you get hit a lil too hard in the head during a training session, sending everyone in a panic as they gather around you, (zuko hauling you into his arms) as everyone frantically asks questions that your brain can notcomprehend.
“what happened?”
“how many fingers am i holding up?”
“can you see?”
“what day is it?” 
the questions blur together in a haze.
katara asks the final question. “how’s your head?” her fingers tap against your forehead.
“mm no complaints” you mumble giddily, huffing a laugh at yourself as your world stars to shift back into focus.
“huh?” sokka grunts out, trying to make sense of your murmuring.
“i said..”you repeat louder, mind still fuzzy. “no complaints.”
“complaints?” aang echoes confused.
“right, zuko?” you turn your concussed attention to your partner of many many years, bottom lip jutting out as you wait for his answer.
zuko goes bright red, the tip of his ear staining pink as he offers a tight yet entirely enamoured smile.
“right?” you ask again, pout deepening, as you blearily blink up at your fiancé.
he can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles out of him as he reaches down to sweep your hair back behind your ears, palm cupping your jaw.
“no complaints” he squeezes the fat of your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger affectionately. “but we’re more concerned about your actual head. how’s it feeling?”
“actual head? huh? what are you….” sokka questions with an exasperated sigh.
it takes him three more seconds before he catches on.
“ooooh…gross.”
a/n: idk how i feel about this but it’s been in my head (hehe get it) and i have a full fic but idk if you guys wanna read it lmk pls
Apparently a lot of people get dialogue punctuation wrong despite having an otherwise solid grasp of grammar, possibly because they’re used to writing essays rather than prose. I don’t wanna be the asshole who complains about writing errors and then doesn’t offer to help, so here are the basics summarized as simply as I could manage on my phone (“dialogue tag” just refers to phrases like “he said,” “she whispered,” “they asked”):
“For most dialogue, use a comma after the sentence and don’t capitalize the next word after the quotation mark,” she said.
“But what if you’re using a question mark rather than a period?” they asked.
“When using a dialogue tag, you never capitalize the word after the quotation mark unless it’s a proper noun!” she snapped.
“When breaking up a single sentence with a dialogue tag,” she said, “use commas.”
“This is a single sentence,” she said. “Now, this is a second stand-alone sentence, so there’s no comma after ‘she said.’”
“There’s no dialogue tag after this sentence, so end it with a period rather than a comma.” She frowned, suddenly concerned that the entire post was as unasked for as it was sanctimonious.
ONESHOT, REQUEST: damian smitten, or just a collection of three different stories where he is just utterally in love with you.
a/n: sooo it was a little later than tuesday morning...
In Damian’s world, every second without you became another cruel reminder that even time itself could wound. Gotham had taught him many things: how to fight, how to survive, how to carve fear into the hearts of men twice his size. Yet nothing prepared him for the ache that settled in his chest whenever you were gone too long.
You had rooted yourself somewhere deep inside him. Somewhere beneath the sharpened edges and practiced control. Dangerous, really. To love someone so entirely that the thought of losing them made his lungs forget how to breathe.
He would burn Gotham to ash for you if you asked sweet enough. And unfortunately for him, this was not a well-kept secret.
The manor buzzed with idle chatter, silverware clinking against porcelain as another suffocating family dinner dragged onward. Bruce spoke of patrol routes. Dick laughed too loudly at something Jason muttered beneath his breath. Tim looked half dead over a cup of tea, carefully brewed to his liking.
Damian, however, heard none of it.
His pencil glided across paper with the precision of a surgeon’s blade. Every line deliberate. Every curve memorized. You lived inside his mind so vividly he no longer needed reference photos. He knew the exact shape of your smile, the way your eyelashes kissed your cheeks when you slept, the slight tilt of your head whenever you teased him.
“Damian.”
Nothing.
“Damian.”
Still nothing.
“DAMIAN.”
His head snapped upward, emerald eyes narrowed sharply toward Dick.
“Holy shit,” Dick laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re gone gone. I called your name like five times. What are you drawing?”
Damian’s expression flattened instantly. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Jason, ever invasive, leaned over his shoulder before Damian could shut the sketchbook.
“No fucking way.”
Damian’s jaw clenched as Jason snatched the book fully from beneath his hand. Pages flipped one after another, each sheet revealing you in different forms. Smiling. Sleeping. Reading. Just existing.
Entire pages dedicated to the slope of your lips alone.
“You’re drawing them?” Jason asked, somewhere between amused and disturbed.
“I draw many things,” Damian answered coolly, though the slight twitch in his brow betrayed him. “They simply occupy my thoughts at the moment.”
Jason barked out another laugh, flipping faster now. “Dude. This whole sketchbook is about them.”
Damian finally looked irritated. “They are my muse. I fail to understand why this conversation persists.”
A dangerous pause.
“Can I have that back now?”
The table fell quiet as Jason slowly returned the sketchbook. Damian placed the sketchbook carefully before himself once more, fingertips brushing over the page like it contained something holy.
The manor frightened you the first few times you stayed over. It groaned at night like something ancient lived beneath the floorboards. Endless hallways stretched into darkness, swallowing light whole. Portraits watched from the walls with unmoving eyes, and every creak sounded like the beginning of a horror film.
Yet none of it seemed to matter once Damian wrapped himself around you. His chest pressed firmly against your back, warmth seeping through the cold air of the room. One arm draped over your waist possessively while his breathing ghosted against the nape of your neck.
Safe. That was the word you associated with him most. Safe enough to fall asleep to the sound of rain striking the windows. Safe enough to melt entirely into his hold.
Unfortunately, your bladder did not care about romance.
You shifted slightly, grimacing as Damian’s grip instinctively tightened around your waist.
“Dami,” you whispered hoarsely. “Damian, I have to pee.”
A low grumble vibrated against your spine. Half asleep and deeply offended by your attempt to leave him.
“Beloved,” he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion, “ignore it.”
“I physically cannot.”
Another irritated sound escaped him before his hold finally loosened. Though not without one last squeeze, as if reminding you he expected, wanted, your return immediately.
You slipped quietly from the bed and padded toward the bedroom door. Yet, The second it creaked open, regret settled into your bones.
Darkness. Endless, suffocating darkness stretched through the hallway, interrupted only by a few dim lamps flickering near his siblings’ doors. You stared into the corridor. The corridor seemed to stare back.
Absolutely not.
Slowly, carefully, you shut the door again before turning toward the bed. Damian remained half sprawled against the mattress, dark hair messy from sleep as he blinked at you through heavy eyes.
“Damian,” you whispered.
He hummed softly in response.
“My love.”
One green eye opened further at the name.
“The hallway is dark.”
Damian stared at you for a long moment. “It is two in the morning,” he replied flatly. “It is supposed to be dark.”
You shifted awkwardly. “Dami… I’m scared.”
Then, without another word, Damian pushed himself upright from the bed. Exhaustion clung to every movement as he stood, grabbing the nearest sword from beside his dresser purely out of instinct before realizing where he was.
You blinked. “Why do you have that beside your bed?”
“That is not the current issue.”
Damian stood there for another second, sword still loosely hanging at his side while sleep fought to keep his eyes shut. The sight would have been intimidating if not for the fact his hair pointed in six different directions and one side of his shirt sat crooked on his shoulder.
You tried not to smile. Tried. Failed miserably.
“You are laughing at me,” he accused quietly.
“You grabbed a sword to walk me to the bathroom in your own home.”
“And?” His expression remained painfully serious. “If the manor decides to unleash horrors upon you at two in the morning, I will be prepared.”
A laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. Soft and warm and enough to make something gentler flicker briefly across his face.
Damian sighed dramatically as he moved toward the bedroom door. “Come. Before your paranoia convinces you the wallpaper can eat you.”
“You say that like this place doesn’t look haunted.”
“It is gothic architecture.”
“It is a vampire convention.”
His hand wrapped around the doorknob before pausing. “That was one time. And Dracula was surprisingly polite.”
“DAMIAN.”
A ghost of a smirk touched his mouth as he finally opened the door. The hallway remained just as terrifying as before. Darkness swallowing the endless corridor whole while old wooden floors creaked beneath each step. Somewhere deep within the manor pipes groaned like a dying animal.
Immediately, you latched onto the sleeve of Damian’s shirt. He looked down at your hand. Then at you. Then quietly shifted closer.
“You mock me now,” you murmured.
“I am adapting to your irrational behavior.”
“Mhm.”
The two of you walked slowly through the hall, Damian slightly ahead as though shielding you from shadows themselves. The dim lamps cast golden light across his features, catching against sharp cheekbones and tired green eyes. Even half asleep he moved like something lethal.
Another creak echoed somewhere downstairs. You froze instantly. Damian stopped too, gaze narrowing toward the darkness ahead. His grip on the sword adjusted automatically.
“Probably Father,” Damian muttered.
“Probably?”
“Or Grayson attempting to make midnight cereal.”
“That does not help.”
A smaller hand suddenly shot from one of the side hallways. You nearly screamed. Damian physically recoiled backward while instinctively lifting the sword.
“Woah! Jesus Christ!” Tim whisper-shouted, both hands raised immediately. “Why do you have a weapon?!”
Damian looked genuinely offended by the question. “Why are you emerging from shadows like a Victorian child with the plague?”
Tim blinked slowly. “I live here.”
“An unfortunate decision.”
You pressed both hands over your mouth trying desperately not to laugh as Tim’s exhausted eyes shifted between the two of you.
“…Did you seriously escort them to the bathroom?”
Damian’s face hardened instantly. “You will speak carefully.”
Tim stared for another long second before sighing deeply. “I’m going back to my room.”
“An excellent choice.”
“You are both insane.”
Tim disappeared back into the darkness just as suddenly as he appeared, leaving silence to settle once more.
You looked toward Damian, barely holding yourself together now. “You almost stabbed him.”
“He should not lurk.”
“He was walking.”
“Incorrect. He was skulking.”
Another laugh escaped you, softer this time.
Damian looked at you for a moment too long after that. Something in his expression gentling so suddenly it nearly stole the breath from your lungs.
“There,” he said quietly, nodding toward the bathroom door ahead. “Safe from the horrors of Wayne Manor.”
“You’re making fun of me again.”
“Only slightly.”
You moved toward the bathroom before pausing at the doorway. “Will you wait for me?”
Damian looked almost offended.
“Beloved,” he said, voice low and certain, “I would wait lifetimes for you.”
The city bled neon beneath Robin’s boots. Rainwater clung to the edges of rooftops, turning Gotham into something slick and silver beneath the moonlight. Patrol had dragged longer than expected. Two separate break-ins. A car chase through Burnley. One extremely irritating encounter with Killer Croc in the sewers that left Damian smelling faintly like mildew.
He was exhausted. Worse, he missed you.
The realization annoyed him more than the bruising ache settling beneath his ribs. Missing someone should not feel this consuming. This distracting. Every glimpse of warm apartment windows made something deep inside him ache with the memory of your laugh.
Damian landed silently against the fire escape outside your apartment building, cape fluttering behind him. He told himself he was merely checking on you. Gotham had been increasingly dangerous lately. Drake had mentioned heightened gang activity near your neighborhood.
That was the only reason he was here… obviously.
Your bedroom window slid upward easily beneath practiced fingers. Darkness greeted him first. Then warmth.
Your apartment always smelled like you. Faint traces of your favorite perfume and laundry detergent and something softer Damian could never properly describe without sounding absurdly poetic. It hit him instantly the moment he climbed through the window.
And there you were, asleep. A small lamp near the couch cast golden light across the room, illuminating the mess of blankets tangled around your body. One of his hoodies swallowed you whole, sleeves hanging past your hands while the Gotham Knights shirt he’d lost three weeks ago clung loosely against your legs. His clothes.
Damian went still. Something dangerous flickered low in his chest.
You had fallen asleep waiting for him. Your phone rested beside your cheek, screen dark now, though several unread messages from him remained visible in notification previews.
Dami: Patrol ran late.
Dami: Do not wait awake for me.
Dami: I mean it.
His jaw tightened faintly. You had ignored him. Like you always did when it came to him coming back late.
The sight should have irritated him. Instead, warmth spread slowly through his chest with enough force to make him uncomfortable. You looked impossibly peaceful like this.
One leg half hanging off the couch. Hair messy across the pillow beneath your head. Lips parted slightly as soft breaths escaped you. Completely defenseless. Completely his.
Damian removed his domino mask quietly before stepping closer.
The floor creaked beneath his boot. Immediately, your face scrunched slightly in your sleep.
“…Dami?”
His entire expression softened, “Yes, habibti.”
Your eyes barely opened. Heavy with exhaustion. “You’re late.”
“There was a situation downtown.”
“Mhm.”
You shifted deeper into the blankets before blinking at him slowly. “Did you get stabbed?”
“Not tonight.”
“Good.”
The simplicity of your concern nearly killed him.
You reached blindly toward him then, still half asleep. Damian stared at your outstretched hand for exactly one second before taking it immediately. Your fingers curled weakly around his glove.
“There you are,” you mumbled.
Damian exhaled quietly through his nose.
Ridiculous. You had reduced the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul into something unbearably soft.
He crouched beside the couch carefully, gaze scanning over you with clinical precision despite the tenderness threatening to ruin him.
“You continue stealing from my wardrobe,” he observed quietly.
A sleepy smile appeared instantly.
“You like it.”
“That is irrelevant.”
“It smells like you.”
His pulse stuttered.
You were too tired to notice the way his shoulders locked instantly beneath the suit. You were dangerously unaware of the effect you had on him.
Your eyes drifted shut again slowly. “Was waiting up,” you murmured. “Wanted to make sure you came home okay.”
Home. Not back. Home.
Without another word, he stood carefully before lifting you from the couch with effortless precision. You stirred only enough to curl instinctively against his chest, face pressing into the space beneath his neck.
“Tired,” you whispered.
“I know.”
Your arms wrapped lazily around him anyway.
Damian carried you toward the bedroom in complete silence, footsteps impossibly gentle for someone trained to kill before he could properly read. Moonlight spilled across the sheets as he lowered you carefully onto the mattress.
Yet the second he pulled away, your fingers caught weakly against his sleeve.
“Stay.”
The word came out barely audible. Damian looked down at you for a long moment.
Then, with all the devotion of a man utterly ruined by love, Robin climbed into bed beside you.
i saw a tiktok that said “zuko, who stays awake at night softly caressing your cheek, wondering if you and azula would have gotten along had things been different” and i’ve been thinking about it all day … tug at the heart strings a little bit please ☹️💞
-–—•
The palace was always quietest at night.
No council meetings. No guards announcing arrivals. No heavy expectations pressing against his shoulders for a few fleeting hours. Just the candlelight mixed with the moonlight, and you beside him.
Zuko should have been asleep.
Instead, he lay awake with his head resting against the pillow, watching you breathe softly beside him while his fingers traced absentminded patterns along your cheek. Gentle. Careful. Like touching something sacred.
You stirred slightly at the touch but didn’t wake, only leaning unconsciously closer into his warmth. His chest tightened. Because all he could think about was her. Azula.
Not the version the world feared. Not FireLord Ozai’s perfect daughter. Not the girl sharpened into something cruel and dangerous before she even had the chance to become a child.
Just his little sister… he wondered; painfully, endlessly - if things had been different… would she have loved you too? The same way Sokka loves Aang as his own brother?
Would she have sat with you during dinners, making dry comments that only you seemed able to answer without fear? Would you have made her laugh? Real laughter, not the sharp-edged kind she used like a weapon. Would she have trusted you enough to let her guard down? Would she have seen you as a sister?
Zuko’s thumb brushed beneath your eye softly. You were everything warm in his life now. Everything patient, kind, safe. Sometimes he mourned the fact that Azula never got the chance to know softness without suspecting weakness. That she couldn’t have the growth he had with his real friends.
“She would’ve liked you,” he whispered quietly into the darkness, almost like a confession. “I think… maybe she would’ve hated how much she liked you.”
You shifted slightly in your sleep, your hand finding his instinctively beneath the blankets. Zuko looked down at your intertwined fingers and swallowed hard.
In another life, maybe the three of you could’ve sat together beneath the palace gardens without fear or politics or cruelty poisoning every moment.
Maybe Azula would’ve teased him for the way he looked at you. Maybe she would’ve rolled her eyes every time you defended him during arguments. Maybe she would’ve called the two of you disgustingly affectionate before secretly lingering nearby anyway. She’d know became a third wheel yet refused to change anything about that.
Maybe she could’ve been happy. The thought hurt too much to hold for long.
Zuko leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead before closing his eyes beside you.
Somewhere deep inside him, the little boy who once chased after his sister despite everything still hoped that one day, somehow, she’d come home too.
It doesn’t take much to flair up the proud man. He easily maintains his composure in public but you know his hand is itching to bend you over and spank your naughty ass.
Actually, that is what he prefers. A mischievous partner who is upbeat and playful. Basically how he would have turned out if he was born in a different family.
He spanks with his hands but also prefers a paddle. Clothes on spanking is sexy and easy to get it over with in public. However, he favors your bare ass as he can admire his ‘handiwork’ afterwards. And he loves to see you clench your juicy pussy with each strike.
His favourite- cums inside you and pulls out and spanks your ass if you dare to leak a single drop.
“Hold it in. These sheets are worth more than your yearly salary.”
Zuko is deeply, intensely devoted to the things he loves—and he happens to love you. Which means, by default, he has become a silent scholar of your meticulous skin and hair care routine.
ZUKO'S INTERNAL SKINCARE DICTIONARY:
• Hyaluronic Acid = The watery stuff that makes her look like a dewy angel.
• Retinol = The nighttime magic that requires her to wear SPF 50 the next day.
• Silk Bonnet = The "do not touch" zone for her hair.
In your shared apartment, the bathroom counter is a battleground of aesthetics. Zuko’s contribution to the vanity is a single, utilitarian bottle of 3-in-1 body wash-shampoo-conditioner (which you secretly replaced with a decent sulfate-free shampoo months ago, filling his old bottle so he wouldn't notice). Your side, however, is a beautiful, organized display of glass droppers, frosted bottles, and neatly rolled microfiber hair towels.
He loves watching you do your routine. For a guy who grew up in a chaotic, high-stress household, watching you systematically apply your products is incredibly grounding.
Zuko learned very early on that ordinary cotton pillowcases are the enemy of your hair cuticle and skin hydration. He once accidentally threw your mulberry silk pillowcases into a hot-water laundry cycle and panicked so badly he called Sokka in a cold sweat. He now hand-washes them himself to ensure they stay pristine.
If you fall asleep on the couch while binge-watching a show, Zuko won't just wake you up; he will gently carry you to the bathroom vanity. He’ll sit on the closed toilet seat, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just to keep you company while you do your double-cleansing.
Because Zuko has a prominent facial scar, he’s always been hyper-aware of skin health. He treats your skin like a priceless artifact. If you’re going out, he’ll be standing by the front door holding your chemical sunscreen like a soldier holding ammunition. "You forgot your broad-spectrum protection," he’ll say, completely serious.
The Hair Ritual
Your hair care routine is an Olympic sport, and Zuko is your most enthusiastic fan. When it’s wash day, he knows his role: he is the Designated Sectioner. He loves the texture of your hair when it’s saturated with a deep conditioning mask.
"Is this the one that needs to sit for twenty minutes or the one we wash out immediately?" he’ll ask, holding a claw clip between his teeth like a professional stylist.
When you emerge from the bathroom looking completely put together—your skin radiant and glass-like, your hair perfectly defined and smelling of jasmine and rosemary—Zuko honestly loses his train of thought. He’ll just stare at you, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He feels an immense wave of pride that someone so beautiful, so disciplined, and so perfectly cared-for chooses to curl up against his chest at the end of the day.
Aang: The Sensory Enthusiast and Helper
Aang is a creature of touch, scent, and positive energy. To him, your meticulous skin and hair care routine isn't just about vanity; it’s a beautiful form of self-love and meditation. He doesn't just admire how pretty you look when you're all put together (though he will tell you you're beautiful approximately forty-seven times a day); he genuinely wants to participate in the joy of it.
The Ultimate Hype Man
Aang thinks your routine is the coolest thing ever. He treats your vanity like a magical apothecary. He loves the little clicking sounds of your serums opening, the mist of your rosewater toner, and the gentle tap-tap-tap of your fingers as you press product into your skin.
Aang begged you to teach him how to use a jade roller and a gua sha tool. Now, it’s a staple of your winding-down routine. You’ll sit between his knees while he watches a documentary, and he will incredibly gently roll your cheekbones and jawline. Because he’s so naturally attuned to flow and energy, his pressure is always absolutely perfect.
Aang remembers every single ingredient you mention. If you complain that your skin feels a little dull, he’ll instantly chime in: "Maybe you need that vitamin C serum with the orange dropper? Or is it a chemical exfoliant night?"
He associates specific scents with your mood. If he smells lavender and argan oil, he knows it’s a relaxation night. If he smells citrus and peppermint, he knows you’re gearing up for a productive day. He will literally bury his nose in your neck and just inhale, sighing happily.
Hair Appreciation Hours
Your hair care routine fascinates him. Aang, having been bald for a significant portion of his life (and still keeping it pretty short and low-maintenance), views a complex hair routine as an absolute marvel of engineering.Hair StepAang's ReactionScalp MassagingHe will happily do this for you for an hour until his hands cramp.Leave-in ConditionerHe thinks it looks like magic lotion and loves how soft it makes your hair.Diffusing/StylingHe loves watching the bounce and structure return to your hair.
When you finish your routine, looking absolutely radiant, glowing like a literal deity, Aang’s jaw drops every single time. He’ll take your hands, spin you around, and shower you with compliments.
"You look like a literal morning sunrise," he’ll beam, completely earnest. He loves how soft your skin is against his, and he will constantly find excuses to brush a stray, perfectly coiled or sleek strand of hair away from your face just to feel how silky it is.
Sokka: The Domestic Engineer and Product Critic
Sokka approaches your skin and hair care routine with the exact same energy he uses to plan hangouts with the Gaang or build campfires: sheer, unadulterated logistical fascination. He treats your bathroom routine like a highly efficient science experiment, and he is determined to be your chief laboratory assistant.
The Spreadsheet and the Inventory
Sokka knows the exact inventory of your skincare shelf. In fact, he probably made a spreadsheet for it at some point to track expiration dates and PAO (Period After Opening) symbols.
When you bought a dedicated skincare mini-fridge for your serums and sheet masks, Sokka lost his mind. He thought it was the peak of human technological advancement. He loves going in there to fetch your chilled under-eye patches, presenting them to you on a tiny silver tray like a butler.
Sokka will sit on the edge of the tub while you do your routine and ask a million questions. "Okay, so the niacinamide regulates sebum production, right? But if you pair it with the vitamin C, does it destabilize the pH balance? Walk me through the chemistry here." He genuinely finds it fascinating.
If you have curly or wavy hair and you use gel to create a "cast" while it dries, Sokka takes his job as Guard Duty very seriously. He will yell at anyone who comes near you: "Don't touch her! She's crunchy right now! The cast hasn't broken yet! Suki, back away!"
The "All Put Together" Pride
Sokka loves a glow-up. He is a guy who appreciates aesthetics, and seeing you look so perfectly put together fills him with immense satisfaction. He loves bragging about you to other people.
"Yeah, look at her skin," Sokka will casually tell Katara at brunch. "No pores. Zero. She uses a double-cleansing method with a centrifugal oil-to-milk emulsifier. Try to find a blemish. You can't." (You usually have to kick him under the table to get him to stop).
When you’re dressed up, your hair styled flawlessly without a single flyaway out of place, and your skin looking luminous, Sokka will walk beside you with his chest puffed out, his arm firmly around your waist. He feels like the luckiest guy in the world to have a partner who is so incredibly refined, and he treats your routine as a sacred ritual that must never be interrupted.
Katara: The Co-Conspirator and Wellness Partner
Katara is the ultimate skincare soulmate. Out of everyone in the group, Katara is the one who truly understands the emotional and physical necessity of a meticulous routine. For her, taking care of your skin and hair is an act of deep respect for your body, and she loves that you share this value.
The Spa Night Tradition
Friday nights are sacred in your household. Katara will put on a soothing playlist, light some eucalyptus candles, and turn your bathroom into a high-end spa.
Katara loves reading the ingredient lists on the back of your hair masks. Since she’s very into natural wellness and hydration, she loves comparing notes with you. You both have a shared Google Doc of holy grail products.
Katara’s own hair is thick and long, requiring a lot of maintenance, so she deeply respects your dedication. There is nothing she loves more than sitting behind you on the floor, gently detangling your hair with a wide-tooth wooden comb, starting from the bottoms and working her way up with absolute patience.
If you have a stubborn blemish, Katara will not let you pick at it with your fingers. She will swoop in with hydrocolloid patches and a gentle chemical treatment. "No popping!" she’ll scold softly, slapping your hand away. "We do not tear the skin barrier in this house."
The Loving Admiration
Katara notices every single detail of your appearance. When your hair is freshly deep-conditioned and has that perfect, healthy weight and shine to it, she’ll run her fingers through it with a soft smile. She loves how tidy, clean, and elegant you always look.
To Katara, your routine is a beautiful expression of discipline. She loves pulling you close after you’ve completed your nighttime steps—both of you smelling like clean linen and expensive botanical oils—and pressing a soft kiss to your glowing, well-moisturized cheek. She constantly tells you how radiant you look, and she takes genuine pride in how beautifully you care for yourself.
Toph: The Sensory Skeptic Turned Secret Fan
Toph presents a very tough exterior, but when it comes to you, she is an absolute softie. She can’t see how pretty and put together you look in a mirror, but Toph experiences your skin and hair care routine through an entirely different, incredibly intimate set of senses: touch, sound, and texture.TOPH'S SENSORY RATING SYSTEM: • Regular People = Scratchy, dusty, smell like old dirt or cheap cologne. • You (Post-Routine) = Unbelievably soft, smooth like polished marble, smell like a clean cloud.
The Texture Detective
Toph knows exactly when you’ve done your routine just by leaning against you. Because her sense of touch is so heightened, she can feel the sheer health of your skin and hair.
Toph’s hands are usually calloused and rough from her active lifestyle, so she loves running her knuckles along your jawline or cheek. To her, your skin feels like perfectly tumbled, smooth river jade or polished marble. "Man, you're smooth," she’ll mutter, trying to sound casual but secretly refusing to move her hand.
Toph can identify every product by sound. She knows the specific clack of your favorite hair oil glass bottle against the stone counter, and she loves the rhythmic woosh-woosh of your silk scrunchies being pulled out.
Toph usually complains that perfumes give her a headache, but she loves the smell of your high-end hair masks and face creams. She’ll bury her face into your shoulder after you’ve done your hair care, inhaling deeply. If anyone asks, she’ll claim she was just resting her neck, but she secretly loves smelling like your luxury products.
The Aggressive Protector of Your Space
While Toph might tease you about having "too many tiny jars," she will absolutely destroy anyone who messes with them. If Sokka or Aang accidentally knocks over one of your expensive hair serums, Toph is on their asses about it
"Watch it, Twinkle Toes! That bottle costs more than your entire wardrobe and it makes her hair feel like a cloud. Break it and you're sleeping outside."
Toph loves how soft and silky your hair is. When you two are sitting together on the couch, she’ll blindly reach over, grab a handful of your perfectly styled, soft hair, and just twirl it around her fingers. She might not see the glass-skin glow or the perfect definition of your hair style, but she knows exactly how much care you put into yourself—and to Toph, the tactile perfection of your routine makes you the most beautiful person in the world.
“why does someone MATURE like katara fall in love with a CHILD like aang?” fundamental misunderstanding of katara’s character and her dynamic with aang. she was forced to mature because she lost her mom but she is still, at the end of the day, a fourteen year old child.
she falls in love with aang because he doesn’t just represent hope for the world but he also gives her back her lost childhood with his whimsy. she gets to be silly and childish with him and that’s so important for her.
this fandom tends to adultify katara too much. she’s literally a kid. and it’s okay for her to be.
𓂃 Warnings: None, fluff, reader is female, not proof read, probably oc idk, drabbles
𓂃 Author’s note: I’m currently on my period (which sucks btw, do not recommend) and I had some thoughts about atla men especially after the movie✋😩 it’s my first time writing for them, hopefully it’s good!
Enjoy!🫶❤️
Main masterlist — ATLA masterlist
Zuko doesn’t know much about periods, not really and not at first but he pays attention.
He notices the way you tense, the way your expression shifts when the cramps hit. And remembers what helps.
He remembers you like it when he places his warm hand on your stomach, so the next time he sees you wince, he’s already there, hand gentle but steady, warmth seeping into your skin.
And when it gets worse he wraps himself around you without a word.
His body radiates heat, comforting and steady and you find yourself melting into him. The tension slowly leaves your body, your breathing evens out, and before you know it, your body goes limp, pain disappearing completely and sleep takes over.
He makes sure there’s always a servant outside your chambers, ready the second you call. He makes sure they have warm tea, your favorite food and whatever else you need prepared.
If a servant ever comes to tell him you’re asking for him, he doesn’t hesitate. Even if he is in the middle of a meeting or not, he’s gone in an instant, already halfway to your chambers. Ignoring the whispers and complaints of the council members.
He quietly panics every time you burst into tears, not sure what to do with himself. Hands hovering nervously around you, not knowing where to put them.
Later, he studies. Does more researches because he just wants to be better for you next time it happens.
Aang is… completely lost at first.
He grew up in a temple with not so many girls around, so he didn’t have the chance to truly learn any of this. And now you’re suddenly crying over something small, pulling away when he tries to hug you or just initiate any type of physical contact and he has no idea what he did wrong.
He hovers. Paces. Tries again, only to hesitate halfway through.
Baby boy is so concerned if he had hair he would have pulled them from the stress.
“Did I… do something?”
You will have to explain everything to him. What it is, why it happens and how it feels like. And he listens, really listens, fully.
The moment the second time comes rolling around, he’s definitely more prepared.
You wake up to warm tea already waiting for you. He sits beside you, gently rubbing your back, or your feet if you ask. He tries to help however he can, even if he’s not sure it’s enough.
Momo is always curled at your side, sleeping peacefully beside you, so calm and still, a total contrast to his usual self.
You don’t see Appa as much since you prefer to stay inside but Aang tells you that the soft giant does seem to miss you as well. Nuzzling into Aang’s hand, where your scent lingered.
And when the pain gets bad, when you curl into yourself and start crying, he feels a deep ache in his chest.
He feels helpless.
He tries using his bending abilities to warm you, soft currents of air shifting temperature just enough to bring a bit of comfort in the room. Warm arms wrapped around you, his hand resting on your back, the heat that radiates from them was enough to relieve some of your back ache.
Even if it doesn’t last long, he keeps trying anyway.
You best believe that the next day he shyly seeks help from Katara.
Sokka does know.
Growing up with Katara taught him that there are certain days where pushing her buttons is basically a death wish, and he certainly learned that the hard way.
He isn’t an expert but he has the basics covered.
He tries to cheer you up. To make you laugh, throwing jokes your way like it’s a strategy.
Sometimes it works. You end up laughing so hard your stomach hurts for a different reason.
Other times you just stare at him, unimpressed, before turning away.
It’s a gamble, really.
So he turns to what he can control: fixing the problem by building things that could help easy your suffering.
The first heating pad he made almost exploded. The second one smoked a little and was too hot to be placed anywhere near you. But the third? Absolutely perfect.
…Maybe a little too perfect, considering you now prefer sleeping with it instead of him. (He is not bitter. Not at all.)
He also made you a small bell to keep by your bed, something you can ring whenever you need him. He insists it’s efficient.
But when you’re curled up, quietly crying from the pain?
None of his inventions help with that.
And he hates it.
So, reluctantly, he turns to Katara for help.
Because if there’s one thing Sokka knows, it’s that when and if he can’t fix something she usually can.
(Dear lord please please please give them to mee🙏)
So I am rewatching ATLA (as everyone should every once in a while) and I think I can finally put my finger on one of the main aspects of Zuko's redemption arc.
The writers never went for the shock value with the turn in his arc. I too have fallen in the trap of thinking that the turn in the redemption arc needs to sound like a whip crack but the best redemption arc in the history of storytelling never went for the shock effect.
The writers from season 1 wanted to establish that Zuko wasn't "really" the antagonist or the villain. Right in season 1, we get the episode "The Storm" where Zuko's backstory is told. The fact that his years of Exile begin because he spoke against the deliberate slaughter of his troops is such a fine detail to show that Zuko wasn't evil. He never was evil. And then we find out that he was a victim of his own father.
By season mid point, we've clearly understood that Zuko is lost in more than one ways (to quote Uncle Iroh). Most kids who grow up in abusive household have conflicted goals and desires like Zuko's. The writers did such a wonderful job of dosing us slowly and slowly with Zuko's actual courageous, rightful, kind and honorable traits that we start rooting for him to turn good.
There were so many little arcs of goodness that portrayed his pure heart. Choosing to save uncle Iroh over chasing Aang, letting Appa go, saving Zhao even though he deserved to be the empty by the spirit. So many little dosages of "see... He is fighting with himself". By the end of season we are rooting for him so much that his betrayal hurts on a personal level. Because we, like Uncle Iroh, want to see him be happy and be a teenager. But none of that will come to him if he returns to his father.
When Zuko finally joins Aang, it isn't a moment of "omg whaattt???". It's a moment of "YESS!! FINALLY!"
That's how you nail redemption arcs. Don't go for the shock value. Aim for the satisfaction of finally seeing your character fight all their internal turmoil and choose the best way for themselves.
mr big scary let me ask my wife firelord who always has to run things by you not because you’re controlling or demanding but because he wants you to know what he’s doing, wants you to be included and wants you to approve of his decisions because when you’re happy, he’s happy.
“ fire lord zuko, the earth emissary would like to have a dinner. when is suitable for you?”
“let me ask my wife and i’ll get back to you.”
“lord zuko, the festival of fire is coming up, will you be in attendance?”
“not sure. let me ask my wife.”
“sir. the avatar has requested your help. will you be going to lend aid?”
“if my wife grants me permission, yes.”
“my wife said we need more opportunities for women in government. lets look into that.”
“i cannot attend that meeting. i have lunch plans with my wife.”
even when doing the most mundane and tedious things like new gowns or new stationery for royal decrees, you’re there to give your opinion.
“does my wife like it?”
“what does the firelady think?”
“ask my wife, she has the final say. whatever she wants, goes.”
big scary i worship the ground my wife walks on fire lord
The LIs remaining loyal to Non-MC instead of them ditching Non-MC for MC the moment MC steps back into the LIs' lives. Looking at you, Arranged Marriage!Zayne, Engaged!Caleb.
i really can not stand when artists draws katara and sokka the same shade as zuko, aang and toph. if you cant draw them brownskin or darkskin then don’t draw them at all
note: the ancient fire nation records did not prepare him for the specific heartbreak of seeing you in pain and not being able to fight it directly.ᰔᩚ
boyfriend!zuko, learning your cycle like it is classified state intelligence. he notices patterns. the day your patience gets thinner. the way your lower back starts hurting before you even mention it. the exact expression you make when the cramps first hit and you try to act like it is "not that bad." he does not believe you for a second.
boyfriend!zuko, taking your period cramps more personally than you do. you are sitting there trying to survive quietly and he is looking at you like he would duel your uterus at sunrise if given the opportunity. there is genuine offense in his face, because what do you mean the pain just happens and he cannot challenge it to an Agni Kai.
boyfriend!zuko, becoming weirdly domestic about it. the tea is ready. the blankets are already warm. your favorite snacks appear beside you. there is a heating pad situation being handled with military precision. he tucks pillows around you. and if anyone interrupts your rest for something non-urgent, they will discover that fire lord composure has limits.
boyfriend!zuko, hearing you say "it’s okay, i’m used to it" and reacting like you just confessed something traumatic in a candlelit corridor. his whole expression changes, because in his mind, the fact that you are used to pain is not comforting at all—it is worse. now he is kissing your forehead, then muttering, with great seriousness, "you should never have had to get used to this."
boyfriend!zuko, sitting behind you and pressing both warm hands against your lower stomach or your back. and listen. this man is already a problem on a normal day. give him an excuse to hold you close, to anchor you against his chest, to rub slow circles into aching muscles while asking in that low voice, "here?" and suddenly your period cramps are competing with an entirely different crisis.
boyfriend!zuko, becoming absurdly tender when you get clingy. because yes, your body hurts and the world is annoying and you need him closer than usual. he does not tease you for it. not really. he just opens his arms and lets you fold yourself into him which—unfortunately for your dignity—you do. and when you mumble that you are being pathetic, he tilts your face up and says, "you are in pain. you are allowed to want comfort."
boyfriend!zuko, getting the full boyfriend experience the first time you snap at him because your cramps are evil and your hormones are in active rebellion. he goes still. you go silent. and then before the guilt can eat you alive, he just exhales and says, "you do not have to apologize for hurting in front of me."
boyfriend!zuko, mastering the art of period-era compliments because he understands that sometimes you do not feel like yourself. so he tells you you are beautiful. he brushes your hair back and says you look lovely even when you are glaring at him from inside a blanket nest with a hot water bottle clutched to your stomach. and the most offensive part is that he means it.
boyfriend!zuko, being so respectful about your mood swings that it somehow circles back into flirtation. if you want silence, he gives you silence. if you want company, he stays. if you want to complain, he listens like it is a royal briefing. if you want him to hold you and say nothing, he does exactly that. but the moment you are feeling a little better and start getting clever again, he narrows his eyes and goes, "oh, so this is the part where you recover just enough to torment me." (yes. obviously).
boyfriend!zuko, absolutely crumbling when you fall asleep on him from sheer exhaustion. cramps wore you out, emotions wrung you dry, and now you are asleep with your cheek against his chest while he sits very still so he does not wake you.
boyfriend!zuko, being deeply serious about the recovery meal afterward. no, you are not "just fine" because the worst is over. yes, you are still getting fed properly and he is standing there with that look that says resistance is futile. he may have once been a disaster prince, but now he is a man with a plan, and that plan is making sure you are hydrated, warm, and kissed on the forehead at medically irresponsible intervals.
boyfriend!zuko, making you feel so safe during your period that it becomes its own kind of intimacy. him adjusting the blankets. him handing you tea before you ask. him rubbing your back in sleepy silence. him knowing when to speak and when to simply stay. and suddenly the hottest thing about him is the fact that he loves you gently when you feel least lovable.
boyfriend!zuko dealing with your period cramps like it is a national emergency is now permanently lodged in my brain.
RIDING YOUR HUSBAND UNTIL HE WHINES AND BREATHES FIRE...?
content: smut, 18+ mdni, fire lord!zuko x wife!reader, fem!reader, established relationship, oral sex (m receiving), cum eating, p in v sex, cowgirl, creampie, a bit of possessive and sub!zuko, reader is a tease, zuko steams and also breathes fire when he finishes (inspired by this beautiful artwork)
wc: 1.3k
The moon, high in the sky of the Fire Nation, cast its silvery glow as its citizens drifted off to dreamland. However, you and your husband remained awake, enjoying the silence of the night and the soft warm breeze that enters your shared chamber.
As his wife, you wanted to help him relax after a stressful council meeting, mainly due to ministers having opposing proposals on the budget allocation for the new joint project with the Earth Kingdom that Zuko wanted to implement. So, you offered to massage him, to at least lessen the tension on his body and aid his sleep.
But of course, you were just a lady who is weak against the attractive build and face of your beloved. Hearing his sighs and seeing the way his muscles clench and unclench while you knead your way through his body made you imagine how your husband was just ravishing you earlier this morning, leaving you dazed during the meeting.
"Zuko," you whispered, "I have another type of massage that I think you'll enjoy."
He opened his eyes, golden irises met yours, "Hm? Go ahead, my love. I'm at your mercy tonight."
Little did he know that he really will be at your mercy.
His moans and whimpers filled the room, making you smile smugly while sucking him off. "You're so beautiful, Zuko. Who would've thought that the powerful leader of the nation would be easily ruined by me." You jested, pulling him out of your mouth to admire your effect on him.
Zuko's hips tried to chase your warmth. "My love, don't tease me." He panted and lifted himself on his elbows. You eyed him, watching the way his hair mixed with the red silk bedsheets, the way his bare body occasionally twitched while you ran your fingers down his muscular chest, and the way steam started to appear from his figure.
"I'm not teasing you, baby. I just want to appreciate how you slowly lose control." You replied, licking his cock from the base before kissing the tip that was oozing with his pre-cum. "More, love, please keep going." Zuko grunted as he thrusted in your mouth deeper, making you slightly gag at the sudden action. Your eyes remained on his face, noting the way he scrunch his eyebrow in concentration and tilts his head backwards.
His body warmed up even more, while steam continued to rise from him. You moaned in satisfaction when you felt his cock twitch—a sign that he is about to cum. "Fuck, my love, I'm near. Please, please don't stop. Need to cum in your mouth." Zuko whimpered, a small breath of fire escaped his mouth.
That was new.
At some time throughout your relationship, you discovered that Zuko would steam up when he is about to release or when he has too much tension. But the sight of him breathing out a small flame while on the verge of his climax made you want to see more. To see how much it would take for him to do it again.
Oh, what an inner conflict you have. Wanting to calm your husband down by making soft love to him, but also wanting to rile him up, to make him lose control.
His warm thick load cut off your thoughts. You hummed at his taste as you swallowed, your eyes still staring straight to his, before opening your mouth to show that you've completely took him. "Fuck." He muttered and pulled you up, making you straddle him.
"I need you, my love. May I?" He asked, his fingers rubbing your clit through your panties, that is now soiled with your wetness, while peppering kisses on your neck and collarbone, occasionally leaving bites before licking the spot. You nodded your head before tugging your underwear to the side and adjusting your position to align his hardened cock to your soaked pussy. With one last peck to your lips, he guided your hips down.
"Mhm, Zuko!" You squealed when he bit your neck again as he entered you. He hummed against your skin before biting the side of your silk robe, tugging it down with his teeth until it falls below your shoulder. "You're the beautiful one, my firework. A masterpiece blessed to me by Agni. Blessed to someone like me." Zuko breathed, then proceeded to pepper soft kisses on your now-freed breasts and suck on one of your nipples, while thrusting his hips to sheath his cock deeper.
Your cheeks tinged at his words, "I'm supposed to, ah, be the one d-doing all the work, my love." Your hand found its way to his scarred cheek, caressing it softly as you leaned down to kiss it, before trailing your hand down to his chest, just above his rapidly beating heart. When you pulled away, his eyes remained on you, looking at you like you were unreal and would vanish if he didn't hold you close.
Despite that, his grip on your hips loosened as he lets you control the pace. Your movements started slow, trying to savor his thick girth that has molded your walls countless times already. Gradually, you picked up your pace, grinding your hips against his in between. This made Zuko thrust upwards to match your movements and to hit your sweet spot that he has memorized with all his heart.
The room was filled with your moans and grunts, and perhaps even the halls of the palace echoed with them. Zuko, still sensitive from his release earlier, started to whine and tighten his hold on you. "Are you near, my love?" You asked him, hastening your movements. "Yes, fuck, you feel so good. This pussy is so good," he whined once more.
The twitching of his cock inside you gave it away that he's about to cum, and unfortunately for him, he is still at your mercy. You slowed down once more when his whimpers grew loud enough to make the guards on duty in the hallway hear him. "What's wrong, baby? It seems like you're having a hard time catching your breath." You teasingly whispered before licking a stripe on his neck and placing your hand on it. Once he was about to reply, you started your pace again, making him choke on his moan.
Not long after, you saw a small flame escape his mouth—and of course, steam from his body—as he moaned and exploded in you, painting your walls white with his warm sticky seeds. Your orgasm followed soon, coating his cock with your juices as you clenched around him.
In response to your teasing earlier, Zuko held you in place before giving your pussy punctuated thrusts.
"You're." thrust
"Such a." thrust
"Tease." thrust
“Ah! Zuko!” you squealed and squirmed, feeling some of his cum trickle down to your thighs. Then, he pulled you down to him and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Did you enjoy teasing me, my wife?” he chuckled.
You giggled and looked up to meet his gaze, "Yes, super." Zuko playfully pinched your waist in return. "I didn't know I married a dragon. You've never done that before." You continued while drawing patterns on his chest.
"I also had no clue. It just happened." He chuckled.
"It must be the stress. Are you feeling better now?"
"Hmm. I am, but not fully."
You propped your chin on his chest and pouted. "My massage wasn't enough?"
"Oh, it was more than enough. But the reason why I'm not fully feeling better is because of a different matter." Then, he flipped the both of you.
You moaned softly at the sudden action, feeling his half-hardened cock come to life again. "W-what? Did the ministers really stress you out?"
Zuko fully undressed you of your robe before pulling out to remove your underwear, that was now soiled with your mixed juices. "It's not them. It's the Earth Kingdom diplomat that keeps on staring at you uncouthly." Golden eyes observed your flushed body, and as if he were not yet satisfied with the marks he left, he leaned down to whisper in your ear.
"Surely, you wouldn't mind providing me with another massage, right? My wife?" Then playfully bit your earlobe.
Now it’s your turn to be at Zuko’s mercy, and you don’t think he’ll grant it until he’s claimed you enough for everyone to know you’re his, just as he is yours.
note: surprise! it’s my first time writing a smut this long 😭 and just like the other post, i consider this a sneak peek extra for the fic im writing. but jesus y'all that art really did smth to me
kianamaiart
kaledo-art
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
