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The Avatar's Wife
Chapter 10
The time had moved and settled into the estate like dust. Seven months had been round and high. Onji could still pretend the weight wasn’t real. Nine months was different. The baby sat low now, pressing against bone. Noble wives didn’t complain, if not Aang. Su was not always within arms reach. Onji just paused a second longer before standing, one hand at her lower back, before smoothing her robes and moving like she hadn’t felt it.
Kazumi arrived mid-morning. No letter. No servants announcement. The side door opened and there she was, blunt and sharp-eyed, carrying nothing but herself and the weight of clan history.
Suri saw her first from the courtyard. “Aunt Kazumi!” A fire blast went wild and nearly singed the grass. Soren sent an air gust to blow it out, laughing.
Kazumi’s face changed. All the sharpness softened. She dropped to their height right there on the stones. “Suri. Soren.” She ruffled Soren’s hair and caught Suri’s hand. “Show me that new form you wrote me about. The one with the spiral.”
Suri beamed and started moving. Soren copied her, tongue between his teeth. For them, Kazumi had nothing but warmth. Aunt first. Always.
Aang was outside with them, correcting Soren’s stance. He straightened when he saw Kazumi. His hand moved before he thought about it, finding Onji’s lower back as she came to the door. Reflex now. Claim. “Kazumi. You came.”
Kazumi stood and faced him. The warmth for the kids shut off. Polite. Distant. “Avatar.” Just the title. Nothing more.
Onji welcomed her sister inside. Su brought tea. Then Su stepped back, quiet. The room narrowed to just the two sisters and the steam rising between them.
For a while, no one mentioned Aang. Kazumi helped Onji shift a cushion behind her back. Onji winced when the baby kicked, then smiled like it was nothing. They talked about clan gossip. About Kazumi’s garden in the lower district. About the last time Onji defended Kazumi when their uncle called her “adopted trash” at a family gathering. Onji hadn’t raised her voice then. She never did. She just looked at him until he looked away.
Real sister time. Slow. Heavy with things unsaid.
While pouring the second cup, Onji reached for the pot and her robe slipped at the collarbone. Kazumi saw it. A dark mark. Faint, but there. She didn’t accuse. She didn’t stare. She just asked, quiet, like she was asking about the weather.
“Hickey?”
Onji’s hand went to her neck like she’d forgotten it was there. She touched it and smiled. Small. Regal. No flinch. “Mosquito bite,” she said. Polite. “The rains were bad last week.”
Kazumi took her cup. Studied the steam instead of Onji’s face. She was old enough to know what a mosquito bite looked like. She’d been bitten her whole life in the estate gardens. This wasn’t that. She said nothing more. She didn’t have to. She read the room and understood.
Aang came in then, wiping his hands on a cloth from training the twins. He saw the two sisters sitting close and something in his chest tightened. Panic hadn’t left. If anything, it had dug in deeper overnight.
He crossed to Onji and his hand found her shoulder. Not her back this time. Shoulder. Safer. Still a claim. “Kazumi,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Kazumi nodded. Polite. Distant. Her eyes flicked once to Onji’s neck, then away.
Lunchtime came. Onji stood slowly and Su was at her elbow before she asked. “To eat with the children outside in the garden” Onji told Suri and Soren. The twins groaned but went. Su helped Onji to the door, hand steady at her back. The door closed behind them. Aang and Kazumi alone.Silence stretched. Aang broke it first. He started better this time. Calm. Reasonable. An olive branch before the fight.
“I know me and you aren't the closest in laws but it won't change my being here, the same as it won't with yours,” he said. “I don’t want there to be tension between us. For Onji’s sake. For the kids’ sake. They’re happy right now. I want to keep it that way.”
He paused. Then he delivered the line he’d rehearsed in his head since Kazumi walked in, thinking it made him the bigger person.
“I am your sister’s husband and I don’t want us to share any animosity between us, of course. Your sister is happy. The kids are happy. I wouldn’t want you and your sister to fight over small things.”
He said “small things” like the mark on Onji’s neck was nothing. Like his hand on her shoulder was nothing. Like Kazumi’s stare was a petty sister drama. He's Patronizing her!
Kazumi set her cup down. No sound. “I was there,” she said. Flat. “Suri’s birthday. I came to drop off the carving I made her. I wasn’t supposed to hear anything. I heard you anyway. On the other end of a conversation. Private. Not public. Just you, broken. And a woman telling you it was over.”
Aang went still. Blood left his face.
“You didn’t know anyone knew,” Kazumi said. “Good. Onji doesn’t know it's over. She only knows you had an affair for eight years. She doesn’t care. She’s not that into m…She’s not attached to you. But I care.”
She stood. Many years of Onji standing between her and the clan whispers. When Kazumi’s own marriage fell apart and everyone had opinions, Onji stood by her. Silent. Steady. No lectures.
“So now you’re here,” Kazumi said. Voice low. “After you were empty. After rejection. And suddenly you can’t stop touching her. She's nine months pregnant with your children and you’re putting marks on her and calling her your wife because you’re terrified she’ll leave too. But that’s not love, Avatar. That’s panic, the refusal to be alone.”
Aang’s fists clenched at his sides. Guilt hit first. Then Panic Love surged harder, trying to drown it. “You don’t understand my marriage.”
“I understand what it looks like when someone latches onto the first steady thing they can find,” Kazumi said. “Onji is steady. She won’t leave. That’s what you want. Not her.”
She turned toward the door. No slam. Just quiet. Final.
“Keep your hands off my sister. Unless you mean it. And we both know you don’t.”
Upstairs, Onji sat on the edge of the bed while Su pressed a cold cloth to her neck. She told herself mosquitoes bit there too. The baby kicked hard against her ribs. She breathed through it and endured.
The Avatar's Wife
Chapter 9
Aang watched Onji pour his tea. The steam curled up between them, slow and steady. The way her wrist turned, the quiet focus on her face.
Katara.
A name that has been ringing in his head for a while now…a figure he could not forget about. She was starting to morph into his life invading his mind, his routine, his life, his…marriage. And everytime he reminds himself she is not here and hasn't been for a while. She doesn't even check up on him but can he blame her when he has not reached out either. But he wasn't the one who threw away all those years together,all his care,all his love,all his vulnerability,all those memories she did! Not him!
The scent of ginger, rosemary and… jasmine lingered in the room and his entire senses took it in and for a heartbeat he was 19 again, in a tent in the South Pole, Katara pouring tea after a long day of bending practice. She’d looked up and laughed at something he said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.
Guilt stabbed through him. Sharp. Ugly.
He forced his eyes back to Onji. Onji was here. Onji didn’t leave. Onji built him a home. Onji stayed up with him, brought him tea, managed the estate so he didn’t have to. Katara fought beside him, was what his childhood self wanted, what he thought he needed and in the end… she left. He did not leave she did. Onji… stayed for him.
“Thank you,” he said. And meant it. Meant it more than he should.
Onji nodded, polite. “Of course, my lord.”
“My husband,” he corrected softly. Testing the word. Liking how it sounded when she was the one saying it without him asking. “Say husband.”
Onji’s fingers paused on the teapot for half a second. Then she smiled. Small. Regal. “Of course, husband.”
The word landed warm in Aang’s chest. He told himself it was love. That this — her steady hands, her quiet presence, the way the estate ran smooth because she was in it — this was what love felt like when it wasn’t on the run.
“Katara was water. Refreshing and drowning him. Onji was fire. Warm and lighting his path. One flooded and changed with the tides. The other consumed and remained constant. One needed air…the other did. Plus air always made fire burn greater.” his mind had been repeating these words over and over again until he'd finally believe them.
He reached out and covered her hand where it rested on the table. Not demanding. Just… holding. Relishing the contact. Relishing that she didn’t pull away. Relishing that she was “his”.
“Stay,” he said. Soft. Almost a plea he didn’t recognize in himself. “Just… stay like this a little longer.”
Onji didn’t answer. She just let him hold her hand. Sitting next to him as he pulled her closer and started to explain the contents of the scroll in his hand to her like she doesn't know how it all works. Her intelligence almost feels insulted but doesn't act on it.
Day Four
Morning letters came with the courier. Three of them. Eastern Temple grain shortage. Northern acolytes requesting new prayer mats. The headmistress at Suri’s school asking about her mother’s signature on a permission slip.
Onji handled them at the low table while Aang pretended to read. She wrote fast, neat, decisive. No hesitation. This was her work. She’d been doing it for eight years while he was “busy saving the world.”
Aang watched her seal the last letter with wax. Her focus was total. Lips pressed, brow faintly furrowed. She looked nothing like Katara. Katara would’ve teased him while writing. Onji didn’t tease. She handled.
When she stood, one hand braced on her lower back for half a second before she smoothed her robes. Noble wives didn’t show strain. “Rest,” Aang said before she could move to the kitchen.
“I’m not tired,” she said. Lie. The third one today.
Aang stood and took the stack of letters from her hand. Their fingers brushed. She didn’t pull back. He didn’t let go fast. He liked the weight of the paper. Proof she trusted him enough to let him hold her work. “I can send these,” he said. Quiet.
Onji blinked. Surprised. “You don’t have to, husband.” The word. He made her say it. And she did. And he relished in it. It felt like she was choosing him. Not duty. Him.
He sent the letters. Felt useful. Felt needed.
Day Five
Rain. The estate smelled like wet stone and wood.
Onji moved through the halls checking for leaks. Seven months pregnant and she still climbed the small ladder to inspect the rafters. Aang found her there, sleeves pushed up, hair damp from a drip she missed. “Get down,” he said.
“I’m nearly finished,” she answered. Calm. Competent. “If the archive room floods, the children lose their history.”
Aang caught the ladder before she could descend. Held it steady. When she came down, her robes clung to her belly and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. She looked… capable. Built. The word he’d used to push her away years ago. Now “built” meant she didn't break.
She reached for a rag. He caught her wrist. Light. “You’ll catch cold,” he said. “Let the servants do it.”
“They’re entertaining the children,” she said. Then, softer: “I’m used to it, husband.” Husband. She said it without him asking this time.
Aang’s chest tightened. He pulled her away from the draft and draped his own cloak over her shoulders. His hands lingered. Adjusting it. Fingers brushing her collarbone. She stood still. Allowed it.
He told himself it was concern. It was. It was also relishing. Relishing that she let him fuss. Katara would’ve laughed and shoved him off.
Onji let him care.
For a second, steam from her damp hair reminded him of Katara after sparring. Wet, laughing, alive.
Guilt hit like a stone. Aang stepped back fast. “I’ll have someone bring tea,” he said, voice too rough.
Onji nodded. “Yes, husband.” He walked away faster than he needed to. Panic love said: Stay. She's here. She won't leave like she did.
Day Six
Dinner again. Just them. The children ate with the servants early. “So you and your mother can talk,” Su had said, eyes sharp.
Onji served him first. Always. Rice, then vegetables, then the fish he liked. She remembered. Of course she remembered. She’d been memorizing him for eight years. She poured his tea. Wrist tilted. Steam rose. Katara.
Aang’s chopsticks froze halfway to his bowl. Same angle. Same quiet. Same…
No. He set the chopsticks down and picked up the cup instead. Drank. Let the heat burn his tongue. Ground himself in Onji. Onji was here. Onji stayed.
“You’re quiet,” Onji said. Not accusation. Observation.
“Just thinking,” Aang said. Then, because he wanted to hear it again: “Say my name.”
Onji’s eyes flicked up. Confusion, then understanding. Noble wives didn’t use names casually. Names were intimacy.
“Aang,” she said. Soft. Careful. Like testing a word in a foreign language.
He exhaled. Sounded like relief. “Again.”
“Aang.”
He smiled. Small. Real. “You make this place feel like home.”
Onji didn’t answer. She just refilled his cup. But her hand stayed near his for a second longer than necessary. Not touch. Proximity. Wives stayed close.
Aang took it as affection. He relished in it.
Day Seven
Night. Lamp low. Scrolls abandoned.
Onji fell asleep in the chair again. Three nights in a row now. She’d claim it was “light rest.” Aang knew better. She was exhausted from running an estate + pregnancy + playing perfect wife.
He watched her sleep. The way her mouth relaxed when she wasn’t performing. The way one hand rested on her belly. Protective. Fierce. That was the Onji he never saw when he was avoiding her. The mother. The builder.
He stood and crossed to her. Draped the Fire Nation blanket over her shoulders. His hand came to rest on her shoulder. Thumb brushed once, twice. Testing. She leaned into it in her sleep. Just a fraction. Acceptance.
Aang sat on the edge of the desk beside her. Close enough that her breathing touched his knee. “This is nice,” he whispered. To her. To himself. “Quiet. Safe. You… you make it nice, Onji.” He thought he saw her smile in her sleep. Probably imagined it. But he chose to believe it. Panic was loud tonight. She’s steady. She’s constant. She won’t leave. This is love. This has to be love.
Katara’s laugh echoed once in the back of his mind. Distant. Fading. Guilt twisted.
Aang pressed his forehead to his knuckles for a breath, then straightened. Looked at Onji again. No. Onji was here. Onji chose to stay. Onji loved him. Had to. Why else would she do all this? He stayed until dawn. Hand on her shoulder. Relishing the warmth. Mistaking duty for devotion.
When Onji woke, he was already at his desk. Tea steaming. Her blanket folded neatly beside him. Like nothing happened.
“Good morning, husband,” she said. Perfect. Polite.
“Morning,” Aang answered. And meant it.
The estate was quiet. The letters would come. The children would laugh. And Aang would keep relishing these moments. Calling them love.
The cage was still gold. But he was already locking the door from the inside.
The Avatar's Wife
Chapter 8
Aang woke to the sound of porcelain settling on wood. Soft. Careful. The sound Onji made when she was trying not to exist too loudly.
He didn’t open his eyes. He could feel her already. Not touching him. She never touched him while he slept. Regal wives didn’t presume. But she was there. In the chair by his desk. Again. Third night in a row.
“Morning, my lord,” she said when his breathing changed. Voice hoarse from disuse, but sweet. Smoothed at the edges. “I brought tea. Ginger. For your stomach. You barely ate yesterday.”
Aang sat up. She didn’t look at him. Not directly. Her eyes stayed on the cup, on the steam, on anything but his face. That was her tell. When she looked at everything except him, she was bracing for rejection.
He took the tea. His fingers brushed hers. She didn’t flinch. She never flinched. But her hands were warm. Always warm. Even now, three days into this quiet performance, her skin held heat like she was storing it up for him.“You didn’t sleep,” he said. Not a question.
“I rested,” she answered. Same lie. Same regal tilt to her mouth. “I slept when you did. Lightly. That’s enough.”
Seven months pregnant. Back aching. Ankles swollen. And she called that “enough.” Aang looked away. Guilt sat heavy in his chest. He’d spent eight years running from responsibility. Now responsibility sat beside him with tea and didn’t ask for anything.
“You promised to walk with me,” Onji said after a minute. Soft. Not a demand. A reminder. “For the children. They asked if we would walk together today. They like seeing us… together.”
He hadn’t promised. But he must’ve said something close to it. Some mumbled yes to make her smile fade slower. Now she was holding him to it. Not with words. With expectation.
So he stood. She stood too. Slow. Measured. One hand pressed briefly to the small of her back before she let it fall. Regal wives didn’t show pain. Not where he could see.
The gardens were empty. Morning mist still clung to the grass. Su had taken Soren and Suri for calligraphy. No witnesses. No audience for their performance.
Onji linked her arm through his without asking. That she did ask, in her way. The way her fingers only rested against his sleeve. Light. Ready to let go if he pulled away. She wasn’t clinging. She was offering. There was a difference.
They walked.Step after step. Silence, but not the sharp kind from the last eight years. This was a softer silence. The kind that came from two people pretending they knew how to be quiet together.
Onji spoke first. About nothing. About the lotus blooming early this year. About Suri’s handwriting improving. About the way Soren stood when he threw air — just like his father. She kept her voice even. Honey-soft. The voice she used for court. For diplomacy. For keeping the peace.
Aang listened. He realized he liked the sound of it. It filled the empty space he’d left in this house. For eight years it had been too quiet. Now she talked and the quiet didn’t feel like accusation anymore. It felt… comfortable.
Too comfortable.
“You should sit,” he said when she winced. Small. Covered by a breath. But he saw it.
“I’m fine,” she said. Smile tilting up at him. “Walking is good for the baby. The midwife said so.”
“The midwife also said you need rest.”
Onji’s laugh was soft. Bitter, but she hid it fast. “Rest is a luxury, my lord. I’ve had eight years of it. I’d rather be useful.”
Useful. That word landed like a stone. She’d spent eight years being useful to a ghost. Writing letters he never answered. Raising children he loved but was mostly a legend to them. Keeping the temple running while she waited all the way from her. . .their estate. And now he was back and she was still trying to be useful to him.
Aang stopped walking. She stopped too. Always one step behind. Always ready to follow.He looked at her. Really looked. At the shadows under her eyes. At the way she held herself like her spine would shatter if she slouched. At her hand resting on her belly. Not protective. Possessive. Like she was reminding herself the baby was still there. Still hers. Still his.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said. Voice rough.
“Do what?” she asked. Genuine confusion.
“Dote,” he said. The word felt ugly in his mouth. “Wait on me. Smile when it hurts. Pretend we’re…” He couldn’t say it. Pretend we’re fine.
Onji’s eyes flicked to his, then away. “I’m not pretending, my lord. I’m being your wife.”
That word. Wife. She said it like a vow she’d memorized and couldn’t stop repeating. Like if she said it enough, he’d believe it too.
Aang exhaled. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. He reached out. His hand hovered near her shoulder for a second. Then settled. Light. Just the weight of his palm.Onji didn’t move. Didn’t lean in. Didn’t pull away. She just… accepted it. Like she’d been waiting three days for him to choose. Her eyes closed for one breath. Relief flickered across her face before she smoothed it away.
“You’re tense,” she said instead of thank you. Her free hand came up. Fingers brushed his forearm. Not gripping. Just resting. Warm. Always warm. “You carry it all here.” Her thumb pressed lightly into the muscle of his arm. A wife’s touch. Habitual. From years of tending a husband who wasn’t there. Muscle memory.
Aang didn’t tell her to stop. He should have. He knew he should. But her touch didn’t feel like fire. It felt like… home. The home he’d run from. The home he’d broken. And for the first time since he returned, he didn’t want to run.
“I’m not your lord,” he said suddenly. The words surprised him as much as her. Low. Uneven. “I’m your husband.”
Onji stilled. Her hand on his arm didn’t move, but her breathing changed. Shallow. Careful. “Husband” wasn’t a title she could hide behind. “Lord” was duty. “Husband” was intimacy. And intimacy was dangerous.
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. So she just kept her hand where it was. Warm on his arm. An answer without words. An agreement without promises.
They stood there a long time. Mist burned off the pond. Somewhere far off, Suri laughed. The sound floated over the garden wall and Onji’s mouth softened at the corners. Real, for half a second.
Aang’s hand stayed on her shoulder. He told himself it was guilt. That he owed her this much. But guilt didn’t make him memorize the weight of her. Guilt didn’t make him want to keep his hand there.
Content. That was the ugly truth. He felt content with her doting. With her quiet. With her warmth.
Su watched from the upper balcony. She didn’t grumble. Didn’t glare. She just looked at them and something in her face went flat. Resigned. Like she’d just realized Onji wasn’t going to fight him. And Aang wasn’t going to stop her.
WHERE CAN A GIRL GET OZAI X READER FFs IN THIS WORLD. YEAH, I KNOW HE'S EVIL, TOXIC, MURDEROUS, REMORSELESS AND A TERRIBLE FATHER...BUT COME ON HIS HANDSOME. LIKE SON, LIKE FATHER!
The Avatar's Wife
Chapter 7
The koi pond was still. Late afternoon light turned the water gold and made the air shimmer with heat.
Soren stood at the edge, eight years old and trying not to look proud. He threw a punch. Air rippled. A pebble skipped across the pond.
“Did you see that, Mom?” he called. “The masters say I’m getting faster.”
Onji sat on the stone bench. Seven months pregnant. Firebender blood ran hot in her veins, but right now it felt like fever. Braxton Hicks squeezed low in her belly. Stress made her core burn too hot. She pressed one hand to her lower back and smiled anyway. Regal. Perfect. A Fire Nation princess smile she’d learned at six.
The other hand let Suri braid a strand of her hair. Her fingers were warm even at rest. Always warm.“I saw,” Onji said. Voice honey-soft, but with that Fire Nation cadence underneath. “Very controlled. Your father would be impressed.”
Suri giggled, tugging Onji’s hair. “Soren’s not as good as Father. Father could make the whole pond wave.”
Soren stuck his tongue out. “Takes more than air to be strong. Mom says control matters more.”
“But mother is not an Airbender so her opinion does not truly matter on the subject.” Suri smugly proclaimed to her brother who only huffed at his sister's comment.
Across the garden, Su stood near the lantern post. Onji’s handmaiden since they were twelve. She wasn’t watching the children. She was watching Onji. Folding laundry with sharp, angry creases.
“Su,” Onji said, still smiling. “The children would like help picking lotus.”
Su didn’t move. “They’re fine. I’m watching you use that Fire Nation smile again. The one that means your blood’s boiling but you won’t let anyone see the flames.”
Onji’s fingers froze in Suri’s hair. Firebenders didn’t flinch. But for one breath, heat spiked off her skin. Then she banked it. Sickly sweet back in place. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not twelve anymore, Onji,” Su said, low. “I’ve seen you burn your own palms to keep from burning someone else. Don’t do it for him.”
Suri leaned into Onji’s side. “Mom, why was father gone for so long? Eight years is longer than we’ve been alive.”
The baby kicked. Hard. Right under Onji’s ribs. Her core temperature spiked a stress response. She exhaled and the air around her mouth fogged, then heated. She pressed her palm to her belly, cooling it with control she’d learned in the palace.“That’s a big question,” she said. Voice steady. “Your father was traveling. Learning. Making the world safer so you could have this pond.”
“But he missed everything,” Soren said.Silence. The pond went flat.Onji’s smile stayed. “He didn’t miss…you. He came back.”Suri tugged her sleeve. “Is he mad at you? Because you sleep in separate rooms sometimes?”
Onji’s fingers tightened, then loosened. Heat pulsed under her skin. She had to breathe to bank it. “Married people need space. Daddy loves us.”Su scoffed. “Love doesn’t leave scorch marks on wood, my lady. I mended that chair arm this morning. Fire Nation craftsmanship. I’d know.”
Onji went cold. Not temperature-cold. Firebender-cold. The kind that came before an explosion. For one second her eyes flashed gold. Then she blinked and it was gone.“Go play,” she said. Voice still sweet. But the air around her shimmered. “Both of you.”When the twins ran off, she pressed both hands to her belly and breathed. In. Out. Bank the flame. Don’t burn. Don’t break.. She couldn’t. Not now. Not with his guilt fresh.
Su didn’t leave. “You’re seven months pregnant and your core’s running fever-hot. You’ll trigger early labor if you keep this up.”
Onji stood. Slow. Every movement precise. Firebender control. “Say nothing more.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inside, Aang sat at his desk. Not the chair by the window. Distance.
Onji entered. Tea steaming in her hands. Ginger. Her palms heated the cup without touching the flame. Rare moment of her using her fire convenience. Also a tell — she was running hot.“My lord,” she said. Knelt beside him despite her back screaming. Heat rolled off her in waves. “The children asked about your absence. Su noticed the chair.”
Aang’s eyes flicked to her hands. To the faint red glow under her skin where hs burned hottest. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine,” she said. Lied. Set the tea down. Her hands moved to his shoulders. Warm. Always warm. Firebender warmth meant comfort, safety, home. She used it like a weapon now. “Let me carry it. That’s what wives do. You were lonely. Anyone would reach for warmth. I shouldn’t have made you feel like a monster for it.”
His muscles locked. “Onji, you’re shaking.”
“From cold,” she lied. Firebenders didn’t shake from cold. “Let me. Please. A wife tends her husband’s burdens. You reached for me. I said no. But we’re past that. Aren’t we? Say we’re past it. For the children. For the baby who needs its father to stay.”
She massaged his shoulders. Her heat sank into his muscles, loosening knots. A firebenders touch is equal to healing when controlled. Apologizing when used like this. Her thumb brushed his neck and the skin there pinked from her temperature.
“Walk with me tomorrow?” she whispered. Heat in her voice now. “Show them we’re fine. We are fine, my lord. Say it.”
Aang grabbed her wrists. Her skin was too hot. Dangerously hot. The kind that burned if you held on too long. “You’re going to hurt yourself. And the baby.”
Onji blinked at him. Eyes glossy. Gold flickering at the edges. “Then let me burn, if it keeps you here. Mother's burn for what they love, Aang. It’s what we do. If I cool down, you’ll leave. And I can’t raise them alone in winter again.”
She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Her heat soaked through his tunic. A womens most intimate apology — sharing warmth when she had none left for herself.
Aang didn’t push her away. He sat there, her furnace-warm hands on his back, while guilt told him to move and relief told him to stay.
Outside, Su watched from the hallway. Arms full of laundry. “A mothers burn themselves out to keep others warm,” she whispered. “And she’s got nothing left but ash.”
The Avatar's Wife
Thank you for liking my story you guys.
Questions
Is the story understandable?
Is it moving too fast?
Should I continue making Aang the bad guy?
Do the characters make sense
Should I center around ATLA characters more?
The Avatar's Wife
|TW: Aang is scummy. Dub Con and gaslight. You read at your own discretion|
Chapter 6
Onji sat in the vanity because sitting was the only way her back didn’t scream. Seven months pregnant meant even standing to brush her hair hurt. The brush lay abandoned on the table beside her, hair half-done. The mirror reflected both of them without permission.
Aang stood behind the chair. Same spot as he’d stood three weeks ago when his hands had been careful. Asking without words. Tonight his hands weren’t asking.
He pressed his lips to hers from above, leaning over her, trapping her in the chair. A desperate kiss. Like a man who’d waited eight years and decided he wouldn’t wait for permission now.
Onji went rigid. For half a second her lips moved from shock, not want. Then her brain caught up. This wasn’t her lover from eighteen. This was the stranger she was married to. The one who left for eight years.She felt overwhelmed and rushed. The baby pressed against her lungs. No air. She started to tap on his chest, needing to catch her breath. Once. Twice. Her fists are weak but insistent. “Stop. Can’t breathe.”
Aang continued. Panic was louder than her tapping. He kissed harder, his weight pinning her to the chair. Like if he took enough she’d stop being a stranger.
She endured. Shoulders locked. Tears burning but not falling. Until Aang stopped to catch his own breath.
He cupped her face, panting. His thumbs traced her bottom lip like he was mapping territory he’d stolen. “You are so… beautiful. I don’t deserve you.” Aang said before leaning in for another kiss.
“Stop…” Onji protested. Voice thin. A plea, not a command.Aang then stopped. Half an inch from her mouth. But his hands didn’t leave her body. They rested on her shoulders, fingers digging in.
“What is it? Is everything okay?” Aang asked, puzzled. “The midwife said intimacy was permitted. Closeness helps. I though…”
“I’m just tired… I want to sleep please.” Onji said. She stared at his chest.Aang nodded. But his hands stayed on her shoulders one second too long. Weighing her words like they were a trick.
He didn’t let go. Instead he just looked at her. For a really long time. Eyes locked on her face in the mirror, her mouth, her belly stretched under silk, then back to her eyes. Not blinking. Breathing hard through his nose like he was trying to memorize her against her will.
Onji went still under his hands. Seven months pregnant and pinned to the vanity chair, with a man who’d just ignored her tapping and her “Stop.” Her skin crawled. The silence stretched. Unsettling. Heavy. Like he was deciding if he’d take more now that she was too tired to fight.
Before he could decide.“Dad!” Soren burst through the door without knocking. Staff clattering against the frame. “Suri ate the last bun and said I can’t have any…”
Aang flinched. The spell broke. His hands dropped from Onji’s shoulders like she burned him. He turned to Soren, but his eyes stayed wrong. Not dad eyes. Caught.
“Go get another bun from Cook,” Aang said, voice rough. Too loud. “Tell him I said it’s alright.”
Soren blinked between them. “Mom,are you alright? You look weird.”
Onji forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m tired, sweetling. Go eat.”
Soren left. The door didn’t quite close. Aang didn’t sit back down. He stared at the floor, hands fisted at his sides like he was holding himself back from her with his own fists.
“I’ll… I’ll be outside,” he said without looking at her. Then he left. The door closed soft. Aang’s shame.
Onji exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes. Her hands went to her belly. The baby kicked. Hard. Like it had been holding its breath too.
She stared at the closed door and thought: He’s not safe when he looks at me like that.
{The following days}
Aang still hovered. He was in every room she entered. Sitting by her bed while she napped. Standing by the window when she read. Present, but silent. Like a guard told he wasn’t allowed to speak to the prisoner.
He didn’t touch her. Not once. When it was time for her bath, he left. Every time. “Su,” he’d say, not looking at either of them. “Manage it.” Then he’d be gone before the water steamed.
Su took the job with grim satisfaction. And every time Su’s hands touched Onji, her eyes flicked to the door. Waiting for Aang to burst back in. He never did.A week passed like that. Seven days of quiet hovering. Seven nights of Aang sleeping in the chair instead of their bed.
{Late night, one week later}
Onji walked out of her bathroom. Hair dripping, robe tied loose around her belly. Steam followed her. Su stood with a towel.
“Go to bed, Su,” Onji said quietly. “I’ll manage.”
Su hesitated. Her eyes went to Aang. He was sitting near the balcony doors, back to them, staring at the dark sky. He hadn’t spoken to Onji in a week. Hadn’t touched her in a week.
“Are you sure, my lady?” Su asked, low.
Onji nodded. “Go.”Su left. The door clicking shut soft.
Aang reached for the towel on the table. He came up behind her, slower this time. Asking without words.
He started drying her hair. Gentle. Careful. Like he was handling glass that had already cracked once. For a long time neither spoke. Then his voice, low, like he’d rehearsed it for seven days:
“I just wanted to spend some time with you.” Not an apology. A justification. Onji didn’t answer. She stared at his reflection in the dark glass.
“The kids are so precious…” Aang continued, combing through a tangle. “Soren asked me today why you don’t smile at me anymore. I didn’t know what to say.”
The comb snagged. Onji flinched. He loosened his grip but didn’t stop.
“I did not realise being attracted to you repulsed you so much,” he said next. Quiet. Hurt. “Midwife said closeness helps. I thought… I thought if I was gentle, it would be alright.”
Onji closed her eyes. Suddenly she was the one who’d done something wrong by saying “Stop” and “I’m tired.”
He switched to the braid. “Quality time with my wife. That’s all I asked for. Seven days of silence. Seven nights of you turning your face away. I waited.”
The braid pulled tighter than necessary.
“You want to know what hurts?” he said. “With Su, you’re always smiling. Joking. Laughing. You call her ‘love’ when she brings you tea. ‘Thank you, love.’ With me, your husband, you’re silent. You flinch. You say ‘I’m tired.’ You say ‘Stop.’ She gets your laughter. She gets ‘love.’ I get your exhaustion and your fear. I am the father of your children, Onji. Or you’re always tired. But somehow you’re never too tired to laugh for her.”
Onji’s stomach twisted. The baby kicked hard.Aang let go of her braid and stepped back. “Goodnight, Onji.” He turned toward the balcony.
Onji watched him go in the reflection. Guilt ate her up. _I did not realise being attracted to you repulsed you so much.nYou’re always tired._
“Aang,” she said. Voice small. “At least come back to bed. Please.”
He stopped. Didn’t turn around. Then he walked back. Lay down on his side of the bed. Stiff. Staring at the ceiling. Not touching her. But his words stayed in the room, filling all the space between them.
Onji pulled the blanket to her chin. Her hands went to her belly. She stared at the dark and the night.
The guilt didn’t listen. It just sat there, heavy, while Aang breathed beside her like a man who’d been wronged.
“Aang…I am sorry.” Onji says in the darkness. Funny thing called guilt.
The Avatar's Wife
Chapter 5
The courtyard was chaotic before sunrise. Twins at eight don’t do quiet.
"Lower!"
Aang called, ducking under Suri's fire whip. She was all flame and frustration today. Her fire roared when she missed. She missed a lot.
"You're thinking too hard," Aang said. He caught her wrist, gentled the flame until it was just warmth.
"Fire doesn't need force. It needs breath. Watch."He turned as Soren came at him with a staff. Air whooshed. Same age, opposite element. Where Suri was heat, Soren was movement. Aang redirected him with one hand, feet shifting like water. Earth would have stopped him. Fire would have met him. Air just moved.
"Like that," Aang told Suri.
"Your brother isn't an enemy. He's wind. You don't fight wind. You move with it."Soren grinned, eight and fearless. "Dad, show her the disappearing one!"
"Show him the one where you don't burn the courtyard down," Aang shot back.Suri stuck her tongue out. Then tried. Her next flame was smaller. Steadier.
Aang crouched, breathed, and for one second air bent around him and he wasn't there. Then he was behind Soren, tapping his shoulder."Gone!" Both twins shrieked at once. Eight years old and still amazed by it.
Onji watched from the balcony above. Seven months, and heavy. One hand on her belly, the other on the railing. The baby kicked like it recognized them. Their father. Their bending.
"Here you are, my lady," Su said, handing her lady a cup of tea. "Fresh and hot just like you enjoy it." Onji took the cup and sipped. "Thank you Su, it's perfect. If you do not mind me asking, Su. Why has my morning tea time changed?"
Su fixed her posture, trying to hide bitterness with playfulness. "Oww you know my lady. I am trying to be useful since it seems like someone is trying to take my role… that's all." Su threw a quick glare at the Avatar as he continued training with the twins. Onji snickered, sipping again. "Is this person… Avatar Aang by any chance?" Her tone was teasing.
"Forgive me, my lady but yes! It's a good thing you two spend more time together but he seems to be pushing me out. Serving you tea is my job! Giving you foot rubs is my job! Setting your bath is my job! Drying and styling your hair is my…"
Onji sipped her tea, eyes drifting back to the courtyard. Aang was showing Soren how to plant his feet. Same stance he'd used eight years ago when he taught her how to stand her ground. She blinked. That was before.
"He's just being selfish, strange and SUFFOCATING!" Su clamped her mouth shut at the volume. "I am sorry, my lady, I shouldn't speak like that of the lord…" Onji looked down, the sun warm on her face. She handed Su the empty cup. "No it's okay, love. You are right, he is being strange… Go prepare the children for school, I think they'll be ready soon." Su bowed and went back inside.
Then the lesson ended. Suri ran off yelling for breakfast. Soren chased her, staff clattering.
The courtyard went quiet. And Aang looked up.He saw her. He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just stood there, breathing hard, like he'd forgotten what to do with his hands once the children left. Like he needed a reason to stay in the room now that his reason had run off.
Onji stood up and turned before he could decide.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her back ached. Seven months made everything ache.He was in her study when she arrived. Again.Not working. Folding a blanket she hadn't dropped. Testing the ink on a brush she hadn't used. Existing in her space the way Su did, except Su had eight years of permission and Aang only had three weeks of panic.
"The twins were loud this morning," he said without looking up. "Suri said your back hurts at this hour. She's right. You're rubbing it."
Onji lowered herself into the chair slowly. Seven months made chairs an enemy. "She's observant."
"She's yours." He set the blanket down. Didn't leave. Stood by the window instead, watching the empty courtyard. "I'll bring tea at four. You like it weak. Less nausea."
"I didn't tell you that."
"You didn't have to." He finally turned. His eyes were wrong today. Not Avatar eyes. Not calm. Man eyes. Raw, like he'd been awake too long. "You've been managing seven months alone. You shouldn't have to."The words weren't romantic. They were drowning the silence.
Before Onji could answer, Su entered with fresh tea. Saw Aang. Her smile went sharp at the edges.
"Avatar duties must be forgiving this month, my Lord," Su said, setting the tray down harder than needed. "My Lady has managed seven months alone. She isn't used to company."
Aang didn't flinch. "Yes, my duties have been quite generous, plus my wife shouldn't have to manage alone anymore."
Su's gaze flicked to Onji. Checking. Onji said nothing. She opened the ledger. "The tea is fine. You can go."
He didn't. "I'll stay until you finish. Hot tea and a cold room is illogical."
Su left. The door closed louder than necessary. Bitterness without yelling. That was Su's weapon.
An hour later Onji stood. Her lower back seized. Seven months meant the baby was all weight, all demand. She gasped, hand flying to her belly.
Aang moved before the sound finished. Hands on her back. Warm. Steady. One thumb found the knot near her hip and pressed. It helped. That was the problem. It helped.
Three days ago he'd been in the healer's wing. Voice low, asking questions he thought were improper. "For a woman seven months along… is it safe for a husband to be close? To touch? To share a bed?"
The midwife had smiled gently. "My Lord, intimacy between husband and wife is permitted in the later months, if she is comfortable and you are gentle. The child is strong. Your closeness eases her burden." He'd taken that answer like orders from a general. Gentleness. Presence eases strain.
Now his forehead almost touched her shoulder. Not a kiss. A lean. Like Katara's absence had knocked the air out of him and Onji's spine was the only solid thing left."Better?" he whispered. Not to her. To the midwife. To himself.
Onji closed her eyes. The baby kicked. She didn't feel attraction. She didn't feel anger. She felt seven months pregnant and too tired to fight a man who finally decided to stay.
"Yes," she lied. Soft. Practical. Because telling him to stop would mean explaining why. And she didn't have the energy.
Aang's hands stayed one second longer than they should have, moving up to her upper back. Then it slipped out, unguarded: "You look so amazing…"
Onji didn't answer. Amazing was a word for Suri's fire forms. For Soren's air tricks. Not for a woman whose ankles swelled and whose spine felt like cracked stone. She chose silence. It was easier.
Aang stepped back. Put space between them like a good husband would. Like a man who had permission but no map. He wasn't courting her. He wasn't seducing her. He was clinging.
The Avatar's Wife
|Warning English is not my first language and I am not a writer. Thinking of love drought in this chapter.|
Chapter 4
Steam clung to Onji's skin. Water dripped from her hair onto the stone floor, each drop echoing in the quiet of her chambers. Su had wrapped her in a robe and vanished without a word. Young handmaidens learned early when to become invisible.
The doors to her chambers stood open.
Aang sat on the edge of the eastern bed.He didn't look up when she entered. His shoulders were rounded. Not the Avatar. Not the man who could bend the air in a room just by laughing. Just a man who looked misplaced, like he'd walked into the wrong story and didn't know how to leave.
He waited.The room felt wrong with him in it.
Onji crossed to the vanity. Her vanity. The wood was cool under her thighs when she sat. She pulled the brush from the drawer. The bristles caught on wet strands near her scalp. Pull. Stroke. Pull. Stroke. The motion was automatic.
She tries to focus on herself rather than the man behind her who she doesn't know how to address.She continues trying to brush her hair and then another hard kick. She puts down the brush and tries to manage the pain. “Where's Su when you need her?” she mumbles to herself.
Aang stood. Three quiet steps brought him behind her. She saw him in the mirror. He saw her seeing him. For a moment neither of them moved. The air between them held its breath.He took the towel from the stand. He didn't ask. He lifted a section of her wet hair and pressed the towel to it. Gentle. Methodical. Like he was handling old parchment.“I'll assume she left because of my presence…allow me to serve you then.”
"You're both restless tonight," he said. His voice was low. It wasn't directed at her. It sounded like he was talking to the mirror. To himself. "The kicks are stronger when you're tired. I remember that. From before."Onji paused. "The baby is active," she said. The words were flat. A report, not a conversation.
"I can feel it," he said. He squeezed water from the ends of her hair. His fingers were warm against her scalp, working through the damp in slow passes. "When I was twelve, I used to get stomach aches before council meetings. My whole body would jump. Like this." His palm settled over her hand for half a second. Just the weight of it. Then he lifted it away. "It passes. Usually.”
“Did you just compare carrying an entire life to eating the wrong meal?” she accuses. “Just trying to give you some comfort.” Aang replies calmly while tying her hair to a braid. “What are you doing to my hair?” she questions disapprovingly. “A friend of mine said it helps the hair grow and be more bouncy.” Aang replies, continuing with his action. “Well I do not like it, so you can sto…” she is cut off. “Trying new things is not awful, give it a chance.” Aang dismisses her complaint.
After finishing his braid he takes the towel from her shoulders noticing how her hair still drips water. "You bend fire," he said after a while. "Your body should be warm. The hair should dry faster. It's illogical that it's still dripping."
"Illogical things happen," she said. Dry. The word felt thin in the room.
"Apparently," he murmured. He twisted the towel, wringing water into the basin. The sound was too loud. He did it again. And again. Like he needed the noise to fill the space. "I thought the eastern room would be quieter tonight. I thought I wanted quiet. But it's just empty. Not peaceful empty. The other kind. The kind that echoes.”
She stood. The robe fell straight around her ankles. She moved to the bed.Her bed. She pulled back the sheets. Cold linen. Smooth. Undisturbed. As it had been every night for eight years. She sat on the edge. Then lay down. The ceiling was the same cracked plaster she'd counted a thousand times. Nothing had changed.
Except the footsteps behind her. Soft. Hesitant. Stopping.
Confusion wrote itself across Onji's face. She turned her head on the pillow. Her brows pulled together. Not anger. Not yet. Just the look of a woman watching a rule break in right before her eyes.
Aang didn't ask. He didn't explain. He didn't look at her. He lifted the edge of her sheets and slid in beside her. On the wrong side. Her side.
The mattress dipped under his weight. Cold linen became warm in seconds. He lay on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the same ceiling. He didn't touch her. He didn't turn his head. He just... entered. Like the room had always been his too.The silence stretched. It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't hostile. It was new. And new things in this house made Onji's shoulders tense.
"You're quiet," he said finally. Still staring up. Still speaking to the ceiling more than to her. "Quieter than the eastern room. I thought that would help. But now I can hear my own breathing. And yours. And the baby."The baby kicked. As if on cue. Onji's hand pressed down harder.
"I forgot," he said. The words came out slow, like he was remembering something mid-thought. "How energetic they are. Suri and Soren. When the house is this quiet, you forget how loud they make it."Onji's fingers stilled on her belly. The chain of thought snapped. Why am I not pushing him off? The questions died before she could finish them.
"Suri didn't sleep last night," he continued. Still not looking at her. "She kept bending little flames in her sleep. Scorch marks on the blanket. The help said it's normal. Firebenders do that when they dream.”
"And Soren," he went on, quieter now. "He floated off his bed again. Just three inches. But he woke up laughing. Said the air was 'bouncy' tonight." He paused. "They have beautiful eyes, you know. Gold and grey. Hazel, I think it's called. Mixed. Like river water in sunlight."Onji turned her head on the pillow. Just enough to see his profile. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the space where his words had been. About Suri's flames. About Soren floating. About eyes that were both hers and his.
"They asked for you at dinner a few days ago," she said. It was the first thing she'd said since vanity. Her voice was steady. Practical. "Soren wanted to know if you'd teach him the staff form. Suri wanted to know if fire could melt ice without steam."
Aang's mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just the ghost of one. "I forgot how much they ask questions," he said. "The eastern room is too quiet for questions."
The baby kicked again. Onji rubbed the spot. The six inches between them on the mattress felt smaller now. Not because he moved. Because she wasn't calculating the distance anymore.
"I don't know why I'm here," he whispered. The ceiling was still his focus. "The eastern bed looked wrong tonight. It's been right for eight years. Why would it be wrong tonight?"
Onji didn't answer. She listened to his breathing instead. In. Out. Steady. A man who didn't know where else to go.Eight years of east and west. Eight years of careful distance. Gone in the space of wet hair, a towel, and two children's names.
He waited tonight. But for the first time, Onji didn't know what he was waiting for. And worse she didn't know why her hand didn't move to push him out of her bed.
So um. Cough. Does anyone like Fire Lord Ozai and arranged marriages. Because I'm writing a fic
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The Avatar's Wife
|Warning this person is not a writer and English isn't her first language|
Chapter 3
Onji's breathing is finally settled down,her muscles are relaxed and her mind is steady. She has finally calmed down from her climax. She looks at the rooftop of the cave as she lies flat on the ground, her left hand covering half of her face. “Being grumpy and gloomy will not solve any of your worries.” a woman cuts Onji's train of thoughts. “So I guess swimming will?” she retorts sarcastically with a raised eyebrow to the entire suggestion.
The woman only reacts with a snort. “No but it will help you cool off resulting in a better train of thoughts…you won't think right if you are hot z. You never know if a cooler self can result in more rational thoughts, my lady” the woman speaks up continuing her swimming. “I bend fire, I think you can tell my usual temperature.” Onji retorts rather dryly.
Silence engulfs the two for a while only being broken by the sound of water splashing. “I did not bring you out of here to just be sour.” the woman protested after a while of her lover's pessimistic behaviour. Onji only sits up having regained some energy back and finally decides to at least dip her legs into the pond. “See that is better, right?” the woman says optimistically. “I might have to marry…”
Onji says out loud and creates a tense and awkward atmosphere in the cave.“Do not look at me like that, you know how noble houses operate.” Onji said rather defensively before the woman even voiced up to say anything.
“What is your father…” She's cut off by Onji. “His hands are tied in this situation. If the family elders and some court and ambassadors refuse to commute and work with his precious, silly and stupid daughter. No matter how much managerial experience I have I won't do much cause I am not male, it's unfair! I have worked so hard only to be stripped of my birth right, this business has been in our family for generations and now it is being threatened.” Onji says frustration and anger but most of all hurt.
She has worked so hard to understand her family's position and power within the fire nation. She thought that her family being neutral during the war would have helped her family gain wealth, influence and political power but the bigger miscalculation was the fact it made them more enemies than allies, surrounding them with wolves who after the war are desperate to put a political stamp on their names and use the chaos of the post war world to solidify themselves amongst the nations and come out on top into the new world.
Fire nation nobles feel as though thanks to their refusal to not stop their trades with other nations weakened resources for their nation resulting in them losing all their hard work especially after the defeat of Firelord Ozai. The Earth Kingdom who were their biggest trade ally, some nobles again felt wronged accusing the family of trading food supply to them at “high and unfair prices” during the war. Lies obviously,her family would never risk masses of people dying of starvation because of his prices, he wasn't that corrupt. The water tribes seemed to only be the non-satisfied ones but they held too little political power to offer any much assistance and would much rather not intervene in things that did not call for them. The Air nation had issues of their own to worry too much about politics of the nations.
“Can your family not ask for help from the Firelord, I mean your family is amongst his biggest supporters afterall, your father is also one of his most crucial ministers.” the woman questioned her love. Onji looked at her lover and wished it was as simple as she suggested, “It's not as simple as that. Firelord Zuko was only crowned four years ago, he is still considered politically unfit by many and a pushover by many of his nation's people due to his efforts of reparations and restitution to the other nations. So my father can not fall to him in this as it would put the firelord in a very difficult position and even gain him more disapproval ratings by other nobles.” Onji is frustrated at the Firelord's seeming weakness and bystander actions as her family is being actively torn apart but another part of her understands his position in this mess and sees how his hands are also tied.
“WOW! Noble people!!” the woman only compliments. “This is a matter of up-solute seriousness, Li…!” Onji never finishes the girl's name here…she can't afford or let herself do that. Onji is stressed and terrified of what the future can mean for her family, their legacy,her and the worst part, THEM.
The woman takes Onji's hands into hers and gives her small kisses on her knuckles, “Hey, everything will work out in the end. Do not kill yourself with worry. I still need you and so does everyone else.” The two women look at each other, something comforting about being it just being them it almost gives them hope for better circumstances where they are together for life. Things they don't need to say between the two of them. The two finally share a passionate kiss, before the woman can take Onji into the pond with her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“My Lady? The water is cooling. Should I add more?”Su cuts through the silence.Onji's eyes open. “No, this is perfect.” steam rises in the bath. Onji sinks until the water touches her chin. The heat loosened her muscles after a day of strenuous activity and stress but at least her twins were finally asleep down the hall and soon she would be able to rest, kick…if someone doesn't stop her that is, she thinks as she starts to stroke her belly.Su sets the pitcher down, then hesitates.
Young handmaidens notice things.
Su musters the courage to break the silence in the room "Um... the Avatar went to your chambers earlier. After the guests left. He said he'd wait there if you weren't busy, my lady.”
"Tonight?" Onji says it quietly. Flat. Just fact-checking. "He's waiting in my chambers tonight? "Yes, my lady. He looked... lost. Not like the Avatar. Like he didn't know where else to go." Su replies, adding her observations.
Onji sinks lower until the water's at her lips. The baby kicks, hard. She rubs the spot, grounding herself.
Onji instructs Su, "Tell him I'll be out shortly, Su." Voice steady. But her thumb presses into her palm until it hurts.
| WARNING: ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST AND AGAIN THIS PERSON AIN'T A WRITER JUST A PERSON LISTENING TO COWBOY CARTER I'M SIMPLY BORED |
A kick on his hand pulls him out of his trance, and Aang looks over at his wife who had winced at the kick.
“They kicked!” Aang celebrates, now placing both his hands on Onji’s bump. His palms spread wide, claiming the curve of her stomach under silk like it was his to announce.
Onji just looks down at his hands. Not at him. At the fingers splayed over where the baby rolled beneath her ribs. Her mouth stays curved in that small, court-perfect smile, but her eyes go distant for half a second too long.
Aang notices her look. He makes no effort to move his hands unless she says something. He dares her. And she swallows her pride whole. Lords and ladies around them coo softly, delighted.
“Avatar’s love for his wife,” one whispers. “Their new addition is blessed,” another sighs.
Across the corner, Katara downs another glass of red wine. The liquid burns less than the sight.
“He’s married, I know. He has kids, I know. She’s pregnant, I know!” She tells herself, voice bitter and low. “His wife must be hurting… I know. Love can be selfish. Humans are not inherently good, even the Avatar himself can have flaws. He’s just a man at the end of the day. Plus I’ve already ended it… for good this time, truly. Me and Aang, we were young then… it’s time we end it for good!!”
She tells herself this as she watches him stroke the woman’s bump. Her thumb rubs the rim of the glass until it hurts.
“…but it still hurts!!”
{FLASHBACK}
Katara fixes her attire, hands shaking. “I can’t believe you, Aang! It’s your children’s birthday celebration!” she scolds him, touching up her makeup with too much force. “I couldn’t help myself,” Aang replies, coming up behind her to hug her from the back. He peppers her neck with kisses like he still has the right. “You looked amazing and I got tempted.”
“What about your wife then… the woman’s pregnant for goodness!!” she tries to scold him, but her voice wavers.Aang replies with upsetting calmness: “She doesn’t care!” Katara almost hits him. “Aang, please take this seriously. We… you can’t keep doing this. You have a family, you have kids, you have people that look up to you and a perfect wife. You can’t keep hurting her like this.” Aang detaches himself quickly, stopping his ministrations. His face goes quiet in that way that means guilt is eating him from the inside.
“So, what do you suggest,” he says in an accusatory tone, “because it seems as though you no longer want us together…”“What do you mean ‘together’? There is no together, no US! YOU ARE MARRIED!! You have two eight year old kids and one on the way!! What ‘us’ do you speak of? Sneaking around under cover, hiding from people—that’s not a relationship Aang, that’s infidelity and I no longer want part of it… I don’t even know why I accepted this in the first place, how and why I always come back every time I broke it off and why did you and I not stop this!!” Katara paces the room, voice dropping with guilt, confusion, frustration at herself and herself alone. Aang doesn’t respond. He lets her words sink in and lets the guilt start to eat him up. He remains quiet as she tries to calm herself down.Minutes pass. Katara is finally steady, rational.
“I love…”
“Aang, please don’t start,” she cuts him off fast, like ripping a bandage. “Me and you are over and for good this time. I’m not joking and you will definitely not change my mind this time. The woman is pregnant. I don’t know what spell I was under, what magic trick, but I know I’ve broken it and after today I can’t ever fall under it again. When I heard she was pregnant again a part of me didn’t believe it, but today she greeted me and her bump was right there, eviden…”
“It was a mistake,” Aang cuts in, sad and guilty. “I was under the influence of substance and…”
“Aang, I don’t need to know what occurs between you and your wife,” Katara says, softer now. Defeated. “I’ve intervened for long enough in this marriage and I have come to realize it isn’t mine and it shall never be, like you said. And I’ll swallow that grain of salt, honestly. We are done. Please respect that.”
Aang doesn’t question her. Doesn’t linger to interrogate her sudden change of heart. He simply stands up and leaves her alone in the room.
Aang is pulled out of his moping state by a small tackle from Soren. “Gotcha, Daddy!!”. Aang chuckles at the kid’s antics. “Yes you did, little one! Where’s your sister?” Soren looks around. “She was with me… THERE SHE IS!!”. Suri comes up behind her dad and throws a small flame toward her brother for ruining her ambush, which Soren quickly pushes away with his own little air blast. “Alright, alright you two,” Aang says, stepping between them. “No need for that. You are both siblings and harmony is of great importance, okay!? Promise me and I’ll give you Aunt Katara’s present.” The twins shout in unison: “We promise to behave!!” Aang hands Soren the gift and he sprints to show his mother, his sister following behind him.
Aang looks behind him for one last time… and continues forward.
“The duality of Man can truly be terrifying.”-Blink2005
{END FLASHBACK}
Guests have started to leave as the moon has fully risen in the sky. Onji, as the lady of the House, stands by the main gate bidding farewell to guests, polite bows, soft thanks, small appreciation boxes pressed into palms.The silk of her gown drags over stone, heavy with embroidery and heavier with child. Bow. “Thank you, Lord Chen.” Box pressed into his hands. Bow. “Safe travels, Lady Mei.” Box pressed into her hands.
Her feet ache. The baby presses against her spine. Bow again. Another box.
Then she turns, box in hand, and the courtyard is almost empty. Most guests are gone. Torches low.
And there, by the gate with a lantern in hand, is Katara. Not in line. Not leaving with the others. Just... still here.
“Kata?” Katara turns, startled. Onji’s smile snaps back like armor. She crosses the stone in three measured steps and presses the box into Katara’s hands. Her fingers are cold from the night air.“You’re leaving,” Onji says. Not a question. She sounds baffled. Genuinely. Like she’d watched Katara all evening and couldn’t solve the equation. “Right now? The roads are dangerous after dark.”
Her hand goes to her stomach, not for show. Worry. “The baby kicks harder when I’m tired. I wouldn’t—” She stops. Swallows. Fix it. “I had your guest room prepared. The one you used earlier. It’s ready. Extra blankets. Please. Don’t walk the mountains alone.”
The one you used earlier. The room where Katara had broken things off with Aang hours ago.
The room that still smelled like sandalwood and guilt.
Onji doesn’t know that. To her, it’s just “the guest room”. To Katara, it’s a knife.Katara stares at her. At the box. At the hand on Onji’s stomach. “You didn’t have to notice I was still here.”
Onji just smiles. Small. Tired. Honest, without meaning to be. “I notice everything, Kata.”
The nickname hangs between them. Too soft. Too familiar. Onji realizes what she’s done half a second too late, but she doesn’t take it back. She just bows, perfectly, and turns back toward the estate.
Katara is left holding a gift she didn’t earn, a lantern she didn’t ask for, and a room that remembers her worst moment. She looks at the estate one last time before she decides to leave.
@hyyhnubes
WARNING: This person is NOT a WRITER. This was five repeats of LEMONADE so this took four hours to write. WE READ AND DON'T JUDGE (plus interacting with this is purely optional!! Also not my first language)
She adjusted the heavy embroidery of her formal robes over her stomach. At six months, the child within her kicked with a fierce, quiet rhythm. To the crowd, she was the radiant noble matriarch, blessed with a third divine gift. To herself, she was a ghost in her own home.Her husband wasn't far, immersed in conversation with another nobleman. Her two children, the center of this day, this event, were running around with others their age. People from across the nation had come to celebrate eight springs since the birth of the twins. Gifts piled high as they congratulated the Avatar on his blessings - and the new one to come.
A woman sat beside her. "Lady Onji, I hope you don't mind me inviting myself over." Cheeky, Onji thought to herself. "Your company is most tolerated.". The woman chuckled at her longtime acquaintances wording. Silence stretched between them as the lady shifted in her seat, drinking after drink, occasionally coughing to fill the intense, awkward atmosphere. "Spit it out, Kazumi!!" At first Kazumi was taken aback by her acquaintances bluntness. Then nervousness flooded her, but she remembered one thing: they were in public, and Onji would never act out in public.
"I see Suri and Soren are doing well, growing into strong benders. Soren was so excited to show me how much he'd improved since the last time I visited, and Suri was busy gloating about her new feats... expected of a firebender, wouldn't you say?" She was met with silence. "Okay, tough audience! I see that Aang is also doing well... not quite his usual self, but seems well nonetheless. You, on the other hand, seem distant... I mean, that seems normal, but I know you best. Is everything alright? Is the pregnancy going well? Are you and Aang getting along...?" She was cut off. "We are doing great. Can you not tell by the pregnancy!?" Kazumi hesitated. "I see that, but still... there doesn't seem to be much tranquility between you two. I'm just worried about you, si-" "Kazumi, after all these years you have yet to learn to mind your own lane. I am doing amazing, so is the Avatar, and so are m-our children. Not all of us can afford to be reckless." Kazumi was silenced, and the awkward quiet made its return.
"Mom!! Mom!!" A voice finally cut through the tension between the two women. Soren came running toward his mother, his sister hot on his trail, and a smile finally formed on Onji's stern face. "Mom, look what Auntie Katara got me!" Soren rushed to say before his sister. "Got US! You foolish idiot!" Suri came in second as her brother handed their mother the gift.Onji inspected it, turning it up, down, and to the side. "It is surely special...". It wasn't money, nor a recognized jewel. Just a... thing. She looked at her two children, wondering if she might have to show them what true treasures were. "It's beautiful, but what is it?" Kazumi put herself back in the narrative.
"It's a moonstone carved into their bending elements," Aang answered the puzzled thoughts of both women. "It seems simple, but the stone is rare. Water Tribe mothers usually gift it to their children."Kazumi gave Aang a puzzled look. "This is a good gift from your old flame to your wife's children because... especially one so intimate?""It is a good gift because Katara is like a mother to the twins. They adore and love her as their mother-" Kazumi cut him off "They like her, you mean!" Aang and Kazumi started a standoff.
"Aunty, let's go play together!" Suri's voice cut through the intensity of the room.Kazumi complied with the twins and left with them, but not before glaring at Aang.
"Water?" Onji said in her neutral tone."I would appreciate it.". Aang moved to occupy the space Kazumi left, and Onji handed him the glass of water. Then, silence.
"How is the pregnancy going?" Aang mustered the courage to ask."It's mundane. Just kicks, that's all."Aang was shocked. "Four months and already kicking!?" "Six" Onji corrected him. "I didn't realize you were that far along... it's just that... I've been busy with Avatar responsibilities and couldn't check up on you. I'm sorry."
She mused at his excuse, her hand moving to his neck to rub at it. "Next time, try removing the stains better." Aang silenced himself and moved his hand to her stomach, in an effort to comfort her... or himself.
I have a CRAVING and it might be crazy...Aang x firebender reader/OC. Arranged marriage AKA forced marriage, but in this case Aang sucks as a husband... like horrible and his wife who is perfect and genuinely a good person even with her strong personality is a BIRD, but her choosing to stay in this marriage is mostly driven by her duty or something along those lines. Let's spice it up by adding kids into the equation... make them Airbenders too, even adding a pregnancy to it!! Like Aang kinda has to suck in this like cheating, miscommunication, distant and nothing but sorry excuses and his wife is not even entirely straight but again duty and responsibility holds her down and she's got to be HURT...
I'VE BEEN UP FOR THREE DAYS AND NIGHTS ON CRACK!!
Really loving the ATLA fanfics while but I was on the net I found a. . . .SHIP. IT'S NOTHING BUT PURE CRACK, TOXIC, DISASTROUS, DANGEROUS AND CRAZY. THE SCARY PART IS I LIKE IT, EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SHIP THE SHIPPERS, THE FANART(need more) AND THE BEST PART OF ALL THE...FANFICS. (Evil Mort voice) OWW THE FANFIC... IT'S DELICIOUS, IT'S ADDICTIVE... IT'S AANGST (tears to my eyes). THIS NEW FOUND CRACK OF MINE IS...AZULANG. I JUST NEED MORE OF IT!!
