burst-of-iridescent:lotustiled:sketching zutara kisses is my comfort activity For as long as she can
burst-of-iridescent:lotustiled:sketching zutara kisses is my comfort activity For as long as she can remember, Katara has dreamed of her first kiss. After all, there is not much else to do in a village decimated by war than lose oneself in imagination. During the day, amidst cooking and laundry and yelling at Sokka, Katara imagines the day she can call herself a waterbending master, the day her father returns from war, the day the Avatar comes back. At night however, snuggled between her grandmother and brother, Katara allows her mind to wander to more girlish fantasies. She thinks of the boy she will love, the man she will marry, the children she will have, and lulls herself to sleep with dreams of a future she knows she may never have. When her first kiss happens, as is customary, it does not live up to expectations. Sure, Jet is tall and brave and handsome, and her heart flutters like a sparrow bee when he pulls her close, but there is an edge to the kiss that turns her stomach. She chalks it up to nerves and leaves, blushing, and later - much later - curses herself for not recognizing the taste of bitter hate on her tongue. Her second kiss happens in the dark, a clumsy fumbling of mouth against mouth. It is sweet and gentle, as is her best friend, and even though it is a little desperate and a little awkward, at least it does not sting in the aftermath. Katara thinks she can live with that. (Years afterward, she will wonder how she ever came to such a conclusion.) Her third kiss is different. It begins in dreams, borne of humid nights on the beach and laughing conversations amidst steam and flame. Dreams turn to want and want turns to fierce longing, until her third kiss becomes months in the making and still, still, remains denied to her. It is on a sun-drenched morning in the Fire Nation, three weeks after the sky burned crimson and lightning scorched the royal palace courtyard, that Katara finally stops waiting and just does. Zuko is still holding the fire lily in his hands, shy smile on his face, when she leans in. The smile fades to something like stunned awe and hesitant disbelief, pink brushing the lines of his cheekbones. This close, she can see the individual flecks of amber amongst the gold of his irises, the way his lips curve upwards as they form her name. He’s leaning in now, drawn toward her by the same magnetism that has pulled them back to each other over and over again, that has led them to this exact moment, right here, when the world stills to the touch of his lips against hers. Kissing Zuko is everything. It is the soft touch of daylight on the horizon after a long winter, the summer sunshine of lazy afternoons on Ember Island surrounded by everyone she loves. Kissing Zuko is not Jet’s burning rage, nor Aang’s passive uncertainty; it is the gentle heat of the hearth after a hunt, the weight of her mother’s knitted blanket around her shoulders; it is warmth, safety, home.His hand slips into her hair, tangling in the loose waves beneath her bun to grip her closer to him. His other hand rests on her hip, and hers settles on his chest, fingers splaying across his torso, where the edges of his starburst scar are burned into her memory. When they break apart, seconds, minutes, hours later, they are both smiling. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” her brilliant boy says, with eyes like twin candleflames, and Katara falls in love all over again. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” she echoes, and thinks of the two of them, both wanting and holding back, kept silent by fear for no reason at all, and the whole thing seems so absolutely ridiculous in hindsight that there’s nothing she can do but laugh. “We’re a pair of idiots,” she giggles, leaning her head into the crook of his neck as she hugs him. “Well,” Zuko says thoughtfully, arms coming up around her to cocoon her in warmth, “I was probably going to be one anyway, so at least now I get to do it with you.” Then they’re both laughing, the sound of their mingled voices reverberating off stone and wood and water, wrapped in each other’s arms, and though it is not her perfect first kiss, nor her second, it’s better than anything she could have dreamed of. And if this is what the rest of Katara’s life is going to be like, well -She thinks it’s a pretty good start. after seeing this beautiful art circulating on my feed all day, i couldn’t not write fic for it. i hope i did this stunning work justice <3 HI HELLO DON’T MIND ME JUST DROWNING IN MY OWN SCREAMS AND TEARS. you write so beautifully :’) thank you for this gem! -- source link
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