. "Father, may I please just-

Smack.

"I said get on the bed you whiny little bitch."

Arguing with Ozai when he's using that tone is suicide so he silently lets the robe pool at his feet and clambers onto the large bed. He moves gingerly and takes a seat as far away as he can from his father without being obvious. He clamps his thighs shut and brings his knees to his chest to salvage some modesty as the man scrutinizes every inch of his body.

"Such a pretty face…just like Ursa…" He murmurs. The man brings a hand up to his face and he flinches, only to feel Ozai tugging at the tie that is holding up his flawless pony tail. It breaks free and his long hair tumbles down his back, resting on his shoulders.

"F-father." He croaks when Ozai begins to play with the long black locks with one hand while the other rests on the top of his knee and tugs on it slightly.

"Come now, darling." He's closer now, moving in on him like prey, his hot breath hitting his skin and making him shiver. "Don't you shy away from me." The bed dips as Ozai crawls closer.

"I really don't want to do this." He whimpers, but it's as if he says nothing at all. His father corners him against the pillows and his whole body clenches. Every muscle tightens, tenses and stiffens in alarm.

"Don't make things difficult." Ozai hums as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind the boy's ear. "Show me that pretty little pussy."

Shame consumes him and he hesitantly looks up at his father, searching his face for even the slightest hint of mercy, but all he finds is eager impatience. It scares him because he doesn't seem to recognize his own son during these little sessions. Not once has he ever given mercy, so he doesn't know why he'd be hoping for it now. Ozai is getting annoyed, he can tell. His cheek is still smarting from the man's first warning, so averting his eyes, he inches his legs apart the tiniest bit.

Ozai is far from satisfied and he seizes the boy's knees, sharply shoving them apart with a small whimper from their owner. His eyes shamelessly survey the baby smooth genitals that flop flaccidly as his son squirms uncomfortably. Then he spreads the legs as far as they go and inspects the puckered pink entrance.

"Such a pretty little pussy." He breathes, holding onto the boy's knees to keep them spread. His own cock is already hard, jutting out from his naked form. No more waiting for him. He wants it now. Without warning, his whole demeanor changes and he sharply smacks the pert little ass that quivers before him. "Hands and knees, whore." He says gruffly as he gives his intimidating member a few quick pumps.

His stomach clenches, twisting into knots when he hears the tone in Ozai's voice. He's in the mood to be rough and mean, which also means that the only lube he'll be getting is blood and precum. Frightened tears spring into his eyes and he trembles as he assumes the requested position. Ozai spreads his cheeks apart and positions himself against the constantly clenching hole. He waits, counting in his head until the unbearable, burning stretch rips at his skin and makes him scream.

"Please!" He screams. "Please, please stop!" He is always a bit hysterical at the start. His whole body shakes and fear gets the best of him as he attempts to scramble off of the bed completely. He doesn't get far, as Ozai grabs onto his hair like a leash and yanks him back roughly. His back arches to the max and he pants frightfully as his father hisses into his ear.

"Trying to run away, little girl?" He growls lowly in his throat. He yanks again, eliciting a cry from the boy beneath him before thrusting into him again.

He shrieks in pain as Ozai rides him like a komodo rhino, his hair acting as the reins to keep him steady against the man's aggressive bucking. When he releases the inky mane to seize his hip bones again, his face drops limply into the rumpled sheets. Tears are streaming down his face and dampening the linens. A whimpering, pathetic little grunt escapes his throat with each thrust and he tightly fists the sheets.

When his father finishes inside of him, his stomach flips and twists and he's almost certain that he is going to be sick. Ozai pulls out, allowing blood and cum to seep out of his abused, gaping hole and create a sticky mess between his quivering thighs.

"Stop your blubbering. It's not attractive." Ozai mutters gruffly. "It's disgusting and you're ruining my mood. Get out."

He trembles and shudders as he gets up and grabs his robe, his hair falling into his face and covering his eyes. Listening to Ozai recline in the bed, he scurries painfully out of the room while fluids drain down his legs.

"Look what I found!" Katara sang smugly as she paraded through the beach house.

Team Avatar as a whole glanced up to find the waterbender holding a medium sized portrait over her head like a sign. "What is it?" Toph asked.

"It's a family portrait! Look at little Zuko!" She cronned happily.

"He looks like a girl." Sokka snorted, earning an irritated look from the boy himself.

"All fire nation royalty grows their hair out. It's custom." Zuko snapped defensively.

"It's kind of weird. You don't even have your scar." Aang commented.

"And your father seems kind of happy. I'm not sure if that's sweet or creepy." Suki added.

Zuko shifted his gaze to the painting and his breath hitched at the sight of Ozai's hands resting possessively on his bare shoulders. They had been at the beach that day, judging by Azula's swimwear and his own loincloth. His mother was noticeably absent from the picture, as if somebody had painted her out of it after a second thought. "Neither was I."