900 words of reader being obsessed with Dex and his hands. Reader matches his freak ig. Slightly suggestive if you squint. When I tell you I’m not normal about this man, you’re about to learn exactly what I mean 🫶🏻
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato
You’re supposed to be watching the movie, or listening to the rain hit the ridge, or focusing on literally anything else. But you can’t. You are preoccupied by the way Dex’s hands are resting on his knees.
They are ruinously beautiful.
They are scarred, mapped with thin white lines across the knuckles and a deep, jagged notch near the thumb.
They look heavy—dense with a kind of lethal potential that he spends every waking second keeping under a tight, disciplined lock.
You find yourself drawn to the sheer size of them. The way his fingers are long and thick, his skin several shades lighter than your own warm, brown tone. You wonder about the weight of his palms. You imagine them pressing down on you, not with the violence the world expects from him, but with that crushing, desperate tenderness he only saves for the quiet hours.
You think of his hands on your face, cupping your jaw with a possessive strength that demands your focus, or sliding lower to settle around your throat. You crave that delicious, grounding pressure—the way he claims your breath as his own, reminding you that in his grip, you are safe, even if the world thinks you are in danger.
You want to be merged with him, a total collapse of the boundaries between your skin and his. It is simple, really: you could push and prod and sink into him until the world outside ceases to exist, leaving only a single, unified pulse. You want to be one creature, one breathing mass of devotion. And Dex? Dex has never had a problem with that. He craves it too, offering himself up to be dismantled by you, piece by piece, if it means he never has to be alone again.
You think of those hands in your hair, fingers absent-mindedly knotting through the strands, weaving himself into you until you can’t tell where your tangles end and his scarred knuckles begin. You think of them wiping your tears so tenderly like it doesn't take every ounce of strength in you to not break into tears all over again, his thumbs tracing the line of your lips as if he’s trying to memorize a prayer he’s forgotten how to speak, reaching for a grace he’s convinced he doesn't deserve.
Dex shifts, and the movement is like a magnetic pull. You watch the tendons in his wrists flex, sliding like steel cables under the skin.
"You're staring," he rasps.
You don't look up at his face. You can’t. You’re too busy watching his right hand slowly uncurl. His fingers are blunt-tipped and precise, the nails kept short and clean. It’s a hand built to take things apart, but as it reaches toward you, all you can think about is how it holds you together.
He doesn't touch you yet. He just hovers his palm an inch above your thigh, the heat radiating off him in waves.
"What is it?" he asks.
"I was just thinking," you whisper, finally reaching out. You don't grab him. You just lay your hand flat against his palm.
The contrast is dizzying. His skin is rough. Calloused from years of gripping cold metal and rough earth. But as your fingers slide between his, he closes his grip with a slow, agonizing deliberation.
He doesn't just hold your hand; he claims it.
He turns his hand over, his thumb dragging heavily across your pulse point, He traces the lines of your palm like he’s trying to memorize the map of you, his touch sparking a heat that makes your breath hitch.
"My hands are for work," he murmurs, his grip tightening just a fraction. "They aren't soft."
"I don't want soft," you breathe, your eyes still locked on the way his scarred knuckles contrast with your skin. "I want this."
You remember the nights he hurried home to you to preserve the last drop of sanity he had left. He told you he could feel his mind break, and you know that feeling in your marrow; a violent, internal cleaving, as though the brain has split beneath the weight of its own noise. You held his hands then, those lethal instruments trembling and raw, as he cried into your chest. "You will always have a home in me, Dex" was what you wanted to say. "It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” was all you could manage.
Dex’s jaw sets so hard you hear the faint click of his teeth, the muscles in his neck cording as he swallows back whatever raw admission is trying to climb its way out of his throat. Instead of pulling you closer, he turns his hand so your interlaced fingers are pressed hard against his own chest, right over his heart. He holds your hand there with a crushing pressure, forcing you to feel the frantic, heavy thudding against his ribs that contradicts his stony expression. It’s a silent command for you to feel exactly what you do to his composure.
summary. zuko travels with the gaang to a small island to celebrate a festival held in their honour, expecting little more than speeches, heat, and a few days away from court.
instead, he meets a dancer and finds himself feeling love, desire, and want in ways he never has before. the only problem is she wants nothing to do with men like him.
pairing. firelord/zuko x fem!oc﹒♡﹒ genre. angst, smut, romance, post canon au ﹒♡﹒ wc: 4.3+ ﹒♡﹒ 18+ mdni! ﹒♡﹒ cw: tension, language, smut, racial discrimination, drinking ( alcohol), mtba.....
note : I struggled so much with this chapter, I kept trying to make it good snd perfect but the more I kept going at it, I started hating it even more so here it is voila and I had problems pasting this on here too, it somehow got pasted twice idk but enjoy
xoxo, kiki
!!! disclaimer !!! the FMC is desi/brown girl-coded and heavily inspired by desi/brown culture. That said, you can absolutely imagine her however you like that's part of the fun, and why we're all here anyway. it's also crossed posted on ao3
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— Unknown
The room smelled faintly of jasmine and wet stone. Soft music drifted somewhere deeper in the estate while rain tapped gently against the open windows overlooking the garden below.
I sat at the low table poured tea with precision. One cup for myself and one for the shaking man kneeling across from me.
He had no reason to be shaking and quivering in his boots like that, it wasn’t like I was going too kill him. Steam curled between us, I smiled at him.
As if it was a reflex, you could hear his heart sink even more yet neither of us spoke.
I never liked silence, too unsettling.
My rings clicked softly against the porcelain as I lifted my cup.
“So, tell me child,” I said calmly. “What news have you brought me from the colonies?”
His back straightened as quicker than a ruler. “The Fire Nation continues construction along the western Earth Kingdom coast,” he answered carefully. “They’re calling it a unified city. A place for all nations.”
I raised a brow at the news, this was old—its been in consideration for centuries it feels now. “How generous of them, but tell me more, that’s old news.”
The spy swallowed, nodding his head.
“Yes, My Lady…Um The Avatar and Fire Lord Zuko are currently in Enjima for the festival celebrations.”
Now that caught my attention, the new fire lord already vacationing 7 years after taking the crown. They always leave fun little toys behind.
“Enjima,” I repeated softly, my head tilted upwards, gulping the spiced tea down, my throat protesting the heat—screaming as I swallowed.
Stone beads hanging from the ceiling shifted faintly with a slight cool wind.
“And what,” I questioned, lifting my eyes toward him, “could possibly draw the Fire Lord there?”
The man hesitated.
“…Nothing unusual, my lady.”
A pause, he’s hiding something—he’s taking too long.
My fingers stilled against the rim of the empty teacup.
“Nothing? You say.”
“Well—” he stammered quickly, “there are rumors, perhaps. About the granddaughter of Diya. The firebender.”
Silence.
“She’s apparently inherited the old woman’s collection,” he continued nervously. “Air Nomad relics, scrolls, instruments and a bunch of junked up shit from dead people.”
Oh that wasn’t nesscary I thought—my eyes narrowing on him, feeling the temperature in the room dropped. I watched his breathing become almost shallow instantly.
I smiled at him, he was young, probably recently 20 or younger… you could tell by his lack of intelligence in his eyes and how almost every braincell died with a slight opening of his mouth.
“Do you know,” I said softly, “why I dislike incompetent men?”
He froze, as if mimicking my statues.
“My lady—”
“You enter my home,” I continued gently, lifting my hand to look at my nails, “sit at my table, drink my tea… and still fail to understand when something is important.”
Stone shifted beneath the floorboards.
The man gasped.
A sharp cracking sound echoed suddenly through the room.
Then a scream.
A shard of polished stone ripped violently from the ring around her finger, launching across the room fast enough to shatter teeth before disappearing down his throat. Blood spilled like a waterfall.
He clawed at his neck violently as I merely watched, eyes focused on his throat, then sternum.
Then, his sternum burst open, my stone tearing free from his flesh and bone in a spray of crimson before dropping neatly back into my waiting palm.
Silence filled the room once more.
The body collapsed forward into my table.
I stared down at the blood coating the once-polished stone between my fingers. And a quiet sigh escaped me. “How unfortunate,”I murmured, my thumb brushed over the dulled surface delicately.
“This one was my favourite.”
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—Zuko
The heat pressed heavily against my skin, thick and golden beneath the afternoon sun.
A little unbearable, truly it felt as if time was going incredibly slower than usual—well we were in the garden since breakfast.
Which also explains why all of us had somehow ended up half-dead across the terrace behind the house.
Toph had claimed my back as her personal mattress nearly an hour ago. I hadn’t bothered arguing with her mostly because moving made my head pound harder.
The migraine had settled behind my scar sometime after breakfast, sharp pulses of pain crawling behind my eye and ear every time the city below erupted into music or shouting.
Enjima was so loud that it was beautiful, but still loud—Agni my head hurt.
I pressed two fingers harder against my temple while Toph shifted comfortably against my back.
“Stop tensing up,” she muttered sleepily.
“Oh hush, Toph.”
“You’re weak, big guy.”
Momo chirped somewhere from inside my hair.
Traitor.
Nearby, Aang lounged across the cushions with Katara curled against his side while Sokka sat dramatically fanning both himself and Suki with one of the decorative fans stolen from inside.
“I think I’m dying,” he announced.
Katara didn’t even open her eyes. “You’ve said that twelve times.”
“And every time I meant it.”
Suki snorted softly beside him while Appa drifted lazily overhead, weaving through flocks of island birds against the bright orange sky.
For once— there was nothing urgent waiting for us.
No battle, no politics, no meetings.
Just straight up warmth and sunlight and the distant sound of festival drums echoing through the city.
Then I heard light footsteps coming in then someone cleared their throat. I cracked my good eye open first.
Yìzé stood near the entrance to the terrace looking entirely too amused for someone interrupting peace holding a handful of cards with Ren standing beside him carrying two pastry.
Aang sat upright immediately.
“…Please tell me those are for us.”
Ren looked at him with a smile, nodding.
Yìzé sighed dramatically. “You noticed the pastries before you noticed us. I’m hurt.”
“Well in our defense,” Sokka said seriously, “Aang noticed both at once.”
Toph barked out a laugh against my back.
I carefully reached behind myself and lightly tapped at her shoulder. “Off.”
“No.”
“Please my spine is sweating.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
I sighed, taking a few breaths and switching from my back to my front making sure Toph, laid flat on my chest doing so and grabbed her legs and maneuvered her into bridal style and sat her flat of the floor but not before pushing her playfully with an offended noise.
The movement immediately made my head throb harder.
Yìzé, then turned to me, of course he would I’m his fucking Overlord, dumbass.
“I see that the sun finally fights back against the Fire Lord,” he mused.
“Your island is trying to kill me.”
“That means Enjima accepts you.”
“That sounds more like a threat than something good.”
“It’s up to interpretation.”
Aang grinned at our banter and Katara finally sat up fully as Ren stepped forward, handing each of us thick cream-colored cards sealed carefully with wax. The girls received pale gold seals pressed with lotus flowers.
Ours were darker, coated in steel grey with metallic ink.
Sokka squinted at his immediately.
“Night of Metal?”
Yìzé brightened instantly, his fingers immeditaly signing his mouth movements. “Ah-one of Enjima’s oldest festival traditions! Inventors, engineers, metalworkers, smiths everyone gathers along the southern shore to unveil new creations, mostly men but women are welcome.”
Sokka’s eyes widened dangerously.
“Oh no,” Suki muttered.
“Oh YES,” Sokka corrected.
Aang laughed quietly while I flipped my own invitation over between my fingers. Toph leaned over my shoulder, her head now tucked into my shoulder.
“They’re separating us?” she asked.
Katara opened hers next.
“The Restoration Party,” she read aloud softly.
Yìzé clasped his hands together. “The hot springs celebration. Oils, saunas, meditation pools, restorative healing treatments and lots of alcho—”
Toph immediately sat upright.
“…Never mind. I support this segregation, today.”
Katara laughed while Suki already looked interested.
“The springs are usually reserved for women during festival week, to give them oour thanks for doing most of the cultural work and showcasing” Yìzé explained. “A very old Enjiman tradition.”
“And the Night of Metal?” I asked.
Ren signed something quickly.
Yìzé grinned wider. “Ren said that it’s a newer tradition, we give thanks to the brilliant minds that allow us to stay so up date, it can be quite dangerous.”
Sokka looked ready to cry from happiness. “Oh this place gets me.”
Ren finally handed over the pastry boxes and Sokka instanly grabbed two, a blue one for Suki and a green one for him.
“You should all enjoy yourselves tonight,” he said lightly. “The festival only gets better from here.”
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— Kaayvsa
“Breathe from here,” I murmured, pressing two fingers lightly beneath the older woman’s belly. “Don’t start with your chest, it’s always belly, ribs then chest, Auntie Ila.”
She inhaled sharply again.
Wrong.
I laughed softly. “You’re thinking too hard.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do, I’m seventy-two,” she grumbled.
“Yet here you are still alive, which means your lungs still work.”
A few people around us snorted quietly.
The woman glared at me, with no malice behind those blue eyes before eventually trying again, shoulders relaxing this time as her breathing deepened properly.
“There,” I said with a grin. “See? Not dead.”
I ended the class, with a roll of my wrist, the studio breaking into soft chatter as people slowly began rolling up their mats, the warm evening breeze drifting through the open walls of the pavilion while incense burned low in the corners.
Outside, Enjima buzzed.
The music echoed faintly through the streets below while paper lanterns slowly began illuminating across balconies and rooftops as the sun dipped lower.
Sweat clung lightly to the back of my neck.
Agni, it was hot.
I bent forward, stretching briefly before reaching for the water flask beside me.
Immediately, someone stole it from my hand, I didn’t even look up to know who it was.
“You’re so annoying,” I informed Anika flatly. My roommate grinned now sipping from my water.
“And you’re late.”
“I teach here.”
“You live with me. Therefore your time belongs to me after sunset.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Then she tossed herself dramatically across one of the abandoned floor cushions with a groan.
“Dude, I’ve been waiting forty minutes.”
“Well, you could’ve left.”
“And abandon you to walk home alone looking like that?” she gasped. “Absolutely not. Men have eyes.”
I snorted loudly.
Anika looked me up and down before nodding seriously.
And I kicked her thigh lightly while laughing. Around us, were the lights I left burning for the classes I had today, the studio completely filtered out with just us in the centre.
From the open door a small child waved excitedly at me from the doorway.
I waved back immediately.
Anika watched the interaction with soft eyes.
“You collect people like stray cats.”
“Not my fault that they like me.”
“You literally gave one old man tea once and now he calls you daughter.”
“Hey! he gives me free jewellery.”
I finally collapsed beside her against the cushions, wiping sweat from my throat with the edge of my sleeve.
My body ached pleasantly.
The good kind.
Teaching during festival week always exhausted me more than usual.
More visitors meant more workshops, which meant more tourists wanting “spiritual enlightenment” before immediately asking if meditation cured back pain.
Anika nudged my shoulder.
“You’re going tonight, right?”
I frowned slightly. “To what?”
Her expression went blank.
“The Restoration Party, idiot?”
“Oh.”
I immediately leaned back harder against the cushions.
“No.”
Anika gasped so violently I thought she’d swallowed air wrong.
“No?” she repeated. “Kaayvsa, there are hot springs. Imported oils. Free desserts. Wealthy women sponsoring wellness products. Fucking free drinks, man”
“That sounds terrible, I just wanna nap.”
“You’re a witch, you’re absolutely terrible.”
I grinned tiredly.
Anika dug through her bag aggressively before pulling out an invitation card and waving it in my face.
“You’re going with me.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“You say that every year and then spend six hours floating in flower water.”
“That happened once.”
“It happened three times.”
I opened my mouth to argue before she cut me off immediately.
“Come on. If I let you go home now you’ll pretend to ‘rest your eyes’ and wake up tomorrow afternoon.”
“That happened once.”
“It’s happened at least five times, whenever we plan to go out.”
I ignored her completely while grabbing my satchel and sandals, grabbing my keys from my bag and locking the studio up.
The two of us descended the hillside paths together as evening settled properly over Enjima.
The city glowed below us.
Paper dragons drifted above crowded streets while music spilled from tea houses and market stalls overflowing with festival goods. Children ran through the crowds painted in shimmering powders while vendors shouted over one another about grilled fruit skewers and lucky charms.
The air smelled like sugar, smoke, perfume, and sea salt.
Anika hooked her arm through mine suddenly as we crossed into the lower streets.
“You know,” she said casually, “if I meet a wealthy widow tonight I’m leaving you behind.”
“A widow?”
“They have experience.”
I barked out a laugh loud enough to startle a nearby vendor.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m very realistic, babes.”
“You’re twenty-four.”
“And fucking gorgeous.”
“That part’s true.”
She gasped dramatically. “Compliments? From you? Have I died?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late. I’m cherishing this forever.”
I shoved her lightly away from me while laughing again.
The hot springs pavilion sat higher up near the eastern cliffs where natural springs fed directly into carved stone pools overlooking the sea.
Warm steam drifted into the night sky before we even reached the entrance.
Women moved in and out beneath hanging lanterns dressed in loose silks and jewelry while attendants carried trays of drinks and oils between the pools.
Anika sighed dreamily beside me.
“Oh this is absolutely where I belong.”
“You say that everywhere rich people go.”
“Because wealth would look beautiful on me.”
I rolled my eyes fondly as we approached the entrance showing the cards and moving towards the changing rooms.
The changing rooms were already crowded by the time they entered, warm steam curling through the open stone archways while women moved between benches laughing, changing and arguing over oils and jewellery.
Somewhere deeper inside, someone yelled about another person stealing their hair comb.
“THAT IS MY CLIP.”
“Then why was it near my things?”
“BECAUSE YOU MOVED MY THINGS.”
I snorted quietly to myself as I untied the wraps from around my arms, and peeled the clothing from my body slowly watching as Anika started digging through a pile of folded bathing fabrics stacked near the benches.
“No ugly colours,” she warned seriously while tossing things aside. “I’ll literally puke if I packed bad colours.”
“Stop acting like you’re not dying.”
“You don’t know that.”
A triangle top, then suddenly smacked me in the face.
“Wear that one.”
I caught it before it ended up on the with a glare. “You could’ve just handed it to me like a normal person.”
“Ugh, just get dressed.”
By the time we changed and stepped back out, steam had already curled loose strands of hair around both their faces.
My dark bikini sat low against my hips, gold chains resting warm against brown skin while the triangle top hugged my chest simply enough, Anika wore deep emerald green, her own bikini lower on her waist with gold rings connecting the sides. Her figure was softer than mine, fuller around the hips and thighs, but no less striking beneath the jewel-toned fabrics wrapped around her body. Gold glimmered against her skin while her nose ring caught softly beneath the lantern light.
“Okay,” Anika sighed dramatically while looking them both over. “We’re so hot.”
“You say that every day.”
“Because every day I’m right.”
I barked out a laugh.
One of the aunties near the springs immediately spotted them.
“There you girls are,” she said, shoving two bottles of sweet wine into my hands before I could react. “Take food too. If you drink on an empty stomach and pass out in my springs, I’m leaving you there.”
Anika gasped. “You wound me, Auntie.”
“You deserve wounding.”
A plate piled high with fried sweets, skewers and fruit was shoved at them next.
And then we were off. We wandered deeper through the springs searching for an emptier pool while voices and laughter echoed around them.
Most of the nearer pools were already crowded with gossiping women and festival guests. One group had somehow started singing.
Another was aggressively debating politics. Anika physically turned around at that one. “No. Absolutely not. If I hear the words trade routes tonight I’m drowning myself.”
I chuckled quietly, following her further toward the back pools where the steam rose thicker against the cliffs.
Then—
“Oh hey!”
Katara’s voice.
Both girls turned instantly.
A little further ahead, Katara sat waist-deep in one of the larger pools beside Suki and Toph, who looked completely relaxed with her arms stretched across the stone edge.
I rolled mine fondly before we made our way over carefully with the drinks and snacks balanced between them. The water glowed softly beneath the lantern light as they settled near the edge.
Agni–the heat melted straight into my sore muscles. Toph let out a pleased sigh nearby. “Okay, someone new just got in.”
Katara laughed. “Toph, Suki, this is Kaayvsa, I told you guys about her.”
“Oh,” Suki said immediately, turning slightly toward them. “You’re the dance girl, sick moves by the way.”
Kaayvsa smiled. “Guilty, this is Anika, my best friend and roommate, she was also one of the dancers that night.”
“And you smell really good,” Toph added casually. “I like you already.”
“And you seem like a girl, I’m going to have a blast with Anika sweet wine and bad decisions.”
“That is SO amazing.” Anika grinned like a child getting presents, Suki burst out laughing.
“Oh yeah,” she said immediately. “You two are going to fit in perfectly.”
Introductions came easier after that.
Suki was warm in that effortless way that made people relax around her instantly. Toph, meanwhile, asked invasive questions with absolutely no shame.
“So how long have you two lived together?”
“Three years,” Anika answered while reaching for another skewer.
“And you haven’t killed each other?”
“Several times actually,” I said calmly.
“Spiritually aswell,” Anika corrected.
The drinks disappeared quicker than expected after that.
Then another bottle appeared.
Then another.
Somewhere along the way Toph nearly inhaled wrong laughing after Anika started dramatically reenacting a tourist asking whether meditation could “remove negative face energy.”
Katara had actual tears in her eyes.
“And then he tried selling ME crystals,” Anika finished in disbelief.
The plate between them was practically destroyed now.
Fruit stems. Empty skewers, and empty floating wine bottles.
Toph leaned back against the stone with a satisfied sigh. “This the life, ladies.”
The water had started cooling slightly around them beneath the night air.
Toph frowned immediately.
“Hold on.” I muttered and a second later the pool heated again, warmth spreading smoothly through the water.
Katara melted instantly. “Oh wow.”
Anika looked genuinely emotional. “I would marry a firebender for this alone.”
Kaayvsa snorted loudly into her drink.
“Your standards are in hell, Anika.”
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—Zuko
The Night of Metal ended up being louder than expected.
The entire upper district of Enjima glowed beneath lantern light while inventors, mechanics, metalworkers and artists crowded the streets displaying creations that ranged from genius to deeply concerning.
One man had somehow created a rotating noodle cooker powered entirely by steam pressure. Another had built tiny metal birds that actually flapped when wound correctly.
And somewhere further down the street, Sokka had become emotionally attached to a motorcycle.
“I’m just saying,” Sokka argued while the poor inventor looked overwhelmed by the attention, “this changes lives.”
“It just a big metal bicycle, Sokka,” I replied flatly.
“Exactly, she’s beautiful.”
Aang laughed beside them while crouching near another invention involving gliding fans and wind funnels.
The city buzzed around us.
Metal clanked against metal while sparks flew from demonstration tables. Music echoed from nearby balconies while inventors loudly pitched ideas over one another trying to gain sponsors before the festival ended.
And honestly?
Some of these inventions were fucking incredible.
They weren’t creating weapons, no war machines, just people creating things because they could.
Because they wanted life to become easier, brighter, stranger. It settled strangely in my chest, it felt so ggod and warmed me.
But good things must come to an end, as the blinding pain stabbed sharply behind my eye hard enough to nearly stop me in place.
My expression tightened immediately.
Fuck.
The migraine had been growing all evening with the heat,the lights, the noise and the constant movement.
It felt like someone slowly driving a blade behind my scar. Two fingers pressed briefly beneath my eye before the hand lowered again quickly.
Unfortunately Aang noticed.
“You okay?” he asked immediately.
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Sokka added while still somehow holding steamed noodles in one hand.
“I said I’m fine.” The response came sharper than intended.
Aang’s brows pulled together slightly.
I exhaled through my nose. “Sorry. I promise, I’m fine it’s just a headache.”
“That scar bothering you again?” Sokka asked more quietly now.
I hated how casual that question had become over the years. Like permanent nerve pain was normal.
“Enjima’s heat isn’t helping,” I admitted eventually.
Aang looked concerned instantly. “Maybe we should head back, and maybe I can try healing it a little, Katara’s been teac—.”
“No,” I answered quickly, interrupting him. “Not missing this.”
And I meant it.
Because despite the pain—I liked it here, I liked the noise, the the creativity and the smell of salt water and perfume.
So instead, I decided that we kept walking, and not even a second later, Sokka ended up sponsoring the soup pot.
I sponsored a cooling system built for greenhouses after listening to the inventor explain it passionately for almost twenty minutes.
Aang somehow got talked into testing a ridiculous flying contraption that nearly sent him through a fabric stall.
And by the time they finally started making our way back through the city, the migraine had dulled into something more manageable.
Not completely gone, just manageable now, I put a mental reminder that I had to put the creams on to ease the tugging and cool it a little before, drinking that tea Uncle wrote down for me.
The streets had grown quieter now.
Lanterns still glowed overhead while tired festival crowds drifted through the roads slower than before. “Do we know where the girls disappeared to?” Sokka asked.
“Hot springs,” Aang answered immediately. Sokka blinked once. “Oh yeah, I wonder what Suki got up to.”
We eventually found them near the lower city baths or more specifically-sprawled across the entrance stairs like casualties of war.
Well—Toph was the one fully laid across the stone flat on her back.
Katara sat two steps higher with flushed cheeks and loose hair, laughing at something Suki had whispered into her shoulder.
And beside them sat two unknown women, oone was half asleep just as flush as Katara and Suki and the other one had her head tucked onto Katara’s shoulder giggling
Lantern light caught warmly against her skin. Aang lit up immediately.
“There they are.”
Before I could properly register anything, Aang had already jogged ahead.
“Kaayvsa,!” he called brightly.
Her head lifted instantly and she smiled at the avatar.
Aang reached her first, pulling her into a quick hug while laughing.
“It’s good seeing you again,” he said warmly. “And your performance earlier was incredible.”
I slowed slightly behind them.
Performance?
Then Kaayvsa pulled back from the hug still smiling, and for the first time since meeting her—
I saw grey large swirling with the lightest shade of blue and hints and specks of amber. Highlighted by lantern shadows and firelight.
Just—her eyes.
Grey.
Soft around the edges as she smiled.
Agni.
They were beautiful, but they were familair
So this was Kaayvsa, the woman Aang and Katara befriended during the tour.
Her cheeks warm from wine, I presume. Hair slightly messy from steam, my eyes wondered from her face to the dark sky.
She was the lady from the market, the other day—when I just smiled at her. Like a creep, a fucking creep.
I need to stop.
Sokka reached them next, immediately shaking Kaayvsa’s hand dramatically.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you and thank you for taking care of my little sister .”
“Oh Bug-off,” Katara groaned from the stairs. “I’m fineeeeee.”
“I’m serious!” Sokka rolled his eyes, moving towards Suki and flicking Katara’s forehead. “Thank you Kaayvsa, Tui knows how much Katara can handle before crying.”
Toph snorted from her position on the floor while Kaayvsa chuckled softly. “Its not a problem, plus your sister was the life of the party.”
Suki smiled warmly beside Katara while Toph tilted her head slightly toward the group her feet planted on the ground and smirked.
I felt the migraine suddenly returned with full force. I walked towards the earthbender and picked her up once more bridal style. Carrying her carefully, not to upset her stomach and she places her head on my chest.
“Oh hotfeet, your heartbeat’s weird again,” she informed me casually.
“Please stop talking.”
Aang and Sokka had done the same for Katara and Suki carrying booth girls, bridal style and Aang called out behind him, wishing Kaayvsa a good night and for her to get home safely with her friend.
She smiled back at us and waved us off, wishing us the same and walking off with her friend.
Disappearing into the night.
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Summary: A vaquera and Sam forge a burning bond on the wild frontier. trust is rare, and love takes root in silence.
A/n: hey Guess what this one has brewing for way too long and yes the reader is a Mexican wrangler argue with the wall :P yes some thing don’t align perfectly with the show boohoo it’s my story lol luv ya <3
The sun bled into the horizon, sinking behind the distant ridgelines like a glowing ember being swallowed by ash. Sky colors bruised into deep purples and fiery golds, painting the world in stark silhouettes.
Your group had made camp at a river’s bend a slow, winding artery cutting through the heart of unfamiliar land. It was quiet here, apart from the nervous shifting of hooves and the low murmur of tired men.
There were six of you, vaqueros born and raised under the hot skies of Mexico, each with the sun in their bones and dust in their blood. And then there was you, the only woman, but no stranger among them.
You grew up riding beside them, learning to rope cattle, mend fences, read the wind. Sons of cattle hands and rough riders, they had been your brothers long before blood or borders mattered. When the prospect of traveling north came up the seven of you gravitated towards each other and began the journey to a new life. You left everything behind except each other.
They treated you like one of their own. Mateo, the oldest, who always rode first and ate last. Luis, quiet and sharp-eyed, never without his rosary. Ramiro and Santos, cousins always bickering, always loyal. And Benito, the youngest, barely sixteen but already stronger than most men. Yes you were the only woman but they treated you like a sister, with respect and dignity.
The horses snorted nervously, and the low murmur of whispered conversations halted .
A cluster of riders had appeared without sound, as if they’d been born from the trees themselves. Their silhouettes were steady, proud. Their horses stood still as shadows, barely rustling.
Comanche.
A war party by the look of them. Not riders merely passing through, but men entrusted with guarding their land. Protectors. Sentinels of the old ways.
Their figures were silent in the brush, but you could sense them. Still as stone, but unmistakably present. Warriors, both young and old, cloaked in the copper and dusk of the fading sun. Their horses stood steady beneath them, muscled and alert.
They were dressed in a harmony of hide and sinew, each piece of clothing worn like armor and memory combined. Buffalo-hide hugged their legs, dyed with natural ochres and reds. Adorned with symbols you didn’t know the meaning of.
Some had feathers tied in their hair, others wore their braids wrapped in strips of fur and dyed quills. Their horses were lean and quiet. Each carried a weapon — bows, lances, clubs, though none raised them. Their alert posture spoke volumes. Not afraid, not angry, just ready.
Mateo’s voice rumbled low, like distant thunder.
“Nos miran como si ya hubiéramos hecho algo mal.” (they watch us like we already did something wrong)
You didn’t turn your head, but you heard Luis mutter behind him, “Tal vez, esta no es nuestra tierra.” (Maybe we did. This ain’t our land)
You took a slow breath, fingers tightening on your holster .
“Están alertos,” (They’re alert) you said, your voice calm. “Pero no hostiles. Si quisieran hacernos daño no estarían allí parados”. (But not hostile. If they meant us harm, they wouldn't be standing there)
At the center of them sat one man taller than the rest. Bronze-skinned, long-limbed, and cut from the same earth-colored stone as the land behind him. His face was calm, unreadable, but his presence was magnetic. Eyes black as obsidian, scanning the river, the camp, the horses, the fire… then each of you.
Santos scoffed behind you. “ O tal vez sólo son pacientes” (Or maybe they’re just patient)
You didn’t answer. You were watching the man across the river.
Mateo exhaled sharply behind you, like air escaping a punctured flask.
The river murmured, the only sound for long minutes. Wind in the grass. A horse's low whicker.
Mateo cleared his throat beside you. His voice was careful.
"Buenas tardes," (good afternoon) he called across the water.
No answer. The Comanche eyes tracked Mateo’s every word, unmoving. For a moment, you felt tension flicker through the group like a spark waiting for dry tinder.
Mateo tried again, switching to English, broken but bold.
“We pass through. Looking only for water, rest. We don’t claim the land. We mean no disrespect.”
A long pause.
Then, the leader guided his horse a few paces forward, until he stood directly across Mateo.
He spoke first in Comanche. The rhythm low and musical, like the sound of leaves moving in wind. Then he switched to English, his accent carved with purpose.
“You travel heavy. Too many for hunting. Not enough for war. You are not from here.”
Mateo dipped his head respectfully.
“From the south.” He gestured to the others. “Vaqueros. We work with cattle. The land behind us is empty now.”
The man glanced at each rider in turn. His gaze paused on Luis’s rosary, on Ramiros saddle-worn hands, on Benito’s youth, and lastly on you, the only woman among them.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in judgment, but in calculated interest. He said nothing at first. Just watched you.
A woman, not cloaked or silent in the shadows, but riding with the men. Not just tolerated, but respected. Your position in the group raised questions, perhaps admiration.
He spoke again, this time slower.
“You are far from your own fire. This is our land. But tonight, we will not draw lines.”
Mateo glanced at the man, then nodded toward the river.
“We’ll not cross, unless invited.”
The man held his gaze on you for a heartbeat longer before finally speaking.
“You are welcome to share our fire, but know this… trust is earned.”
Mateo nodded solemnly.
“Trust is hard to come by these days.”
The man gave a single, sharp whistle. The warriors relaxed slightly, but not fully. The leader turned his horse and began to lead them along the riverbank, toward a clearing.
-
The fire crackled, its soft golden light licking up toward the indigo sky. Flames reflected off bronze faces, worn leather, and dark eyes that had seen more than their years should’ve allowed. The air was heavy with pine smoke, and the scent of horse sweat. The evening had wrapped the camp in quiet, broken only by the occasional murmur of horses and the soft shuffle of feet on the earth.
The six of you sat in a tight half-circle just beyond the fire. You ate what had been offered with quiet gratitude: a simple soup, dense cornbread with bits of root and seed, and a handful of tart wild berries. The flavors were foreign, but comforting.
Spanish flowed softly among your group, a warm undercurrent of home in a strange land. Words passed between bites, familiar and low, a rhythm you all knew by heart.
Ramiro leaned toward you, his voice laced with uncertainty.
“¿Crees que confiarán en nosotros?” Ramiro asked quietly. (do you think they’ll trust us?)
You dipped a hunk of bread into the stew, eyes flicking toward the Comanche group seated just a short distance away. Warriors still alert, still watching, but not unkind.
You shrugged, placing the piece of bread in your mouth. “No lo sé. Pero debemos intentarlo.” ( I don’t know, but we should try)
From the shadows just beyond the fire, the “leader” shifted. He had been listening, though his eyes seemed fixed on the flames. Now he turned toward you — toward the voice, the accent, the unfamiliar words. His posture remained relaxed, but his presence was unmistakable.
“What language do you speak?” he asked gently.
Your gaze met his. His eyes, caught the firelight and reflected it like polished stone.
"Spanish," you replied with a small nod. "We come from Mexico. We are wranglers , cattle riders. Vaqueros. Like you, in some ways."
You paused, the word hanging there between you, dusted with pride.
A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes. He tilted his head, considering.
“Vaqueros,” he repeated, shaping the word like it was half-memory, half-myth. “My grandfather spoke of riders like that. Said they dressed like warriors and rode like the wind. South, near the old Spanish roads.”
A faint smile ghosted his mouth. Not amusement, but something closer to reverence.
“I always thought maybe those stories were just to make boys dream of horses and glory,” he added. “Didn’t know they were real.”
“They’re real,” you said, the corners of your mouth lifting. “We don’t dream. We ride. We rope, brand, chase across country no sane man would want. Not so different from you, I think.”
He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.
“Not so different,” he echoed. “Maybe that’s why you don’t scare easy.”
The vaqueros understood English but they could never quite group the words together correctly. Nonetheless they listened and learned the best they could.
Luis, one of the better at understanding English, leaned in.
“And how do you speak English so well?” he asked.
"Traders," he answered. "And missionaries. Soldiers, too. I listen more than I speak. It helps to understand the world when it wants to understand you less."
Airy laughter murmured from your group. Born of truth rather than humor. Sam looked back to you.
"And you?" he asked directing the conversation back to you. "You speak it well."
"My father worked the border trails. He said, ‘If you want to keep cattle and keep peace, you better learn the white man’s tongue.’ So I did."
Sam studied you more closely now. Not just listening — watching. Something about you stood apart. A woman among men. Not hidden. Not silent. Their equal.
“I’m Sam,” he replied simply.
Introductions passed between your group and his, easy now, like the start of something that didn’t have to be earned with blood. The barrier between stranger and friend growing thinner.
All of the men were eating, their voices low in their own language, melodic and heavy with meaning. A sense of shared space wrapped around the camp like the smoke from the fire.
-
The moon had crested over the treetops now, casting a soft silver light across the clearing. The fire had quieted down into a steady bed of coals, glowing orange like embers a slight flickering of flames reigniting.
The others were still gathered near, some seated on logs or hides, still talking in quiet tones. Mateo and two of the Comanche were trading old stories, bits of Spanish and Comanche dancing awkwardly between them, bridged by gestures, shared smiles, and an occasional nudge from Luis translating as needed.
Sam sat beside you, just far enough to keep the space respectful, but near enough that his voice didn’t have to rise above the night.
For a long moment, you both just listened to the sounds of the camp. The quiet hum of fire, soft laughter, the distant rustling of horses near the tree line.
Then Sam spoke, tone light but thoughtful.
"The youngest one... Benito? He carries a knife nearly as tall as his leg."
You chuckled, nodding.
"It’s a machete, He sharpened it for an hour this morning. Swears he’ll skin a bear with it one day."
Sam grinned, teeth white in the shadows.
"Brave boy."
"He’s sixteen. They all think they're immortal at that age," you said. Then, with a small smile, you added:
"I remember thinking the same. Until a bull nearly threw me into the next village."
That got a laugh out of him a real one. Deep and unexpected.
You laughed too, leaning back slightly, your eyes catching the stars through the treetops.
Sam picked up a twig and began drawing in the dirt between you. Slow, looping shapes. The fire cracked, shadows dancing across the lines he carved. At first, you didn’t realize what it was. Just curves, a swirl, a petal-like shape. Then it clicked.
You tilted your head, watching. “Hmm... Flor,” you said, the word soft on your tongue. “A flower.”
He looked up, eyes catching yours, and nodded once. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Totsiyaa.” His voice was low, warm. “My mother used to wear them in her braid. Wild ones.”
You looked down at the dirt again. Such a simple thing. And yet it said so much.
You reached for your own twig, the bark rough under your fingers.
With a sweep of your hand, you smoothed out a patch of dry earth and began to draw. It wasn’t perfect. The legs too long, the head shaped more like a dog than anything else, but the spirit was there. Strong. Steady.
“Caballo,” you said with a grin, glancing up at him. “A horse.”
He leaned in a little, studying your attempt, then chuckled under his breath. “Looks like he runs fast,” he teased. Then added, more gently, “tʉhʉya. Horse.”
“tʉhʉya,” you repeated, testing the sound, watching his lips as he said it again.
You stared at the dirt-drawn horse. “My father raised them,” you murmured. “Said you could read a man by how he treated a horse.”
Sam nodded again, eyes flickering with something unspoken. “The horse is part of your spirit. If you’re good to them, they carry you further than you think possible.”
You looked at him then. The firelight caught the strong line of his jaw, the small smile at the edge of his mouth, and the way his eyes softened when they met yours.
Then you drew again. This one you took more care with rounded wings, a beak, little claws.
“Águila,” you said. “Eagle.”
He studied it for a moment, then looked at you. “Kwihnai,” he said. “Sacred.”
You nodded. “Same for us.”
You both sat there in silence, the dirt between you filled with crude drawings and crooked lines
“Teach me more,” you said.
He chuckled, looking down almost shyly, then began writing in the dirt again. A line, then another. Letters this time. Slowly.
“haitsi,” he said. “Friend.”
You stared at the word, then at him.
“Is that what I am?” you asked, playful but quiet.
He looked back at you, eyes steady. Letting out a low hum.
Then, after a moment, he answered, “friend… is a good place to start.”
A smile tugged at your mouth half gratitude, half mischief.
“Well then,” you said, leaning just a little closer, voice low and warm, “since we’re friends now… you should know that we vaqueros ride better than Comanche.”
He scoffed, sharp and immediate, like you'd struck a nerve. One he enjoyed having struck.
“You think so?” he said, squinting slightly, clearly amused.
“I know so,” you shot back.
He gave you a long look, deliberate, amused but unshaken.
“…We’ll see.”
As the night carried on and the ember of the fire began to die down, you heard someone laughing — probably Luis again, stirring beans with a stick and talking nonsense. You heard Ramiro say something about ghosts. The Comanche men answered in their own language, the rhythm light, playful.
-
The morning came fast, slipping through the trees in long gold beams that touched the earth like a blessing.
Quiet voices spoke in sleepy tongues — Comanche on one side of the clearing, Spanish on the other, both wrapped in that early-morning peace only shared trails could bring.
You were checking your saddle when you heard Ramiro’s voice behind you, already too loud for how early it was.
"Mírala, ya se cree vaquera y Comanche." (look at her, she thinks she’s a vaquera AND a Comanche now)
You turned with a smirk as he elbowed Santos, who just snorted into his tin cup.
"Cállate," (shut up) you said, grinning as you tossed a small rock at his boot.
The group erupted in laughter, even Mateo, who was usually harder to crack in the mornings.
Le ofrecieron conversación privada," ( offered her a private conversation) Luis added with a wink.
"Y dibujitos en la tierra," ( and little drawings in the dirt) Benito piled on, sketching an exaggerated horse in the air.
They had not been blind to your conversation with Sam last night.
But before they could add more fuel to the fire, Sam appeared, already on his horse, calm as ever.
"You always fight this early in the day?" he asked with a dry smile.
"Only when we like each other," you said.
He gave a knowing nod.
He looked down at your horse, then back at you, eyes glittering.
You stared at him with a daring gaze
“Let’s pick up where we left off?”
Sam looked at you with amusement, the topic of last night still present .
You quickly got up and nudged your mare forward, your smile growing.
Behind you, your group howled like coyotes.
"¡Dale, pues!" (* exclaims in Spanish lol)
"¡Enséñale!" )
Even the Comanche chuckled from their side, already catching on to the mood. A few stood, curious. One made a small gesture, pointing toward the tree line.
Sam followed the motion, then nodded toward a natural stretch of open land a perfect race path, clear and firm.
"To that fallen log," he said.
"Fastest wins. Simple."
You nodded your head in agreement. Both riding forward, to the starting point, hooves crunching on dry grass. The others gathered along the path, already hooting and taking sides.
"¡México contra Comanche!" (México vs Comanche) Benito yelled, hands cupped around his mouth.
Sam gave you a sidelong glance as you settled in beside him.
"Don’t hold back."
You rolled your shoulders, feeling the mare beneath you shift, ready.
"Oh, I wasn’t planning to."
A moment of silence.
Then—
Mateo raised his arm. “¡YA!”
And the world disappeared in thunder.
Hooves tore into the earth. The wind screamed in your ears. Trees blurred past in streaks of green and gold. You leaned low over the saddle, your mare eating up the ground like she’d been waiting her whole life to run like this.
Sam was fast, you could see him out of the corner of your eye, but he was holding something back. Testing you.
Bad choice.
You dug in, whispered to your horse in Spanish, and surged forward. The wind whipped your hair, your heart beat in rhythm with each stride,
You flew across the finish, hooves kicking up a cloud of dust that rolled over the cheering voices of the camp.
You pulled up with a tug, heart pounding, breath wild.
You’d won.
Sam reined in next to you, his chest rising and falling fast. He looked at you for a moment stunned and then laughed. Genuine. Warm. A little impressed. A little humbled.
You smirked.
Told ya’ "
Sams laugh quietly died down settling into a toothy grin. He reached into the leather pouch at his side, and pulled out a carved bone pendant. It dangled from a loop of worn leather, swaying gently in the space between you.
A smooth bone shaped into a horse. Its legs were caught in motion, head turned slightly to the side, tail flowing like it had just begun to run. Its shape was simple.
He held it out to you.
"My father carved this the night before my first hunt." he said quietly.
You blinked, caught off guard.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His voice was low, steady. “He nodded. “You ride like you belong to no one.You earned it."
Your throat tightened. You took the pendant gently and slipped it over your head. It rested against your collarbone, light and heavy at once.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Sam gave a small nod, his gaze lingering. You could see something flicker in his eyes—something unspoken. You felt it too.
You reached to your saddlebag, fingers working slowly, and pulled out a small bundle of cloth, carefully folded and wrapped in leather cord. You had carried it all this way, through dust and danger.
“This is yours,” you said, stepping forward.
Sam tilted his head, accepting the bundle in his hands. He untied the cord, unfolding the linen with slow fingers.
The cloth was deep, earthy red, dyed by hand. Embroidered flowers bloomed across the fabric stretching outward like a sunburst. Sharp green leaves curled in between them, stitched with patience and precision. And beneath it all, in delicate, looping script, one word:
Libertad.
He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb brushing over the stitching.
“You made this?”
You nodded. “Before we left.”
Sam looked up.
“I made it when I knew we’d be heading north. Before I knew anything for certain, except that I couldn’t stay. Not in that life.”
He didn’t speak, just listened, his fingers holding the cloth like it was something fragile.
“My mother taught me how to embroider,” you went on, your voice steady but soft. “She said that every stitch could carry a thought. A prayer. Even a memory.”
You smiled faintly, eyes on the flowers.
“I stitched libertad—freedom—because that’s what I wanted. Not just to run. But to live. Without fear. Without being told what I’m worth.”
You paused. Then glanced up at him.
“And when you told me about your mother and her flowers… I knew it was meant for you.“
His brow furrowed, a quiet intensity in his gaze. “No one’s ever given me something like this.”
“Then it’s about time.”
He slipped the cloth into the inside of his coat , pressed close to his chest. Then looked back at you.
“You carry freedom with you,” he said. “It’s in how you ride. How you speak. How you fight.”
A long, quiet moment passed between you. The others still laughing in the distance, their noise now softened like wind behind a closed door.
You looked up at him, your voice just a breath:
Then you tilted your head."Can I ask something?"
He glanced at you, expectant.
"Your name. Why Sam?”
His eyes dropped to the ground for a second, then back to yours. No anger, no shame. Just a sigh like he’d carried that question a long time
“That was the name of the man who killed my wife” he said, his voice like stone.
You stayed quiet
I know because I made him tell me," he continued, voice low. "Then I killed him... and took it."
His stare bore into you. Not in a cruel way, but with the kind of pain that made your throat tighten. You felt the echo of it in your chest, and before you could stop it, something inside you cracked wide open.
“I’ve kill—I’ve killed many.”you admitted, the words falling out before you could collect them. "This trail... it's not kind to people. Least of all to women."
You laughed softly, bitterly, not at him but at yourself, trying to push down what was clawing its way up.
"I never thought of taking their names."
He cut you off fast, but not unkind.
“You don’t want to know their names, with their names you mourn forever.”
That last part stung more than you expected. You turned your face, as if that would hide the sudden tremble in your jaw, the welling in your eyes. A chuckle broke through
And then, he reached for you.
"Don't do that," he said gently, his thumb brushing under your eye before the tear could fall. His hand lingered, warm and calloused as it cupped your face like something sacred.
You were quiet for a beat, watching the way the his hair caught the wind, the shape of his jaw, the steadiness in his eyes.
He stepped just a bit closer , the air between you growing still.
He reached out, just briefly, to adjust the pendant around your neck. Fingertips brushing your collarbone.
You looked down at the pendant, then up at him.
"Let it sit close to your heart," he murmured. "It’s meant to protect what matters."
"Then it’s in the right place."
After a moment, you spoke again.
"You think this makes us even?"
He smiled.
"Not even."
He paused.
"Connected."
A unspoken understanding flows between you two
You grinned, before a loud voice interrupted the silence
Behind you, someone from your group shouted out — "¡Ahí están! Ya están haciendo promesas de amor." t(they’re right there! theyre already making love promises)
You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath.
He didn’t understand the words, not exactly, but he understood tone. He’d read it in your voice, in the laughter behind it, in the way you stood your ground and didn’t move an inch away from him.
Just two riders, facing each other beneath the sun, wind, storm, and something new taking root between them.
retired!simon riley - sorry chef!simon riley x reader
imagine this motherfucker learns how to cook your cultures traditional foods better than you.
like maybe he had hit up an aunty, your ma, your dad, uncle, sister, brother, cousin, nan, granddad - whoever - to ask about one of your cultures traditional food that's special to you.
so they come teach him, or send him detailed steps, or probably video call him (but let's be fr they probably went over to teach him)
and that is the only time he doesn't ever raise his voice or back talks the person he's sharing a kitchen with - because why would he??? they're teaching him.
idk i just - AHHH i find it so cute imagining this towering fucking goliath of a man standing next to your nan or maybe even your dad - whoever - and he's just listening and watching so intensely.
the kitchen is filled with spices, there's music playing that he doesn’t quite understand the lyrics but it's nice and catchy.
but you come home, and you think that perhaps a family member come in and cooked it because there's no way - yet there he is. making it himself in the kitchen. hands working far better than yours at a task that you were practically raised doing.
and when you sit to eat, maybe you should feel jealous - but fuck
it tastes exactly like your family member that makes it... maybe even better.
as you eat, you look at him, eyes shining with a sort of warmth that's not just loving - it's far more intimate - more homey and one that's so personal. and he can tell because when he's looking in your eyes and there's thousands more staring back at him.
"you're making more of this..." the demand is firm, but with the way you speak, it's clear it's just covering up how much it means to you that he did this.
"whatever you want, lovie..." he softly chuckles, more than happy to adhere to your demands, pressing a kiss to your forehead before eating it himself.
bf!pope x earthy/boho!gf!reader (moodboards and aesthetic) i don't like it at all (feel like it's rushed...)but i love the earthy core so bad.
“ sweet creature, sweet creature. wherever i go. you bring me home ” harry styles lyrics.
i picture earthy!boho!reader like the most peaceful soul and mind. she has her own world, and bring pope in everytime. she's always smiling and helpful. she helps pope, even if he doesnt ask. this reader don't try to fix him, or whatever, she's just caring. and try to understand why the kindness boy of the world doesnt have the most beautiful and heartwarming life ? she help him to reconnect with nature but also his culture, she's like the daughter of the nature, an earthy nymph who love peace more than anything.
but she also loves jazz, random refreshing places, she has a bunch of cats that she never forget to feed. pope helps her to rescue some abandonned animals, bobby heyward really love her, she lives in her garden with full of flowers and plants like a fairy, she loves making homemade meals, hanging out near lakes, taking therapeutic walks, staying in the grass for hours.
while pope works, she paints him. because she loves his focused face. he's like a muse. his face is a work of art.
she has a ton of boho jewelry that she shares with pope. because he is not afraid to wear necklaces, bracelets, foot and waist chains like her.
she is definitely an artist who makes music (flute and tom-tom), and indie films. she smoke weed.
she wants to adopt children later.
even though she is uncertain about her future, all she knows is that she wants to be with pope forever. she save money for their future needs.
dynamics core ;
you love taking your shower at the waterfall with him, kissing him while the water continues to flow over the two of you. you like to ride bikes in pairs on abandoned paths. you like to take him to drink coconuts and bissap. you like hanging out with him at the bookstore and especially when he carries you on his back because you're too lazy to walk.
I know this man loves braiding your hair, but especially adding flowers, jewelry and accessories.
he loves taking photos of you when you have a butterfly on your skin, a ladybug on your hand, a chick on your legs, a cat in your arms.
he's in love your honor. and you're his safe place.
( hope you like it bby @annoyingassleo <33 i did my best actually or i tried. )
A/N: So I'm in a very rare mushy mood so here you go! And if you're confused about the dog let me direct you to this. As always feedback is greatly appreciated. Tags are at the bottom and let me know if you want to be added to my list :)
Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff.
masterlist
A small house in the suburbs that you both loved with a nice backyard to garden and for the dog to play in. There was a fire pit where you spent summer nights with his family, making smores and listening to scary stories, each trying to outdo the last.
You decide to have a reading room, wall to wall bookshelves with cozy chairs for both of you. His copy of pride and prejudice sitting next to your copy of Hamlet on the shelf. Lamps and fluffy pillows are scattered across the room giving it a warm feel.
The kitchen is your favourite place. The two of you cooking together while soft music plays in the background. Occasionally Jason will come up and hug you from behind, swaying to the song as he sings, his low voice filling your ears.
Fuzzy blankets cover you both as you lay on the sofa, watching reruns of golden girls, laughing as Jason compares his brothers to the girls, Winchester’s head laying in your lap, his eyes set on you as you stroke his fur.
Patching him up in the bathroom as you scold him for getting into yet another unnecessary fight. He looks up at you, love in his eyes as he just smiles. Other nights the two of you sit in the tub together, bubbles overflowing as you sit and talk, each with a glass of wine.
The bedroom, painted a light blue by the both of you, is where you spend your nights, legs tangled in the sheets as you whisper I love you’s in your native tongues meaning more than English ever could express. Being your most authentic selves, not ever needing to hide.
Waking to the sun shining onto the two of you, his blue eyes fluttering open to meet yours as a soft sleepy smile slides across his face and you just want to live in this moment forever.
Request: Black/Brown!reader hc on Damian being the reader's first love and they break up because Damian's mom intervened and said he would hurt her if they don't split. then the reader tries to make him jealous at school and they end up back together
Warning/note: intended for black/brown!readers :)
This has been sitting in my drafts for a whilleeeee but here you go love! :D
It was paradise
Truly you felt safe and at home in Damian's arm
Together since the age of 14 to now, you both were always two peas in a pod.
Though you both were only 17, everyone could see that your love was deeper than some infatuation.
Though busy with his duo life, Damian always found time to be with you
To say you just love him was an understatement
You were in love with him.
And he was your first love.
You were at a cafe when Talia confronted you.
Damian only told you about his sometimes deranged mother when you accidentally found a picture of them both
saying just to “stay clear of her.”
"Stay away from my son." You only furrowed your eyebrows as you stared at this woman
"And you are?" You knew who she was and quite frankly you were a bit scared.
"You know who I am. You seem like a smart girl. I suggest you do as I say and maybe- just maybe, you won’t get harmed. "
You only nodded looking at the now cold tea sitting in front of you, un-stirred.
Calling Damian, you told him you couldn't be together. He questioned why, and pleaded. Asking if you were saying this against your will and you only responded with
"Damian, it's for the best."
Speeding forward it's been 2 weeks and quite frankly, seeing you happy and carefree at school angered him.
as if your 4 year relationship was just some summer love.
He was in love and you just broke his heart.
many people noticed the shift in Damian’s behavior.
Teachers, the janitor, Bruce,
EVERYONE
Now that girls at school knew Damian was available again they flew to his feet
You only watched from a far, jealously spiking.
From your point of view, it look liked Damian was enjoying the attention but it was the exact opposite.
Damian clenched his jaw at every pathetic attempt at wowing him
You decided if it was so easy for him to get over you, you might as well do the same.
Damian was a looker. But so were you.
Before you and Damian were together, everyone wanted to be in the perimeter of you
You were the golden girl of Gotham academy.
Charms like no other, intelligence unbeatable and beauty Damian and others drooled about.
ravishing brown skin
and the prettiest smile
Eyes glossy like no other
and ugh your wittiness
Damian could go on.
But enough about you, on to the revenge.
It was lunch and Damian happened to be sitting near you.
Making sure Damian was in sight, you flirted with Gotham Academy's star quarterback
But in between your flirtatious looks, he cut you off.
"Hey, no offense, you're hot and all but I don’t want my ass kicked by Damian and the way he’s staring at me is definitely suggesting that."
You glared at him, stomping over to his table.
"What's your problem!?"
"My problem? If I'm not mistaken, you are the one that broke up with me, out of no where." Damian said stoically
" okay but I had a decent reason behind that."
"What can possibly make-"
" It was to keep you safe."
Damian looked at you like you grew two heads, a small smile now on his lips.
"From who?"
"Talia." This was enough to turn his smile into a frown. Damian wasn't scared of her,no. Damian was confused as to why Talia would do such a thing.
Confessing, you told him everything that happened from the day she approached to now.
"I'll handle that. But are we back together? I am perfectly adequate in protecting you from any and every danger."
"Damian you are only a high school student, son of Bruce Wayne. You're talking as if you have superpowers or something."
Damian unfazed look, brought attention to your statement.
From that conversation led to a whole other discussion. One that wasn't said in public.
That day you took in ALOT information,
Damian finally confessing about his duo life
but no matter the identity, no matter the mask, Damian was always gonna be your Damian. Your first and last love.
