tags: violence, death, harassment (not from dex), toxic relationship dynamics, obsession, reader is a bit of a freak, dex being soggy and pathetic
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“If I knew you’d look so good in that quarter-zip, I would have brought you out here ages ago.”
Dex flusters at your compliment, a pink stain rising to his cheeks. Your reward from him is a shy smile, small and lopsided. His fingers tug at the zipper of the aforementioned quarter-zip, a simple black thing that hugs his chest and the broad line of his shoulders.
“Thank you,” he says. Months of dating still haven’t acclimated him to the warmth of your attention, and his bashfulness is still as charming as it was in the beginning. You lean back on your elbows, grass tickling your skin, and let the sun warm you with its fading light. This park has been a favorite escape of yours. Just outside the city and tucked up against the riverbank, it’s offered you a quiet refuge for as long as you’ve lived here, and now you’ve shared this little piece of yourself with Dex. A quiet place for both of you to enjoy — together.
“You look pretty,” Dex says, and you know before you even turn to him that he’s been staring at you this whole time. “The sun is on your face. You — you’re glowing.”
“Thank you, baby,” you say, twining your fingers with his. You turn your attention to the river and the sun dipping below the skyline of the city beyond. By the bank, a man walks with his dog. The air is cool and quiet until the bright ring of a phone cuts through the silence.
Dex tugs his hand away from yours and seizes the phone from his pocket, eyebrows scrunching as he glares at the screen.
“Shit,” he says. “It’s work.” His thumb hesitates over the answer button.
“It’s ok, Agent Poindexter. I’ll wait here while you do your FBI thing.” You give him a reassuring smile and he returns it, squeezing your hand one last time before climbing to his feet. The low tone of his voice fades as he moves out of earshot, and you’re left alone in the grass.
Minutes pass, and a glance over your shoulder reveals Dex with arms crossed and shoulders tight as he speaks into the phone. Something stressful has come up, or a last-minute call into work, perhaps. You climb to your feet and wander closer to the bank. Whatever it is, you’re sure to get the run down when he’s finished.
You hear it before you see it — gravel crunching under heavy feet from beyond the crop of trees to your left. A man emerges from the tree line, walking along the path that hugs the bank. He catches you assessing him, eyes locking with yours, and a weight settles deep in your gut. The man is moving towards you.
“Out here alone?” he asks.
You offer a tight-lipped smile. “No,” you say. “I’m just waiting for my boyfriend.”
“Don’t see no boyfriend,” the man says. He stops at a too-close distance, and you cross your arms over your chest, turning your body away from his.
“He’ll be here in a minute,” you say shortly. “I’m just waiting for him.”
The man takes another step toward you. You take a step back.
“So you can’t talk to nobody?” he says. “Or are you just too pretty to talk to me?”
You turn to walk away from him, to find Dex yourself, but the man steps in front of you in one smooth motion, cutting off your path of escape.
“Hey, nothing wrong here,” he says, advancing into your space again. “I’m just trying to get your number.”
He’s too close, and moving closer. He raises a hand like he’s going to grab at you, and you take a sharp breath, you’re going to yell —
Thunk. The man freezes. His mouth parts stupidly and his hand — the hand that was reaching for you — moves, trembling, to his temple, where a pen has lodged into his skull. His fingers fumble around it, as if in disbelief, as if he doesn’t understand what’s just happened, and in your shock you haven’t quite grasped it either. Blood sprays down his pale face. He collapses into the soft grass.
His mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, breaths short and ragged. His body twitches once, twice, muscles locking up in a violent spasm, and then he stills. Eyes open. Afraid. Dark blood and clear fluid pool around that soft, green grass, and the man’s chest does not rise again.
He’s dead. You watched him die. Your heartbeat is a pounding thud in your ears, and you turn, dazed, to the man you know is waiting there.
Behind you, Dex stands like a wild animal. His wide eyes are not on the body, but on you. You stare at each other in taut silence. For one delirious moment, you think you could laugh. Dex — your Dex — launched a pen like a bullet through that man’s skull. Dex killed him. Killed him, and in his eyes, you see fear. He raises his hands slowly. Placatingly. Like one sudden movement will spook you and send you running to the road. He says your name.
“The body,” you blurt out. “The river. Put it in the river.”
All at once, your senses come back to you. You’re in the park. A public park. You glance frantically around for anyone nearby, anyone who could have seen it happen. The man with the dog. The walking paths. Did anyone see? Are there cameras here? You rush to the body and the bright patch of red soaking the dirt. Dex is still staring at you as you crouch beside it.
“Now, Dex,” you snap, voice low and hoarse. He’s just looking at you. Just standing there and looking at you with fear in his face.
“Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah. Ok. The river.”
The two of you haul the body down to the riverbank, behind the crop of trees, over stones and brush out of sight from the path. You dump it clumsily into the water and it sinks into the murky depths, disappearing in the current as if it was never there at all. In days or weeks it will float back up to surface, bloated with gas and rot. But by then the two of will be long gone. You scrub your hands in river water until they’re pink and stinging and clean of his blood.
Beside you, the pen rests on a mossy rock. Dark blood clings to its bottom half, wrenched free from its victim with a wet squelch. Federal Bureau of Investigation, it reads, letters engraved into the silver. You offer it to Dex, who has said nothing since the two of you began the disposal. That animal-panic is still in his eyes, and his eyes are still trained on you.
“Throw it,” you say softly. “As far as you can.” He takes the pen from your fingers and hurls it into the water.
——
The sky is dark on the drive back into the city. Dex’s hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and when the car finally rolls to a stop, you look up to see that he’s brought you back to his apartment. The entryway is dark and quiet when he lets you in, and the sterile world of his home feels almost like a different reality from the dark waters you’ve just left behind. You move like a ghost to his room, on legs that seem to carry you with a will of their own. Your bag thugs to the ground and your jacket follows it, before a dark silhouette blots out the light cast from the open door.
Dex stands in the doorway. He is a shadow illuminated by the hall light behind him, his face hazy and obscured. He says your name again, strained.
“I couldn’t let him hurt you. He was - he reached for you, he was scaring you, and I couldn’t let him touch you.” His fingers flex and open, a nervous tick. The room is cold silent. Not even the rush of traffic outside.
“I know, Dex,” you reply. The silence drags only for a moment as Dex realizes you’re not going to say anything else. He takes a step toward you, out of the harsh backlight of the hallway and into the dimly lit room.
“I was protecting you,” he says. “I’ll always, always protect you. Nothing else matters. You’re the only thing that matters, you’re the only person I love, your the only person who loves - who loves me, and I can’t - I had to -“ his breaths become shakey, rapid. He stops an arms-length away as if he’s afraid to come closer. In the space between you he raises a hand, palm up in request of your own. He wants you to touch him. To slot your fingers between his and tell him that everything will be all right. You don’t offer it to him.
“I know, Dex,” you say again. “I’m not mad. I just . . . I just want to sleep. I want to shower and go to bed.”
His hand falls to his side and his face crumples for a moment, desperate and close to tears. “Ok,” he says. “I can do that. We can shower.” He follows you to the bathroom and starts the shower as you strip in silence. The small space is tighter still with two bodies huddled inside of it, steam clinging to the tiles and water just hot enough to make you squirm. You don’t bother asking him to lower it. Dex’s eyes follow every move you make.
The familiar scent of his laundry detergent wraps around you as you curl into his sheets, and before you can shy away his body is sliding into bed behind yours. His chest is firm against your back. His arm snakes around your waist and presses you flush against him. Legs tangling, fingers curling into the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. You feel his breath stall against the bare skin of your neck, as if he’s going to speak.
“Don’t,” you say softly. “I don’t want to talk. Not right now. We can do it in the morning.”
Calloused hands clutch at the fat of your waist. He presses himself further, further into you.
“Ok,” he rasps. “In the morning.”
You fall asleep in the vise of his arms.
——
You wake with his limbs twisted up in yours. Bodies tangled in a sweaty knot, his breath warm against your neck. You are one half-turn away from slipping off the mattress, as if you shifted away from him in sleep and he chased you to the edge. His breath catches and you know he’s woken up, too. Dex always wakes when you do. A sixth sense that you used to joke about. You shift in his arms and he jolts up to rest on his elbow, his other hand worrying the sleeve of your shirt.
Somewhere in the river there’s a body, cold and bloodless. You swing your legs over the bed and Dex follows close behind. He’s a shadow at your back as you slink into the bathroom to splash your face with cool water. His anxiety is a dark cloud in the room, buzzing, clawing energy that surrounds you even without looking at his reflection in the mirror as you squeeze toothpaste onto a brush. He’s waiting for you to say something. But speaking about it makes it real, makes the man hovering behind you into someone you no longer know as well as you thought you did. A hidden facet of him has been revealed to you. Soon you will have to decide what you’ll do about it.
You make it into the kitchen before he cracks.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he asks, weakly. “Are you mad at me?”
You force yourself to meet his stare. A fitful and sleepless night has carved lines under his eyes and made his skin blotchy red. He looks young and fearful. He looks like he could be sick.
“I’m not mad,” you answer. “I’m just . . . thinking.”
Dex sniffles. “I did it for you,” he says, voice wobbly. “To protect you. I would do anything for you. Anything. I need you so much it—it hurts.” He shuffles towards you with his palms up and open. You realize, not for the first time, that Dex is big. Tall. Broad shouldered. Intimidating.
But he’d never felt intimidating to you. Shouldn’t it have been obvious? Dex is a sniper with the FBI. He’s paid to kill. And he’s already confessed to you, between tears and wracking sobs, the truth of his violent childhood and the source of the shame that permeates his every waking moment. Of course he was capable of this. Of course. What were you thinking? That he was better? Changed? That he wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore — that he wouldn’t hurt you?
No. No, Dex would never. He loves you. He’s fiercely protective of you. He’s never, ever made you feel unsafe, not until . . . until now. Until last night.
The length of your silence must have been a few breaths too long, because Dex presses on, tears rolling down his red cheeks.
“I’m not good,” he says. “I’m not good like you are. I want to be, fuck, I’m trying to be, but I don’t care what I have to do to keep you safe.” He’s shuffled into your space again, his body a furnace next to yours. His fingers grip the fabric of your t-shirt.
“Please, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Just please don’t leave me.”
It strikes you then. The truth of what Dex is feeling. All of the nerves, all of the shaking, the crying . . . Dex isn’t afraid of being caught. He’s not worried about the police or even shaken by the fact that not 10 hours ago, he took a human life. Dex is afraid that you’re going to leave him.
. . . Would you? You think of the body in the grass. Gasping. Twitching. He didn’t have to die. Dex could have scared him, or fought him, or just taken you away, but he put a pen through the man’s skull without a moment of hesitation, and apparently, without any remorse. It’s not the first time he’s done it. It may not be the last. What happens the next time he sees someone harassing you? What happens if he meets any of the people who’ve wronged you, the former friends, the exes? He’s violent. He’s dangerous. He’s . . .
He’s crying into your shoulder. Pitiful, gasping sobs that shake his big body as it’s folded over to curl into your warmth. A wet patch clings to your skin, tears and snot soaking the cotton of your shirt. When your hands rise to cup his face and lift his head to look at you, the movement is all muscle memory. Comforting him is second nature now, engrained in you like instinct. This is Dex. This is your baby.
“Oh, honey,” you coo. “It’s ok. Shhh, it’s ok. I’m not going anywhere.” You wipe the tears from his eyes, even as they’re immediately replaced by more.
He chokes on a sob, an attempt to gather himself enough to speak. “Y-yeah? Really?”
“I promise, baby. You know I would never leave you.”
Dex sighs then, a long exhale of relief, and takes the first full breath you’ve heard from him yet. “Thank you,” he says, sniffling. “Thank you, thank you,” each thanks punctuated with a kiss pressed to your face. He continues down your neck, mouth hungry over your skin, like he could swallow you whole. A wet trail follows the path of his lips. You run your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. Let him take what he needs.
No one saw. No one knows what happened. And when the news eventually reaches you — “did you hear? A body was found in the river” — you’re not going to watch Dex go to prison over the life of some creep. It was a mistake; one that no one needs to know about. He wants to be good. He’s trying. He just needs patience and love, and you’ll give it to him. The rest will sort itself out.
When he’s cried himself dry, you lead him to the table, sit him down in a chair and set a glass of cold water in front of him. You’ll make breakfast, go out on a run together. Get him back into his routine. Get him stable again. He takes a long sip of water, his breath evening out at last.
“I love you,” he says, eyes wide and rimmed with red.
“I love you, too,” you say and press a kiss into his hair. “So, so much.”
Dex has a life to get back to and a future with so much left to learn.
"You need to stop wearing those," You tell Aang, pointedly looking him right in the eyes and resisting the urge to look downwards.
Aang blinks. "Stop wearing what?"
"You know what!" You suddenly exclaim, gesturing wildly towards his lower half. "The sweatpants! The grey sweatpants!"
"My sweatpants?" Aang asks, puzzled, as he looks down and unfortunately, you follow his line of his sight. Which you didn't want happening because it's already been a challenge to not stare. "What's wrong with them?"
What isn't wrong with them?
They're temptation in cloth form, sitting low on his hips and teasing his defined v-line with the sharp jut of his hips. His shirts are baggy enough to remove the potential of seeing his abs, thank goodness, but when he stretches, it becomes a real problem. Because you can see how those sweatpants fit him more clearly, along with the dark trail of hair disappearing past the waistband of his sweats.
That alone has you heated under the collar, your mouth dried and throat parched. But it gets even worse because with all of that, you're able to see what is called...his dick print.
And it's huge and looks heavy and as much as you hate to admit it, Aang being...big is something you've thought about many times.
It's hard not to given how he adjusts himself from time to time, like it's given him stress and no, now's not the time.
"They're just—" You struggle to find a reason that doesn't sound depraved. Nothing comes up. "I just think...black would suit you better."
Aang looks at you, tilts his head to the side and says, "You think so?" He looks down at his sweatpants again and you look away so you aren't tempted to join in. "But I like grey more and they look better, don't you think?"
He says it so innocently, it's tragic.
You desperately try again to find another reason but your brain is conveniently mush. So you shake your head and focus on your phone, a flustered warmth beneath your cheeks as you work on distracting yourself.
"I don't care." You grumble, pouting and leave it at that.
Left unaware of the subtle smirk Aang gives you before going back to his sketching, whistling a happy tune.
aang begging the spirits for mercy when he finds you bathing in the secluded waterfall you frequent. he cant help his body being glued shut on the ground, all while hiding behind the wall of forestry that conceals his very presence.
he eyes the glossy skin covered in suds of the soap you purchased last time you were in the city, putting them up to his nose for a sniff test, as you take the avatars opinion very seriously. he thinks about the scent and your natural essence being the perfect mixture— and has a certain eagerness he almost cant contain to feel it waft beneath his nose.
he knows how to keep quiet, very mindful of the twigs and bushes that could alert his being— but he doesn’t think that would be such a bad thing. besides, it seems like you’re having trouble cleansing harder to reach places. he hopes you don’t mind him lending a hand.
Pls write more of tattoo artist aang and my heart is yours🙏🏼🧎🏽♀️➡️
see inspo here! ⋆˚࿔
tattoo artist!aang who lets you sketch him doodles for potential patrons no matter how unexperienced they look, and will hang them around his parlor with a proud look on his face
tattoo artist!aang who lets you color in his tattoos when he’s on break while he tells you about his favorite tat of the day was, or if he had a customer that gave him a backstory on why they’re covering up some name he forgot to remember
tattoo artist!aang who lets you perch up somewhere in his studio letting you watch him work on the multitude of clients he sees while sending you a quick wink to let you know when hes almost done with one
tattoo artist!aang who brings his great pyrenees appa into his studio even though you’re pretty sure its a health code violation, but you take care of the sweet canine anyways
tattoo artist!aang who takes you to the restaurant next door on his lunch break that a sweet older woman owns, who gives him free boba whenever he comes by. but always asks him why he covers such “beautiful skin” with all those pictures and piercings
tattoo artist!aang who shows you he got a tattoo of your name on the underside of his ribs when you randomly stop by. you jump and squeal in joy before you take him back to his office to give him a celebratory make out session
tattoo artist!aang who is honored when you tell him you finally want to get his name tattooed with matching placement as well.
tattoo artist!aang who decides to do it after closing, for it to be considered a pseudo date before he really takes you out for dinner right after. he preps you with a numerous amount of kisses, and numbing cream if need be
tattoo artist!aang who walks you through it all.
tattoo artist!aang who finishes the session and has a look of reverence over his features— who prides himself on not viewing you as his possession, but has a hard time feeling that way when he sees his name inked on your skin
tattoo artist!aang who leans down on your still reclined self to intertwine his lips with yours a bit harsher than he’s used to— but feels the need to take as much of you as he can
tattoo artist!aang who groans into your mouth when he settles on top of you, hearing the leather chair squeak under the weight of you both— being mindful of the tender flesh on your side
tattoo artist!aang who decides that dinner can wait, as he slips his hands under your already disheveled top with the intent on showing you something more intimate than names on skin
you wake up one morning grumpier than a vine cobra and glaring daggers at aang like you want to burn a hole in his clothes. he didn't even notice until he asked for his good morning kiss and you just scoffed at him.
"what's wrong?"
"my jaw hurts."
"huh, how come?"
you just give him a pointed look, and he has to fight to keep the smug expression off his face because he knows you're going to throw your spoon at his head.
aang actually winces when his thumbs dig into your tmj joint and an audible crack echoes through the bedroom. "sorry, sweetheart." he kisses your forehead as he continues to massage your jaw, frowning slightly when he realizes just how much tension there is.
"why didn't you say anything?"
shrugging, you reply, "didn't want to; i was having fun getting my face fucked."
his cheeks redden and he cups your chin. "i don't like hurting you."
another crack sounds, and you sigh in relief when the stiffness fades and your jaw can now flex without restraint.
"i'll ease up next time." he kisses both your cheeks.
aang is so wife guy like thats my dear husband and he’d do anything for me and keep me happy and protect me and love meeee my gentle kinggggg fawkkk!!!!!
Pls write more of tattoo artist aang and my heart is yours🙏🏼🧎🏽♀️➡️
see inspo here! ⋆˚࿔
tattoo artist!aang who lets you sketch him doodles for potential patrons no matter how unexperienced they look, and will hang them around his parlor with a proud look on his face
tattoo artist!aang who lets you color in his tattoos when he’s on break while he tells you about his favorite tat of the day was, or if he had a customer that gave him a backstory on why they’re covering up some name he forgot to remember
tattoo artist!aang who lets you perch up somewhere in his studio letting you watch him work on the multitude of clients he sees while sending you a quick wink to let you know when hes almost done with one
tattoo artist!aang who brings his great pyrenees appa into his studio even though you’re pretty sure its a health code violation, but you take care of the sweet canine anyways
tattoo artist!aang who takes you to the restaurant next door on his lunch break that a sweet older woman owns, who gives him free boba whenever he comes by. but always asks him why he covers such “beautiful skin” with all those pictures and piercings
tattoo artist!aang who shows you he got a tattoo of your name on the underside of his ribs when you randomly stop by. you jump and squeal in joy before you take him back to his office to give him a celebratory make out session
tattoo artist!aang who is honored when you tell him you finally want to get his name tattooed with matching placement as well.
tattoo artist!aang who decides to do it after closing, for it to be considered a pseudo date before he really takes you out for dinner right after. he preps you with a numerous amount of kisses, and numbing cream if need be
tattoo artist!aang who walks you through it all.
tattoo artist!aang who finishes the session and has a look of reverence over his features— who prides himself on not viewing you as his possession, but has a hard time feeling that way when he sees his name inked on your skin
tattoo artist!aang who leans down on your still reclined self to intertwine his lips with yours a bit harsher than he’s used to— but feels the need to take as much of you as he can
tattoo artist!aang who groans into your mouth when he settles on top of you, hearing the leather chair squeak under the weight of you both— being mindful of the tender flesh on your side
tattoo artist!aang who decides that dinner can wait, as he slips his hands under your already disheveled top with the intent on showing you something more intimate than names on skin
aang is very much the type to save any and all creatures that wander into your home. no matter how small or big, he’ll either cup it in his hands, trap it in a jar or straight up airbend it out of the door or window without ever so much as harming a single cell on its tiny body. you should have known he wouldn’t have killed the insect, the man is a vegetarian and pacifist. spirits, he didn’t even kill the firelord (the crazy man deserving that fate more than anyone in the history of the world) so why did you think he’d go crazy, avatar state over a little grass spider.
“sweetheart, it’s just a tiny bug.” he coos as you stand frozen in place, finger pointing at the massive spider on your ceiling.
“that is not tiny!” you screech as he reaches for one if the chairs surrounding your dining table. “in what world is THAT tiny!?” your voice pitches up an octave as the insect begins to move.
ohh you hate bugs! especially the ones with too many legs and eyes. yuck. if it had been any smaller you would have taken care of it yours, smacked it with a book or something but when it borders on the size of a coin, well it’s just too big.
“it’s more scared of you, than you’re scared of it- can you pass me that bowl.” aang is already on the chair, his hand outstretched in waiting.
you quickly hand off the plate, taking an immediate step back as if to not be in the way incase the intruder decides to make a quick getaway.
“why are you running away like it’s going to shoot you?” he can’t help the laughter that lilts his tone.
“because i don’t like them.” your skin begins to crawl. “kill it, move it, i don’t care. just please get rid of it.”
you look away as aang raises the bowl, unable to watch if it scurries away. there is the sound of wood on wood, then aang’s soft sigh.
“i’m not gonna kill it when it’s only crime is that it’s small.”
you frown, hating that he could make something so gross seem so…innocent. “that’s not it’s crime.”
“then what is?” his voice comes from the window, as he empties the bowl onto the balcony.
“breaking and entering.” you peek your eyes open and watch as aang walks towards you, bowl (now empty) in his hand. you can never use that bowl again.
“and robbery.” you add on to the insects crimes.
“robbery?” the avatar raises a brow.
“i’m never going to use that bowl again so yes, i was robbed of a bowl.”
crossing your arms over your chest you come face to face (well face to chest ) with aang. your lips pout and you put on your best show of disappointment. he knows it’s fake, can see right through you, but he plays along.
“ohh, should i chase him down and have him arrested for his crimes?”
the bowl is placed on the table next to you, aang’s hands coming up to rest on your hips as he pulls you into his embrace.
“yes. noble and brave avatar, find the spider who dared do me wrong.”
he chuckles, the sound warm and low. “anything for you, my lady.”
Tattoo artist aang is the type to tell you through everything
its so easy for him too. very lighthearted but it packs such a punch it has you burning up— he thinks its hilarious though. the thing with aang is that he’s a tease canonically! i think that he’s able to find a nice balance between being a little condescending instead of downright degrading, that sweet spot if you will. which i think is one of the hottest things ever.
“you got it, don’t you?” is one of his favorites, sometimes he loves a little bit of a challenge! he’s constantly leaving you hot and bothered even if its the minuscule of things. sometimes on a slow day he’ll let you try out tattooing on those fake skin slabs (that he should be saving for his trainees, but anything for you) and tells you to go “easy” and “you’re doing amazing, baby” which makes you want him to take you in the bathroom :3
tattoo artist!aang is so… you found out about him through a friend of a friend because word of mouth he’s great with beginners.
he gives you a lengthy but heartfelt consultation, offers you numbing cream in advance when he sees that worried look on your face… free of charge, of course. he lets you take as many breaks as you need no matter how long or short your session is, he keeps nodding to the water he gave you just to make sure you’re staying hydrated, walks you through every minuscule act being done, and lets you choose the music of your choice to ease your nerves— the whole nine yards, really. what mightve been a daunting and painful experience this couldve been, youre plenty surprised and comfortable you are due to his attentiveness.
he notices the larger than normal tip you’ve left him, almost chasing you out to ask you out to dinner. “a repayment” he tells you, for being a great client of his— and his favorite one of all.
As the Avatar and the Bridge, Aang is very aware of this. He has seen cruelty firsthand in its most heinous form while also in its most unassuming. It's a threat he deals with a daily basis with hopes that, one day, it will no longer be so prevalent.
But at times, it strikes him down and pins him by his throat as it taunts him, laughing in his face as he struggles to fight back.
The fight in him isn't here today, though.
It leaves him like a caged bird having tasted freedom for first time. It soars far away into the clouds above and Aang knows it will never come back in this moment.
Because the world has choosen to show its cruelty in the form of you, standing before him with wide-eyes.
"…Aang?" You say, as if in disbelief, and it's been years since he's heard your voice. How it coils sweetly around his name, making it sound like a melody. "Oh wow." You're breathless, chest rising and fallen in heavy drops. "I didn't think I'd—"
Aang has you in his arms before he can even think and spirits, you still fit so perfectly within them. Your head is against his chest, your body molding into his like a long lost puzzle piece, and it feels like a dream. A very nice but very cruel dream. Then your arms wrap around his waist tightly, pulling him closer and Aang's breath hiccups in his throat.
"I didn't think I'd see you again," he rasps, grasping onto you in an attempt to properly feel you. To remember your warmth and scent and this very moment. "What are you doing back in Republic City?"
"Work," you say with a small laugh. "Erm, diplomatic stuff and I was the choosen delegate." You pull back a little so you can smile up at him. "How's everything with you? Settled down already or—?"
Aang shakes his head quickly. "No." The word flies out of his mouth, as if pushed by air. "Uh, no, I…Ever since we…I couldn't."
"Oh." Your eyes lower to the slight space between you. "Are you having trouble finding someone? Because, um, I'm around for a month so I could help—"
"I don't want help," Aang interrupts, sharper than he intended. "I'm sorry, I just…there have been others but no one…"
Amounts to you.
Compares to you.
And he knows that's mean, to judge future partners based on who you are. But his brain betrays him each time he tries to give a relationship ago. Because they don't talk like you or laugh like you or touch like you or look like you. His heart is deathly set on wanting only you, his entwined with yours but he knows that it isn't meant to work because you both want different things.
Or you want different things and refuse to let Aang sacrifice what he wants for you.
You say nothing, your expression unreadable but he knows you know what he means. Slowly, you break away from him and Aang nearly reaches out to bring you back in, back to him.
"It'll get easier, Aang." You say softly.
"It's been five years already," he responds, just as soft. "Even a hundred years won't make this easy and you know this."
Your shoulders tense, your lips purse and your eyes close.
"I know."
And it's here that Aang realises that this isn't just cruelty.
i will find you in the next life, too ༘⋆ aang x reader
༘⋆ synopsis: you think the world has already claimed aang as theirs, but he makes it clear his heart only belongs to you.
༘⋆ content warningsﾉtags: soft!aang, jealousy, crying, heavy angst w/ a happy ending, established relationship, panic attacks, reassurance, soulmate fluff, kissing
༘⋆ author's note: i have aang brainworms. i need more fluff fics of him. god i yearn for this man. also, i just came back from a short break, so my writing may be lackluster :,)
Republic City is alive tonight, a sprawling tapestry of lanterns and noise, all gathered to celebrate the legacy of the Avatars. You can feel the vibration of thousands of footsteps through the soles of your shoes, a pulse that matches the thumping in your chest as you weave through the dense, joyous crowd.
Beside you, Aang is a blur of kinetic energy and pure excitement. He holds your hand with a grip that is firm yet gentle, his skin warm against yours, a constant reminder of his presence amidst the constant noise. In his other hand, he clutches a greasy paper sleeve of unfried dough, a specialty of this particular festival that he’s been eyeing since you stepped off the boat. He takes a large, enthusiastic bite, his cheeks puffing out like a messenger-hawk's, and begins to talk before he’s even finished swallowing.
"You have no idea how great this is," he says, his voice muffled by the dough but bright with wonder. He points a half-eaten stick of pastry toward a row of intricately carved wooden arches decorated with swirling blue and white silks.
"They actually got the cloud patterns right on the Air Nomad tribute! Look at the way the silk hangs—it’s supposed to mimic the high-altitude winds of the Southern Temple. I didn't think anyone remembered those specific nuances after everything, but the organizers here... they really did their homework."
He stops to slurp up a loose bit of dough, his grey eyes wide and glowing under the light of a thousand orange lanterns. Around you, the world is populated by ghosts and legends. Everywhere you look, there is an Avatar. A tall woman with painted white makeup and heavy brass fans strides past, her green Kyoshi warrior robes rustling against the pavement. A group of teenagers in crimson Fire Nation tunics, sporting faux-beards and tall headpieces, laugh as they pretend to firebend like Roku.
Most prominent, however, are the children. Little boys and girls with painted blue arrows on their foreheads dash between the legs of adults, clutching miniature wooden gliders and shrieking with glee. You see a toddler sitting on a bench, his ginger cat patiently enduring a coat of white and brown washable paint, complete with a makeshift arrow on its head to resemble a tiny Appa.
Aang doesn't even realize he's looking at a sea of himself; to him, it’s just a beautiful tribute to a world he worked so hard to save. Because he isn't wearing his formal robes, just a simple traveling cloak and a scarf tucked high to hide his tattoos, he’s just another face in the crowd—a boy enjoying the night with his partner.
Watching him, a lump forms in your throat that has nothing to do with the smoky air. You think about the weight he carries, the sheer, impossible burden placed on shoulders that were only twelve years old when they had to hold up the entire world. While other children were learning to play games or master their first basic bending forms, Aang was facing down a warlord, deciding the fate of nations. He ended a century of darkness not with hatred, but with a kindness so authentic it redefined what it meant to be a hero. He is the most genuinely good person you have ever known, someone who chooses peace even when the world demands violence, and seeing him finally standing in a place where his culture is celebrated instead of mourned makes your heart ache with pride.
But as the night wears on and the crowd grows thicker, that pride begins to curd into a jagged edge of possessiveness that you can’t seem to dull.
The more you see people cheering for the "Avatar," the more you feel a hollow, cold ache spreading through your stomach. It’s a selfish, terrifying realization that you have to share him. Every person here feels like they own a piece of him; they see the icon, the savior, the legend who belongs to the history books and the public squares. They don't know the way his nose crinkles when he’s trying not to sneeze, or the specific, hushed tone he uses when he tells you he had a dream about the monks again.
You look at his profile, illuminated by the flickering glow of a nearby dragon-fire display, and you feel a desperate need to pull him away, to hide him in a place where no one else can look at him. It feels wrong to feel this way, especially when you know what he sacrificed for you. He chose you over the cosmic energy of the universe; he turned his back on the path to total enlightenment because his love for you was a tether he refused to cut. The world needs the Avatar to keep the balance, to be the bridge between spirits and men, but your need for him feels just as vital, just as cosmic. You need Aang, the boy who forgets to tie his shoes, not the master of all four elements who belongs to the masses.
The noise of the festival starts to feel like it’s underwater, a dull roar that presses against your ears. You see a young girl run up to a man dressed as Aang, hugging his knees and calling him a hero, and the sight feels like a physical blow to your ribs. You want to scream that the real hero is right here, but you also want to wrap your arms around him and never let go, terrified that the world will eventually ask for more of him than he has left to give. You are in love with a man who is a public utility, a living monument, and the jealousy of that shared existence feels like it’s suffocating you.
"And the firecrackers!" Aang exclaims, oblivious to the internal storm brewing beside him. He’s looking up at a nearby stall where a merchant is demonstrating 'spirit-flashes' that burst into the shapes of soaring cranes. "They said they’re using a new mixture from the Fire Nation colonies that doesn't produce as much smoke. It’s so much cleaner! Don't you think that—"
He stops mid-sentence, the momentum of his walk carrying him a step further before he feels the resistance in your hand. He tugs slightly, his fingers tightening around yours as he realizes you’ve come to a complete halt in the middle of the thoroughfare. Aang turns back, his expression shifting from exuberant joy to a sudden, flickering confusion. He swallows the last bite of his dough, wiping a smudge of sugar from his lip with the back of his hand.
"Hey, what's the hold up?" he asks, trying to maintain the lighthearted energy of the moment. He offers a goofy, lopsided grin, his head tilting to the side. "If you're waiting for the fire-flakes, I promise they’re in the next square. Or are you just stunned by my incredible disguise? I know, the scarf is very dashing, Sokka said so himself!"
He chuckles, a soft sound, but his eyes are scanning your face with growing intensity. He hasn't realized the depth of your shift yet; he thinks you’re just tired or perhaps overwhelmed by the noise. He takes a step toward you, his free hand reaching out to brush a stray hair from your forehead, his touch as light as a summer breeze.
A weak, wet sniffle escapes you before you can choke it back. The sound is small, but in the micro-climate of your shared space, it hits like a thunderclap. Aang’s smile vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of panic that drains the color from his face. He drops the empty paper sleeve, letting it flutter to the grime-streaked pavement as he moves into your personal space, his arms coming up to rest heavily yet comfortingly over your shoulders.
"Whoa, hey, no, no," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave into a serious, frantic register. "What happened? Did someone bump into you? Are you hurt?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, his instincts taking over as he gently guides you toward the shadow of a closed tea shop, away from the main flow of the avatar-clad revelers. He creates a small pocket of privacy with his body, shielding you from the prying eyes of the children and the tourists. His thumbs rub small, nervous circles into the fabric of your shirt, his breath warm against your temple. You can't bring yourself to look up, feeling a crushing sense of guilt for ruining his night with a sadness you can barely explain.
"Talk to me, please," he whispers, his forehead leaning against your temple, the distant sound of celebratory drums continues to beat a rhythm that feels worlds away from the two of you.
The moonlight catches the dampness on your cheeks, and Aang’s expression softens. his eyes searching yours for a map through the silence. He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin, his heartbeat steady and strong against your ear.
For a few minutes, the only sound is the distant, muffled cheer of the festival and the rustle of the wind through the nearby willow trees. He lets you cry for a long while, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles across the back of your jacket, his breath hitching only when you let out a particularly rough sob.
Eventually, the weight of the silence becomes a question he can no longer ignore. He shifts slightly, prying you gently from his chest so he can see your face.
"Hey," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the low hum of the evening insects. "You wanna tell me what’s knocking around in there? You’re acting like you just saw a Hei Bai spirit in a bad mood."
You look away, watching a discarded firecracker wrapper tumble across the grass. Your throat feels like it’s been lined with sandpaper. How do you tell the savior of the world that you’re struggling with his divinity? You shake your head, a small, jerky movement. "It's nothing, Aang. Just... the noise. The crowds. I think I just got a bit overwhelmed."
Aang doesn't buy it for a second. He gently cups your face, his palms warm and callous-roughened from years of staff-work and travel, forcing you to meet his gaze. His brow is furrowed, a deep V of concern etched between his arrows. It’s an expression so heavy and somber that it looks foreign on his usually bright features.
"You’re not being honest with me," he says, his tone firm but devoid of malice.
A startled, watery laugh bubbles up in your chest. "I think you’ve spent way too much time around Toph. You’ve definitely picked up her lie-detection tricks. It's not fair."
Aang rolls his eyes, a flicker of his usual playfulness returning, though it doesn't reach the worry in his eyes. "I don't need a seismic sense to know when my favorite person is hiding something from me. You can tell me anything. You know that, right? No matter how small or how... dark you think it is."
He reaches down, lacing his pinky finger with yours. It’s a childish gesture, one born of the early days when everything was simpler, before the city and the politics. Together, your voices rise in a shaky, hushed unison, reciting the old chant from the Southern Water Tribe you learned from Katara and Sokka lifetimes ago: "The stars see the path, the ice holds the past, the heart finds the home where the spirit will last."
The familiar rhythm of the words settles some of the tremors in your hands. Aang is smiling now, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your chest ache. You swallow hard, the lump in your throat finally breaking.
"It’s just... look at them out there, Aang," you start, your voice trembling as you gesture vaguely back toward the lights of the festival. "They love you. They worship you. And they should! You’re the most kindhearted, authentic person I’ve ever known. You stopped a hundred years of war when you were a child. You carry the weight of entire nations on your back without letting it turn you bitter. You deserve every statue, every parade, every kid painting a blue arrow on their forehead."
Aang starts to shake his head, his face reddening with a modest "Aw, shucks" expression, but you press your palm against his chest to keep him quiet
"No, let me finish. I love that about you. I love that you’re the Avatar. But… I’m so selfish. I’m selfish! I’m so incredibly selfish!" The words spill out now, a torrent of suppressed anxiety. "I look at them and I feel this... this horrible, gnawing jealousy. I hate that I have to share you. I hate that the world thinks they own a piece of you because you’re the Avatar. Every time someone stops you for a blessing or a photo or a story, I feel like a little more of you is being chipped away and given to people who don't know the boy who forgets where he put his glider or the man who hums in his sleep."
You start to cry in earnest now, the ugly kind of sobbing that makes your chest heave and your breath hitch in painful, ragged gasps. Your vision blurs into a kaleidoscope of moonlight and tears.
"I don't want the world to take you from me," you sob, the sound echoing off the brick walls of the tea shop. "I’m terrified that one day, you’ll give so much of yourself to maintain the 'balance' that there won't be anything left for me. Not even a crumb. And it’s not just now—it’s the legacy. You’re the Avatar. You belong to the cycle. In another life, you’ll be someone else, and you’ll find someone else, and I’ll just be a footnote in a past life’s memory. It’s so unfair that I have to share you across lifetimes! You belong to the whole world, and you belong to the past and the future, and I just want you to belong to me! Right here! Right now "
You’re bordering on a panic attack, your lungs feeling constricted, your heart racing like a trapped bird. You’re certain he’ll think you’re small, or petty, or unworthy of the man who chose the world over himself so many times.
"I don't want to lose you to the cycle, Aang! I don't want to be one of a thousand partners you've had over ten thousand years!”
"Hey! Listen to me. Stop." Aang’s voice is suddenly loud, commanding but infused with a staggering amount of tenderness. He grabs both of your hands, squeezing them tight to anchor you. He waits until your eyes lock onto his, until you’re breathing with him—long, slow draws of air.
"You think I belong to them?" he asks, his voice low and vibrating with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "You think the 'Avatar' is what matters most? I am the bridge between worlds, yes. I have duties that span centuries. But those duties are just... work. They are the things I do. You? You are the reason I want to do them. You are the reason I want the world to stay in balance—so there’s a world where we can sit in a park and eat dough together."
He leans in closer, his nose almost touching yours. "You aren't sharing me, because the parts of me that belong to you... they don't even exist for the rest of the world. They don't get my vulnerability. They don't get my fears. They don't get the version of Aang that is just a man. I love you with a soul that has lived a thousand years, and in every single one of those years, I would have spent every second looking for you if I knew you were there."
He squeezes your hands, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles. "And don't you ever think you're just a footnote. You think because I’ve lived before that this is less special? It’s the opposite! My spirit has been looking for yours since the sun first rose, I’m sure of it. And as for the next life... well, I’m the Avatar. I’m pretty good at finding things. I’ll find you. I don’t care if I’m born in the Earth Kingdom or the Fire Nation or back in the temples. I will find you, and I will love you, and we’ll do this all over again. I’ll find you in the next life, and the next, and every single life I ever have. That’s a promise, and I don't break those.
You’re stunned into silence, the weight of his devotion pressing against you like a physical force. He doesn't wait for a response. He leans in, his hands sliding from your shoulders to cup your cheeks, his palms damp with your own tears.
He kisses you then, and it’s not the light, playful peck he usually gives you. It’s a long, deep kiss that tastes of the salty remnants of your tears and the sweetness of the dough he was eating earlier. You can feel the vibration of a low, contented moan in the back of his throat as he pulls you flush against him. His thumbs sweep across your cheekbones, marking you as his, while your fingers tangle into the fabric of his cloak, holding on as if he might float away if you let go. The world around you—the chatter, the lanterns, the legacy—simply ceases to exist. His body is a warm pillar of strength, his thighs pressing against yours as he holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded to the world.
When he finally breaks the kiss, he doesn't pull away far. He rests his nose against yours, and you realize with a start that his own eyes are swimming with tears. He lets out a shaky, half-breath of a laugh, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and composing himself with a sudden, bright grin that illuminates the dark alleyway.
"Man," he says, his voice returning to its usual bouncy cadence as he grabs your hand and begins to lead you back toward the lights. "It’s pretty cruel to make the Avatar cry on Avatar Day, don't you think? That’s gotta be some kind of spiritual bad luck. I think the only way to balance the scales is if you buy me an extra large serving of fire flakes. With the extra spicy seasoning."
He swings your hand between you, his steps light, almost skipping. You look at him—really look at him—and the jealousy doesn't vanish, but it settles into a small shaped, manageable hum. You realize then that he’s right. The world has the legend, but you have the heart.
And as you follow him back into the fray of orange lanterns and painted arrows, you know with a crystalline certainty that you’d choose him over cosmic energy, too.
when FIRELORD ZUKO takes a liking to AVATAR AANG'S mysterious new BRIDE.
TORN BETWEEN TWO ROADS ! — aang x reader x zuko
PLOT. republic city is finally at peace, and for once, katara allows herself to hope—maybe now, after everything, she and aang can finally become something real. but when aang returns after eight months, he isn’t alone. he comes back with you at his side, introducing you as his wife. suspicious yet helpless, his friends do their best to welcome you, even as nothing about this sudden marriage makes sense. but while everyone else keeps their distance, one person doesn’t. and perhaps Zuko gets a little too comfortable with the avatar’s new wife.
CHARACTERS. AANG and ZUKO.
CHAPTER WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, angst, implied sexual assault, fight with zuko, zuko is kind of a prick ngl, protective aang, takes place 10 years after atla, age gaps, reader is 21, established relationship, fem reader, atla spoilers, no spoilers for legend of aang, not proofread.
(please check the story masterlist for the story warnings.)
WC. 5.3k
masterlist : story masterlist
chapter four
a/n: why do i feel like i am rushing the story?
p.s. since this was originally part of the previous chapter and i ended up having to split it, i completely forgot to mention in the chapter before that it has been two days since the reader arrived in the fire nation. this is a direct continuation.
You barely remembered Aang leaving that morning.
The memory lingered in pieces, the warmth of his lips against your forehead before dawn, before he inevitably left.
By the time you had properly risen from bed, the palace was already devoid of his presence, leaving behind only the faint scent of incense that always seemed to cling to him.
So, by afternoon, you found yourself wandering.
The Fire Nation Palace had begun to feel less overwhelming over the past three days, though you still occasionally lost your way amongst its endless corridors and towering halls.
Servants moved carefully around you, trying not to subject themselves to possibly offending the Avatar.
Soldiers stood guard beneath banners adorned with crimson and gold, and the heat of the nation bled through the open architecture of the palace itself, keeping true to the Nation's title.
Your steps eventually carried you toward one of the larger balconies overlooking the capital.
And there he stood.
After your arrival, you had to come clean to Aang about your interaction with Zuko. You hadn't seen the Firelord since, and you had been hesitant to question Aang about it.
Zuko remained near the railing with his hands folded behind his back, his gaze fixed upon the nation stretched before him.
The afternoon light cast itself across the sharp lines of his face, catching against the scar along his left eye while the wind stirred the ends of his robes faintly behind him.
For a brief moment, you considered turning around.
But he had already noticed you.
"Good afternoon," he greeted, his voice surprisingly loud for how calmly he said it.
You bit your tongue, knowing you had no way around it anymore.
"Good afternoon, Fire Lord Zuko," you returned eventually, approaching with measured steps.
His attention shifted fully toward you, though his posture remained unchanged, carrying the authority he so obviously had.
There was still undeniable tension lingering between you both after your argument aboard the ship, hiding beneath the polite exchange.
Zuko broke the silence first.
"I trust your stay within the palace has been pleasant thus far?" he asked. "It has been three days already."
You moved to stand beside him, leaving enough distance between you to remain proper as your looked upon the view below.
"It has been well," you answered politely. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Zuko hummed quietly at that.
"It seems," he began after a pause, "you informed Aang about our...interaction."
Your expression nearly faltered.
So Aang had spoken to him after all.
You had not known whether he would, nor had Aang shared anything regarding whatever conversation followed afterward.
The realization unsettled, and you resisted the instinctive tension threatening to surface across your face, drawing yourself subtly straighter beside him instead while your hands folded neatly before you.
"My intention was never to offend you," he said at last, his tone stripped of it's usual sharp edge.
"I am aware my words overstepped, and I am very sorry they caused you hurt."
The apology settled awkwardly between you, leaving you unsure on how to respond.
You felt embarrassingly childish, standing there knowing you had confessed the entirety of your disagreement to Aang the moment you arrived at the palace.
It reminded you far too much of a child tattling on their bullies' parents, having to face a confrontation later.
You composed yourself quickly, each movement measured carefully to preserve what remained of your dignity despite the embarrassment steadily tightening within your chest.
"Thank you," you replied softly. "I appreciate the apology."
Your fingers folded neatly over the railings before you as your head lowered briefly.
"And I must apologize as well," you admitted after a moment. "It appears I have become the reason behind your difficulty in trusting your own friend."
Zuko's brows furrowed faintly.
"There is no need for you to apologize," he answered immediately.
"The fault lies with me. It is I who failed to trust Aang's decisions."
You nodded quietly at his words.
Another silence followed afterward, though this one felt less suffocating than before, neither of you quite willing to speak further yet you no longer carried the same urge to leave his presence.
Then Zuko broke it once more.
"There is something else I would like to apologize for."
Your brows furrowed faintly.
"What for?"
For the first time since you had arrived, hesitation crossed his face properly, as his jaw tightened briefly before he answered.
"That night," he began carefully, "at Katara's home...I overheard part of your conversation with Aang."
Your eyes snapped toward him instantly and he did little avoid your gaze.
"I had gone to return his emblem," he continued evenly.
"I did not intend to intrude, but by the time I realized what I had walked into..." His expression hardened slightly at himself.
"I remained long enough to hear more than I should have."
You stared at him for a moment, very stunned by the confession itself but also by the fact that he had admitted it to you.
If it had been you, you would taken it to the grave.
"How much did you hear?" you asked quietly.
Zuko exhaled through his nose, leaning slightly against the railing beside him.
"I could not tell you how much was spoken," he admitted. "Only that I heard enough to understand very little."
He turned, facing away from you as he spoke.
"In truth, the more I seem to learn about you, the less I understand."
There was no mockery in his statement, only honesty as you lowered your eyes briefly, fingers folding together.
"I understand your concern for Aang," you said after a moment.
"I appeared rather suddenly in all of your lives, and in doing so, I seem to have complicated matters that existed long before me." Your voice softened slightly at the next words.
"Especially between Aang and Katara."
Zuko remained silent, allowing you to continue.
"But Aang loves me," you finished quietly, not leaving any room to object your statement.
At that, Zuko nodded once.
"Yes," he said simply. "He does."
The answer is earnest.
"And if it offers you any reassurance," he continued, "from what I have observed, Aang and Katara do share a long history together, but it remains precisely that. History."
His gaze held yours steadily. "And if you still seek an answer to the fears you carried that night, then no, I do not believe Aang would ever betray you."
"I know he will not," you confirmed, and the firmness in your voice surprised even yourself.
"But...that is not my greatest concern."
Zuko studied you carefully then.
"Then what is?"
The question settled heavier, realizing you had opened another gate for a topic you shouldn't be discussing with him.
Your eyes drifted from him once more, deciding to speak on it anyway.
"I have always feared," you admitted slowly, "that one day he may regret it."
Your throat tightened slightly around the next words.
"Regret me."
Zuko's brows pulled together, recalling Aang's words from that fated night.
"Was he not the one who asked you to marry him?"
"Yes," you replied softly. "But the circumstances of our marriage were...unorthodox."
You chose the word carefully, careful enough not to reveal too much.
Zuko noticed regardless.
"How so?" he asked quietly.
You paused for a long moment after his question, your fingers curling slightly against the railing beneath your hands.
Then, quietly, you confessed.
"I was meant to marry the crown prince of my nation."
Zuko, despite the barrel of questions pouring in his mind, does not interrupt you.
For once, he remained entirely silent, understanding instinctively that this was the first genuine glimpse into your past you had willingly offered him.
"It had always been decided," you continued.
"My father served as the king's advisor for most of his life. And when the crown prince and I were born on the very same day, my father believed it to be fate." A faint smile touched your lips, but it carried little to no amusement.
"Eventually, he convinced the king of the same."
The wind swept past the balcony again, carrying the warmth of the afternoon.
"The prince and I..." You hesitated briefly, choosing your phrasing carefully. "We were acquaintances, nothing more. I could never truly call him my friend."
You let out a sigh, coming to terms with the fact you were actively sharing your history with Aang's friend.
"In truth, I do not believe he considered me one either."
Zuko watched you quietly.
"We rarely saw one another despite growing up together," you admitted.
"But it did not matter. From the moment we were born, everyone around us already knew that our futures will be united," Your fingers tightened even further against the railing.
"So we simply accepted it."
Then you fell silent entirely.
Zuko's gaze lingered on you, before he finally asked the question he had been waiting to speak.
"What changed?"
You remained still, your attention drifting upward toward the open sky stretching endlessly beyond the palace walls.
"Then," you said softly, turning your head just enough to glance at him, "Aang arrived."
Something in Zuko's expression shifted faintly, only growing more curious by the second.
"And you fell in love?" He asked carefully,
The laugh that escaped you caught him entirely off guard.
"Spirits, no!" you replied immediately, amusement finally alive in your voice.
"What exactly do you take me for, Fire Lord Zuko?"
One of his brows lifted slightly.
You shook your head softly, the remnants of your laughter fading.
"Perhaps had I not already been betrothed, I might have understood what people describe as love at first sight." You admitted after a moment.
Zuko's attention sharpened immediately.
"Then why?" he pressed again, the careful mask of indifference beginning to fracture at last beneath his growing curiosity.
You looked back toward him then, a small smile lingering upon your lips.
"Tell me something, Fire Lord," you began softly.
"Between a king and the Avatar, who do you believe commands greater authority over the world?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard entirely.
Zuko's brows furrowed faintly, as though he were attempting to understand where exactly you intended to lead him.
Still, after a brief pause, he answered honestly.
"A king."
"I believed so as well," you admitted.
"After all, the Avatar possesses no royal standing. The Avatar exists to preserve balance, to remain impartial above all else."
Your fingers traced absent patterns against the railing, running your nails across the carvings.
"A king commands nations. The Avatar merely guides them."
You paused for a clock's tick before continuing.
"But answer one more question for me." Your eyes gaining yet another glint of interest.
"If the Avatar stood to your right, and The King of..." You trailed off, looking away in thought before you continue.
"...The King of the entire world, supposedly, stood to your left..." Your smile deepened slightly.
"Which direction would your eyes turn to?"
The question lingered between you both.
Zuko inhaled slowly through his nose, and despite already knowing the answer, he still found himself considering it properly, turning the thought over in his mind before responding.
"...Right." he admitted at last.
Your smile widened in approval.
Zuko exhaled quietly, realization settling over him piece by piece as he turned his face away.
"So," he said slowly, "your father convinced Aang to marry you."
"You catch on rather quickly," you mused, confirming his statement.
A faint huff escaped him, not entirely convinced.
"But Aang is not someone who would agree to it." Zuko replied, looking back toward you now.
"Especially not regarding something of this matter." His eyes narrowed. "How exactly did your father convince him?"
"He did not," you answered softly, shutting down Zuko's trail of thoughts.
"I did."
The confession struck him immediately, his head turning toward you fully now, disbelief flashing openly across his face for the first time since this conversation began.
"How?" he asked at once.
You did not answer him.
Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze settling on him.
"Do you have a sister, Zuko?"
The question caught him entirely off guard.
His face morphed and something solemn crossed his features, his posture stiffening despite the obvious effort to conceal whatever memory your question had stirred.
You noticed it instantly.
"Oh," you murmured. "My apologies. Have I touched upon a sensitive matter?"
Zuko exhaled quietly through his nose before answering.
"No," he replied after a moment. "It is alright. I...do have a sister."
You nodded, choosing not to prod it the matter just yet.
"Then surely, as royalty, you already know the answer to what I am about to ask."
Zuko's attention narrowed down to your next words.
"If a woman of noble or royal standing were to become intimate before marriage," you said carefully—
"would a future king still choose to marry her?"
Maybe it took him a second, perhaps two, but the understanding struck him soon enough.
Zuko's eyes widened faintly as he turned completely toward you now, his body shifting as disbelief settled into his expression.
"Aang would never..." he whispered, the words leaving him almost involuntarily.
You smiled at that, and it was not bitter. If anything, it seemed strangely fond.
"You are correct," you replied quietly.
"Aang would never." Your gaze held his steadily.
"He had Katara, after all."
The statement, though quietly said, rang loud between them, filling the gaps of what Zuko could not.
You were waiting for some semblance of a comment, but none came, so you looked away first.
"My feet have begun to ache," you said, smoothing your hands along the fabric at your sides.
"I shall go rest now." You inclined your head politely.
"Good day, Lord Zuko—"
You had barely turned before his hand closed around your wrist, the force of it startling you entirely.
Pain shot sharply through your arm as your breath caught, instinctively trying to pull yourself free from his grip, but his hold remained firm.
"Did you..." His voice faltered once, entirely unsure how he could even go about asking his question.
He formed the words slowly in his mind, but when they left him, they were laced with his disbelief.
"Did you force yourself upon him?"
You froze.
The accusation struck harder than his grip ever could, halting your faint struggle against him.
The shock on your face was immediate, your expression falling apart so suddenly it seemed you could not even comprehend the words that had just been spoken to you.
You lifted your eyes toward him.
"Unhand me," you whispered plainly.
After a moment, he did. The second his fingers released your wrist, you stepped back from him, staring in utter shock before something entirely unexpected escaped you.
A laugh.
It was faint at first, as if you were trying to suppress it beneath your lungs.
But then another followed, your hand rising quickly to cover your mouth while your shoulders trembled beneath the sound.
Zuko stood frozen before you, caught between confusion and rage.
"What is so amusing?" He asked slowly, observing how you pressed the bridge of your nose, much like Aang had done.
"You!" you answered through the remnants of your laughter, lowering your hand slightly as tears gathered painfully in your eyes.
"It's amusing how easily you throw around such statements." You shook your head faintly.
"At least Sokka merely believed me status-hungry. Even that is kinder than the vile accusation you just made."
"I was not accusing you—"
"You were," you cut him off immediately. "And you did so without hesitation."
The humor vanished from your face entirely then.
"You are pathetic, Lord Zuko," you whispered, the hurt in your voice far louder than your anger could have ever been.
"You spoke those words so easily without once considering how heavily they might weigh upon me."
Only then did he properly notice the tears, realizing he completely misjudged the situation.
Regret struck his face instantly.
"I am sorry—"
"Forget it," you interrupted sharply, already turning away from him.
"I cannot even disguise this as your concern for Aang anymore." You stated as you walked away from him.
Your pace quickened across the corridor, hurt and humiliation burning through you.
"For you to stoop so low..." Your throat tightened around the next words. "It was...unexpected."
Zuko followed after you immediately.
"Please!" he called after you, urgency finally breaking through his facade, "Allow me to apologize."
"No!"
You turned around so abruptly that he stopped mere inches away from you, the closeness sudden enough to steal the breath from him entirely.
Your eyes glistened as you looked up at him, wounded frustration pulling harshly at the muscles of your face.
"Why must every conversation of ours begin with an apology and end in an argument?" You asked quietly.
For once, Zuko had no answer.
But his hands lifted instinctively, settling carefully on your shoulders in an attempt to steady both you and the conversation unraveling between you.
"I am sorry," he said again, the words stripped entirely of pride.
"I swear to you, I never intended to hurt you." He inclined his head, not trying to avoid your gaze but doing so anyway.
"I was worried for my friend, and I allowed that concern to cloud my judgment."
You said nothing.
You only stared at him with that same wounded frown, your silence far harsher than anger.
Then, after a long moment, your voice finally returned you.
"Please let me go," you murmured tiredly. "I wish to rest."
And this time, Zuko listened.
His hands fell away from your shoulders immediately, giving you space to turn around and disappear down the corridor alone.
The meeting had dragged on far longer than Aang had anticipated.
By the time he entered the throne room later that afternoon, you had already been settled into your temporary room within the palace.
He had stayed with you longer than he should have, making certain you had bathed after spending some time beneath the sheets together.
He made sure you had eaten properly, and that you were comfortable as the afternoon sleep finally took you, visibly tired from your journey.
Only then had he forced himself away.
And now, seated within the throne room amongst ministers, generals, and advisors of the Fire Nation court, Aang found his thoughts nowhere near the matters being discussed before him.
Usually, his presence within political meetings carried a certain lightness to it, an ease that often softened the stiffness of royal proceedings.
Even during disagreements, there remained something breezy about him, an openness that made people forget, if only briefly, that they sat in the presence of the Avatar.
Today, that ease was absent.
His posture remained straight throughout the entirety of the meeting, his expression unreadable, responses short and precise whenever his input was requested.
The shift in demeanor had not gone unnoticed either, several members of the court exchanging uncertain glances whenever any matter settled too long on him.
Even Zuko had noticed.
From atop the elevated throne platform, the Fire Lord's eyes drifted toward Aang more than once during the meeting, sensing something unsettled beneath the stillness he wore.
So when the final matter concluded and Aang spoke before anyone else could rise—
"Leave us."
—the entire room had fallen silent.
No one moved at first.
The command had not come from the Fire Lord.
A few uncertain gazes shifted toward Zuko instead, waiting for correction or dismissal, because at the end of the day, regardless of the Avatar's status, this remained the throne room of the Fire Nation.
Zuko studied Aang, watchful of the serious glint that showed beneath his friend's face.
Without question, Zuko inclined his head slightly toward the Grand Chamberlain.
The older man understood immediately.
"The meeting is adjourned," he announced loudly.
One by one, the members of the court began filing out of the throne room, robes sweeping across the floor while quick footsteps echoed beneath the towering ceilings.
The massive doors eventually closed behind the last remaining council member, the sound reverberating through the now empty hall.
Zuko finally rose from his place.
The elevated dais placed him high above everyone who entered the room, an intentional symbol of authority inherited through generations of Fire Lords.
From below, he appeared untouchable seated there, distant in both power and stature.
Yet now he descended the side steps without ceremony, his robes shifting behind him as he approached Aang directly, concern settled into his features almost immediately.
"What is it you wish to discuss?" he asked, voice loud and clear now within the emptiness of the throne room.
He doesn't receive an answer from the Avatar.
His brows furrowed faintly.
"You seem distressed. Is your wife dissatisfied with her chambers?"
Aang said nothing once more as he remained standing in the very center of the room, unmoving beneath Zuko's gaze.
Zuko slowed slightly near the final step.
"You had the court dismissed. What is this about, Aang?" he asked again, confusion beginning to edge into his voice.
Aang finally looked at him properly then.
"What was your real reason for bringing my wife here?"
Zuko stopped mid-step, his expression tightening faintly as he stood directly before Aang. He searched his face briefly, trying to determine how much exactly had been said.
"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.
Aang did not waver.
"Were you genuinely trying to help me," he asked bluntly, "or did you bring her here to investigate her?"
The Fire Lord was speechless; the frightening part was how accurate the accusation truly was.
Zuko felt the realization strike immediately, though years of royal composure kept it from reaching his face fully. But, beneath the surface, something unpleasant twisted sharply in his chest.
Not fear of confrontation.
Not fear of punishment.
Fear of disappointing.
It was an old feeling, one Zuko despised for how easily it returned whenever Aang looked at him like this.
Once, years ago, he had chased the twelve-year-old boy across the world in desperate pursuit of stolen honor, reducing the Avatar to nothing more than a target he believed might fix his broken life.
And even after all these years, even after friendship and forgiveness and peace, part of him still feared becoming that person again in Aang's eyes.
So he lied.
"Aang," he began steadily, "what would make you think such a thing? That was never my intention."
Aang's expression hardened faintly.
"It felt intentional when you questioned my wife about our marriage." Aang was agitated now, visibly trying to slow he thoughts down before saying the next words.
"Even more so when you lied and misled her after she answered you honestly."
Zuko folded his arms loosely across his chest.
"We were having a conversation," he replied. "One your wife initiated after entering my study."
"From what I heard," Aang countered immediately, "she was ready to leave. You were the one who stopped her."
"She appeared restless," Zuko answered. "I merely offered her tea."
"And with the tea," Aang countered coldly, "you offered to discuss Katara."
Zuko stared at Aang.
You truly had hidden nothing from your husband.
For some reason, Zuko had assumed you would omit certain details, particularly the conversation surrounding the Water Tribe girl.
Yet instead, you had recounted the interaction in full, trusting Aang enough to leave nothing concealed between you.
The realization settled, understanding that he underestimated your bond with Aang.
"Your wife was the one who asked about it," Zuko replied at last. "And out of respect for both you and Katara, I chose not to speak on it."
"That only made things worse!"
Aang's voice rose slightly then, frustration finally slipping through the restraint he had maintained since entering the throne room.
The sound echoed sharply through the empty hall before he abruptly stepped back, shutting his eyes as his fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, likely stopping himself from openly speaking of the insecurities you try to hide from him.
The gesture was familiar to Zuko. Aang would often do so whenever he was forcing himself not to say something harsher.
Zuko liked to think it was something the Avatar had picked up from him.
Aang exhaled as he lowered his hand.
"Zuko," he began, "I don't want to drag this out. I'm not here to fight with you."
Despite trying to remain calm with his words, Aang looked at Zuko dead in the eyes, telling a different story altogether.
"Just...don't meddle in my marriage."
"I never intended to—"
"You keep saying that," Aang interrupted, seemingly fed up with everything, "but right now I'm having a hard time believing you."
The words struck Zuko hard.
"Please," Aang continued, "don't turn against my wife just because you don't know her."
Zuko said nothing.
There was very little he could say.
"I'm the one who brought her here," Aang went on.
"If you have questions, ask me."
Perhaps the statement was genuine permission. Perhaps Aang truly would have answered whatever Zuko wished to know in this moment.
But something told him pressing further would only worsen matters.
So Zuko straightened himself instead and answered with the composure expected of a Fire Lord.
"I have no questions, Aang. It is an honor to extend my hospitality to both you and your wife."
Some of the tension in Aang's shoulders eased at that.
"Thank you."
And with that, he turned away.
His footsteps echoed through the empty throne room as he headed toward the doors, the guards outside already shifting in preparation to open them for the Avatar's departure.
Yet just before the doors parted, Aang stopped.
Without fully turning back, he tilted his head slightly for his voice to carry clearly across the room.
"If I hear you've spoken to her again," he said quietly, "it better be to apologize."
Then, before Zuko could answer, the doors opened, and Aang walked out.
Zuko could not sleep.
The palace had grow quiet, the halls outside his chambers empty save for the occasional shift of guards changing posts, yet sleep refused to claim him no matter how still he remained beneath the covers.
He had continued through the rest of the day despite the fight he had with you, burying himself beneath reports, meetings, and discussions in hopes that duty might silence the thoughts plaguing him.
It had not worked.
Now, with darkness stretched across room, he found himself replaying every word spoken between you both on the balcony earlier that afternoon.
And every time he reached the end of the memory, it only worsened.
Not only had he failed to offer the proper apology Aang had all but demanded of him days prior, he had managed to turn the conversation into something far uglier.
The worst part was that he had not even realized the severity of his words until he saw your face fall apart before him.
Zuko shut his eyes, exhaling through his nose before opening them again to stare upward.
The darkness above him became a canvas for recollection, his mind returning once again to the fragments of your conversation.
"If a woman of noble or royal standing were to become intimate before marriage, would a future king still choose to marry her?"
He understood more now.
Your previous engagement had ended because of intimacy before marriage. That part had become painfully obvious the moment you revealed the existence of the crown prince.
"Aang would never..."
"You are correct. Aang would never. He had Katara, after all."
Zuko pressed back against the pillow beneath his head.
He had misunderstood you entirely.
At first, he had believed your words implied Aang's refusal came solely from loyalty to Katara, yet the more he replayed the conversation now, the more flawed that assumption became.
Because Zuko knew Aang.
He knew his values, the vows Air Nomads upheld, and that his discipline had been rooted into him since childhood.
Aang would never dishonor a woman in such a manner, regardless of Katara's existence.
You no longer sounded accusatory.
You were bitter. Hurt even
Then came the memory he regretted most.
"Did you force yourself upon him?"
Zuko shut his eyes again immediately, shame twisting sharply through his chest.
Spirits.
The answer had been right in front of him the entire time.
Whatever happened between you and your former betrothed had not been your choice.
That was why your engagement collapsed.
That was why honor weighed so heavily upon you.
That was why the accusation had shattered you so completely.
And instead of understanding, he had cornered you with the cruelest conclusion possible simply because he could not make sense of where Aang fit within the story.
So he had grasped onto the first explanation that seemed logical and hurled it toward you without thought.
The memory of your breakdown made his stomach twinge with guilt.
He should have known better.
While Zuko spent the night trapped within the unrest of his own thoughts, you had finally managed to find sleep.
The night was still early, but the hurt left behind by your argument had exhausted you more than you realized.
And after hours spent curled beneath the blankets, wishing for Aang's return, your mind had eventually surrendered to slumber.
The palace had remained quiet then, the distant crackle of torches outside your chambers blending into the stillness of the night until everything faded into unconsciousness.
You did not remember what you had been dreaming about when you woke.
Only noise.
It reached you faintly at first, enough for your dreams to blur into confusion while sleep still clung heavily to your senses.
Somewhere beyond the walls of your chambers, voices rang through the halls accompanied by hurried footsteps and the metallic clash of armor.
Your brows furrowed as your eyes slowly opened.
Another shout echoed through the distance.
Then another.
You pushed yourself upright immediately, the blankets slipping from your body while your heart began beating faster without fully understanding why.
The room remained dark save for the pale wash of moonlight slipping through the heavy curtains, and in your disorientation, you could only sit there listening as the commotion outside grew louder by the second.
You still could not make out the words.
Your fingers fumbled for the robe resting near the edge of the mattress, quickly pulling the thin fabric around yourself before tying it shut with clumsy hands.
The chill in the room suddenly felt unbearable, as you slowly got off the mattress and made your way towards the door.
Then came the scream that shattered through the corridor clearly enough for you to finally understand.
"Attack! Attack on the palace!"
You hadn't misheard. The statement was undeniable.
Every thought in your mind vanished.
You stepped back so abruptly, you almost lost your balance, panic flooding through your chest while your eyes darted around your chambers.
What were you meant to do?
Leave the room?
Remain hidden?
Find guards?
Your pulse hammered painfully while another wave of shouting erupted somewhere beyond in the palace, followed by the unmistakable sound of guards running.
You could not bring yourself to open the doors blindly.
Not without knowing what waited beyond them.
So instead, you hurried toward the windows at the far side of the room, your bare feet slipping slightly against polished floors as you reached for the thick cord holding the curtains shut.
Your hands trembled while pulling it.
The curtains slowly lifted upward with each tug, moonlight spilling wider into the chambers inch by inch.
At first, you saw as smoke curled upward from somewhere within the palace grounds.
Then, the fire caught your eye, orange light flickering violently against the night sky.
And then you saw it.
Something enormous burned through the darkness toward the palace itself.
Your breath caught instantly.
It resembled the sun more than fire, a massive sphere of blazing orange and gold tearing across the sky with terrifying speed, growing larger with every passing second until you realized—
It was coming directly toward you.
The cord slipped from your fingers as your body froze.
The curtains collapsed shut immediately, swallowing the room back into darkness while panic seized your entire body.
You turned and ran.
But before you could barely reach past the bed, the world behind you erupted.
The impact crashed through the chambers with catastrophic force, glass exploding outward while heat and destruction tore through the room in an instant.
chapter six coming soon...
a/n: I will just straight up say that i have projected myself onto zuko's character in my fic (NOT IN THIS CHAPTER), it will make sense in the future chapters and i may even explain it when the time comes. whatever happens with zuko going forward...everyone will not understand it, but i will explain my perspective on it, rest assured.
[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)
“i feel like i’m more of your masseuse than i’m your boyfriend.”
aang is good at massages. he’s so good at massages that you make it your mission to partake in strenuous activity just as an excuse for one. he’s happy to be of service for you, of course— however, he’ll always notice the glint in your eye before you lower your garment down to where your lower back meets your ass to give him a glimpse of what you both know what’s to occur. handing him your favorite oils, he kneels behind you and gives the nape of your neck a quick kiss before pouring a generous amount onto his hands. feeling the heat of his larger presence encompass you while calloused but familiar hands travel up and down your backside in a gentle kneading that has you thanking the spirits for a blessing such as this.
you lean back when he targets a knot that’s been giving causing a certain discomfort that only he’s able to soothe. “well, if shoe fits.”
he huffed in amusement, no offense taken really— but because he’s just as much of an active participant of this foreplay you both have developed. there have been numerous instances of your therapeutic sessions turning into something indecorous. despite it all, his hands move from the blades of your back to the frontside of underneath your breasts, his thumbs just barely grazing your nipples— letting them harden before he carries their full weight against him. he can’t help but love the softness of your skin against the indentation his hands leave, the look of your knitted brows, and the soft moans that come out of you from his doing. he thinks of no better way to spend his time alleviating your pain, then having you underneath him soon after.
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