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host-club-hq

Indeed Series | INCOMPLETE ♡

➼ kyoya ootori x fem!reader

➼ released: 02.04.21

➼ last updated: 03.28.22

➼ word count: 109.5k and counting

➼ genre: fluff, angst, maybe smut?

↳ You and Kyoya have a complicated relationship- you've known each other since you were in middle school, and now he's become a haggling, "I Only Do What Benefits Me" business man, and it doesn't limit itself to your relationship with him. You've joined the Host Club due to the sole reason that Kyoya has forced you. God, how you wish he would stop treating you like a child and start treating you like the woman you are.

➼ Chapters:

Prologue

~ Starting Today, You Are a Host! pt 1 ~

~ Starting Today, You Are a Host! pt 2 ~

~ The Job of a High School Host! ~

~ Beware the Physical Exam! ~

~ Attack of the Lady Manager! ~

~ The Twins Fight! ~

~ The Grade School Host Is the Naughty Type! ~

~ Jungle Pool SOS! ~

~ The Sun, the Sea, and the Host Club! ~

~ A Challenge from Lobelia Girls' Academy! ~

~ A Day in Your Life! ~

~ Big Brother is a Prince! ~

~ Honey's Three Bitter Days! ~

~ y/n In Wonderland! ~

~ Covering the Famous Host Club! ~

~ The Refreshing Battle of Karuizawa! ~

➼ Coming up next...

~ Operation y/n and Kyoya's First Date! ~

glidingleaves

"Wait!" Aang suddenly shouts before leaping off of Appa's head and running back into the house. He leaves behind a momentarily confused Sokka who blinks once, twice before dramatically rolling his eyes.

"I hope I'm not this embarrassing with Suki," he grumbles, pointedly ignoring the condescending chirp that Momo gives him.

Aang's practically flying to the second floor and barrelling into your shared room, eyes frantically settling on the curled up lump in the middle of the bed. Then, without warning, he's landing on top of it and causing you to wake up with a loud screech.

"What the fuck!?" You yell, shocked and a little furious, but you barely have time to react before Aang's grabbing your face to plant a solid kiss on your frowning lips. It's embarrassing how quickly your anger fades and how you melt into Aang's soft lips like butter on toast. You hum when he licks at your bottom lip, moan when he licks into your mouth and are soon clutching at his cloak to draw him in further.

"Can't," Aang says breathless, managing to pull away by just a bit. "Gotta leave and I couldn't—" You're kissing him again, drawing a deep groan from his stomach as he resists sinking back into bed with you. "Sokka's waiting—"

"He can wait a little longer," you murmur against Aang's seeking lips. "Stay with me for five more minutes."

A teasing nip to his bottom lip and sure hands slipping under his shirt has Aang's mind glitching before he can properly think.

And ten minutes later, Sokka's grumbling with crossed arms about horny newlyweds who have no respect for time constraints.

earth-kingdom-strap

Toph Beifong Masterlist

A place where you can find all of my Toph fics! Smut chapters will be marked with 🌷

earth-kingdom-strap

When The Ground Gives Out

Older Toph Beifong x YoungerWife Reader

WC: 7k+

Synopsis: Toph has been buried in her work and hasn't left the police station in days. So you decide to stay up and wait for her one night. Only, what was supposed to be a kind gesture turns into a confrontation that threatens to ruin your marriage. Based on this request.

Warnings: Sfw, Hurt/Comfort, slight angst, argument, toph is a little mean but shes hurting, tickling, massages, Lin and Su mention, toph is in her 50s and struggling with getting older, Lin lowkey saving her parents marriage(we love her), stubborn toph, toph hates that she's aging and its doing a number on her mental.

earth-kingdom-strap

fluffy fic where toph thinks shes going crazy cuz she swears she hears a second heartbeat when shes with reader

turns out reader is just pregnant with su lmao

also bonus if we get to see little lins reaction to becoming a big sister 😽

The Best Kimd of Surprise

Toph Beifong x Pregnant Reader

WC: 3.8k

Synopsis: Toph hears another heartbeat in the home and swears she's going crazy.

Content/Warnings: Fluff and little lin!

earth-kingdom-strap

What do you think of a Toph x Pregnant Reader story where both already have families with Lin and Suyin? But when Reader's baby is born, it turns out years later to be a lava bender, and Toph is incredibly excited, even if she doesn't show it.

Let's say the reader is a fire bender. Toph and the reader were always playfully arguing about which bender the baby would be: Fire or Earth. Imagine their surprise when they both get a mix of both!

Could you please capture Toph and the reader's reactions, as well as Lin and Suyin cheering them on completely?

By the way, I love your writing and I think you're one of the few people who write Toph for the character she is and don't make her completely unchangeable

A Path Of Ger Own

Pairing: Toph Beifong x Wife Reader

WC: 5k+

Synopsis: You have to break the news to your daughter's that you're pregnant and it doesn't go very well. Basically the request.

Content/Warnings: Fluff.

colouredbyd

all that matters

steve harrington x reader

summary: when borrowing steve’s car ends in an accident that leaves it completely wrecked, you’re left shaken and terrified of how he’ll react. except when he finds you, it’s painfully clear he couldn’t give a fuck about the damage.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: car accident, totaled car, panicked sobbing, slight bleeding minor injuries, blood on face/hair, guilt, hurt/comfort, comfort, reassurance, overthinking.

“He’s going to kill me.”

The words spill out of you before you can stop them, thin and shaking, ripped straight from your chest.

You barely recognize your own voice. You’re staring ahead, eyes unfocused, fixed on nothing and everything at once. Not the spiderwebbed windshield. Not the hood crumpled inward, steam ghosting up into the air.

All you can see is Steve’s face when he finds out. When he sees the car. His precious car.

andy-15-07

Twice the Love

pairing — Zuko x reader

word count — 2774

request open

masterlist

The first contraction came without warning.

One moment, you were standing in the sitting room of your chambers with a hand resting at the small of your back, watching Zuko argue quietly with a stack of reports he had promised himself he would finish before sunset. The next, your breath caught so sharply that the world seemed to narrow around one sudden, hard band of pain low in your belly.

Your fingers tightened against the edge of the table.

Zuko looked up instantly.

“Y/N?”

You tried to answer, but another contraction hit before you could get the word out. It was stronger this time, deeper, the pain rolling through your body in a wave that left your knees unsteady. Zuko was beside you at once, one hand at your elbow, the other at your waist.

“Sit down,” he said, already guiding you toward the couch.

“I think,” you gasped, trying to breathe through the ache, “I think it’s time.”

The color drained from his face.

For one brief second, he simply stared at you as though the words had not made sense. Then his whole body shifted into motion. “The midwife,” he said, already calling for the guard at the door. “Send for the midwife. Now.”

The guard bowed and hurried away.

Zuko helped you sit, his hands careful but slightly unsteady now that the reality of it had settled over him. “How bad is it?”

You gave him a look that would have been more effective if you were not in labor. “You really want an answer to that right now?”

His mouth twitched once, but the worry did not leave his eyes. “I want to know if I should be panicking.”

You huffed a short laugh, then winced as the next tightening seized you. Zuko immediately knelt in front of you, both hands braced over your knees.

“Breathe with me,” he said, voice low and steady. “In. Out. Good. Again.”

You clung to his shoulders and obeyed as best you could. The pain was already building in long, relentless waves now, making it hard to think of anything beyond the rhythm of your breath and the heat in your lower back. The chamber had seemed calm only moments ago, all warm lamplight and evening shadows, but now it felt charged with urgency.

The midwife arrived with two attendants and an armful of cloths, warm water, and quiet confidence. She took one look at your face and the way you were gripping the arm of the couch and nodded once.

“Your labor has begun,” she said. “We should move you to the bed.”

Zuko was already helping you stand before she finished speaking.

The walk to the bed felt absurdly long. Every step made your body tense harder, and by the time you reached the mattress, another wave of pain was crashing over you. You let out a sharp cry, and Zuko’s hand was immediately at your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“I’m here,” he said.

“I know,” you breathed, though the words came out strained.

He looked at you with a fierce, helpless kind of devotion that softened the edges of your fear. He had seen pain before, battle before, loss before. But this was different. This was you. This was the child the two of you had waited for, and the reality of your suffering seemed to strike him with every contraction.

The midwife guided you through the early labor with calm efficiency. She checked your progress, adjusted your position, and spoke to you in a steady voice that gave you something to cling to when your thoughts began to fracture under the intensity of it all.

The pain came in waves,some long and deep, some sharp and brutal enough to steal every sound from your throat. Your body shook with the effort of it. Sweat gathered at your temples. Your hands clutched Zuko’s, then the sheets, then Zuko again. He never once left your side.

At first, he tried to stay composed, offering reassurance as though he could somehow carry part of the burden for you just by being calm.

“You’re doing well,” he said, wiping damp hair back from your forehead. “You’re stronger than this.”

You gave him a raw, breathless look. “That is a very rude thing to say to someone in labor.”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “It was meant to be encouraging.”

“I know.”

Then another contraction broke over you, stronger than the last, and the smile vanished from both of your faces.

The hours blurred.

There were moments when you thought you could not endure another minute, when the pain felt so consuming it seemed impossible that your body could hold any more of it. Your fingers cramped around Zuko’s hand. Your back ached. Your throat went hoarse from crying out through the worst of it. The midwife urged you on, and Zuko kept speaking your name like a prayer.

“Look at me,” he said at one point, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Just look at me.”

You forced your eyes open and met his gaze.

“There you are,” he whispered. “Stay with me.”

You nodded weakly, though even that felt like work.

“I’m trying,” you managed.

“I know.”

His voice broke on the last word.

That nearly made you cry harder than the pain did.

The room was warm and dim, the fire in the hearth reduced to a low glow, the windows shut against the night air. Outside, the palace was beginning to settle into its evening quiet. Inside, there was only the sound of your breathing, the rustle of linen, the midwife’s instructions, and Zuko’s voice whenever you needed to hear it.

You lost track of time completely.

Then, suddenly, the midwife looked up with sharper focus.

“You’re close.”

You turned your head weakly toward her, panting. “Close?”

“Very close.”

Zuko’s hand tightened on yours. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” the midwife said, brisk but not unkind, “that the first child will be with us soon.”

That thought, more than anything else, gave you new strength. You had been moving through the labor in fragments,surviving one contraction, then the next, then the next,but now there was a point to the pain. A beginning. A first meeting. A child waiting to arrive.

You drew in a shaking breath.

“Tell me what to do,” you said.

The midwife nodded. “When the next contraction comes, I need you to push.”

Zuko moved closer, one arm behind your shoulders, the other holding your hand in both of his. “You can do this.”

You gave him a tired look. “You sound far too certain.”

“I am.”

Another contraction rose fast and hard.

You cried out as it took hold of you, every muscle in your body locking with the force of it. The midwife’s voice cut through the pain, guiding you. Zuko braced you with all the strength he had, his forehead pressed briefly to your temple.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re doing it.”

You pushed.

Pain flared white-hot and bright, making the world narrow to the bed beneath you, the hand in yours, the fire in your lungs. The midwife encouraged you again. You drew in what felt like your last breath and pushed once more.

And then, with a cry that broke the room open, your first child was born.

The sound of it was immediate and shocking and beautiful.

For one stunned moment, there was silence except for your ragged breathing. Then the midwife lifted a small, red-faced baby into view, and the room seemed to change shape around that tiny life.

“It’s a boy,” she said warmly.

Zuko made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob.

You were too overwhelmed to speak. Tears were already spilling down your cheeks as the midwife cleaned the baby quickly and brought him to you. He was impossibly small, his fists balled tight, his mouth open in protest at the sudden offense of being alive. Yet the moment he was placed against your chest, his cry softened to a tremulous whimper.

You stared down at him, breathing hard.

A boy.

Your son.

Zuko looked like he had forgotten how to stand. He kept one hand on your shoulder and the other near the child as if he was afraid to touch too soon, afraid the moment would break if he moved too quickly.

“He’s beautiful,” he whispered.

You gave a shaky laugh through your tears. “He’s furious.”

Zuko’s mouth curved despite himself. “He looks like you.”

You gasped in outrage. “That is not true.”

“It absolutely is.”

The baby made a tiny sound against your chest, and the room seemed to go quiet around him. Zuko bent over the two of you, his expression so tender it made your throat tighten all over again.

Then the midwife’s voice returned, careful but urgent.

“We are not finished.”

You looked up at her in dazed confusion. “What?”

Her expression was calm, but there was clear surprise in it too, as though she still could not quite believe what she was seeing. “There is another.”

Zuko straightened so fast he nearly lost his footing. “Another?”

You stared at the midwife, then at Zuko, then back again. “Another?”

She nodded once. “Another child. The second twin.”

For a second, all you could do was lie there, stunned beyond speech.

Zuko stared at the midwife as though she had just told him the sky had split open. “Twins?”

“Yes.”

“We did not know we were having twins.”

“I can see that.”

You let out a weak, incredulous laugh that quickly turned into a groan as another pain began to build. The irony of it would have been funny if your body were not demanding your full attention.

Zuko looked at you with wide, helpless eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You shot him a look that would have been sharper if you had more energy. “For what?”

“For,” He glanced at the baby boy against your chest and then back to your face, clearly flustered in a way that would have been endearing under any other circumstances. “For there being two.”

Despite everything, you laughed again.

“You are not responsible for this,” you managed.

“I feel I should be.”

“That is very noble of you, Fire Lord.”

He let out a breathless laugh of his own, then immediately returned to bracing you as the next contraction hit.

This one felt different. Shorter, maybe, but more focused. Your body had already begun the work, already done this once, and now it seemed to know exactly what to do. The pain returned in fierce, quick waves. The midwife instructed you again, and Zuko never once let go.

“You’re nearly there,” she said. “Push when you can.”

The baby boy stirred softly against your chest, and that tiny weight gave you a strange and fierce kind of strength.

You pushed.

The pressure built and broke, built and broke, until at last a second cry filled the room.

Smaller.

Softer.

Just as fierce in its own newborn way.

The midwife’s face lit with delight. “A girl.”

You closed your eyes in relief so overwhelming it nearly took your breath away.

A girl.

Your daughter.

The midwife cleaned her carefully, and when she finally placed her in your arms, the baby made the tiniest offended sound before settling against your skin. She was warm and small and wrapped in white cloth, her face scrunched up with all the indignation of someone who had not been consulted about the transition into the world.

You laughed weakly through your tears.

Zuko looked completely undone.

He stared at the baby girl, then at the baby boy still sleeping against you, and slowly sank onto the edge of the bed as though his legs had forgotten how to hold him.

“We have two children,” he said, his voice barely audible.

You looked at him, exhausted and glowing with tears. “We do.”

He blinked hard, then looked back at the babies. “We had no idea.”

“No idea.”

His hand hovered over the girl’s tiny fist, and when she curled her fingers around one of his, he made a sound so soft and broken that it nearly made you cry again. He kissed your forehead, then the boy’s head, then the girl’s.

The midwife, smiling now with the quiet satisfaction of a miracle completed, stepped back to allow you a moment.

That moment lasted just under an hour.

By the time the door opened again, the room had settled into a fragile stillness. You were propped against the pillows, exhausted beyond measure, with one newborn sleeping on your chest and the other tucked in your arms. Zuko sat beside you like a man who had been struck by something too beautiful to survive unchanged. His hand rested protectively over the baby boy, while his gaze kept flicking between the two children as if he feared they might disappear if he looked away too long.

The door opened quietly.

General Iroh entered with the measured calm of a man who had spent a lifetime knowing how to read a room. He was no longer serving in the army, of course, but retirement had not dulled the old discipline in him. He carried the dignity of a retired general naturally, with silver in his hair and warmth in his eyes, and the moment he saw the three of you, his expression softened.

Then he saw the babies.

He stopped.

For a full second, the retired general did not move at all.

When he finally spoke, his voice was very soft. “I had a feeling I should come quickly.”

Zuko looked up at him, still dazed. “Uncle.”

Iroh stepped closer, his eyes moving from one tiny face to the other. “Twins?”

You smiled faintly. “That was our reaction too.”

Iroh let out a quiet laugh, then smiled down at the babies with unmistakable wonder. “A boy and a girl.”

Zuko’s throat worked once. “We did not know there were two.”

“So I gathered.” Iroh’s eyes filled with warmth as he leaned in a little farther. “They are beautiful.”

You looked down at them too, your heart still too full to be measured. The boy had already begun to sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling softly. The girl was quieter still, one hand curled near her cheek, her tiny mouth relaxed now that the battle of being born was over.

Iroh’s gaze lifted to Zuko’s face. “Have you chosen names?”

Zuko glanced at you first, a question and a promise in the look.

You gave a small nod.

His expression changed, growing even softer. Then he looked down at the baby boy and said, “Iroh.”

The old general went very still.

For once, he seemed unsure what to do with emotion, so he simply closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head. When he looked back up, his smile was gentle and deeply moved.

“That is a great honor,” he said quietly.

Zuko’s eyes flicked to the girl. “And Mira.”

“Mira,” you repeated softly, testing the name against the tiny shape in your arms.

It fit perfectly.

Iroh smiled at once. “Beautiful.”

The room fell quiet again, but this time it was not the silence of labor or fear. It was something softer. Full. Peaceful.

Zuko leaned down and kissed your forehead with a tenderness that still made your chest ache, then touched each baby with a reverence so natural it seemed to belong to him. Fire Lord or not, ruler or not, in that moment he was simply a father looking at his children for the first time.

He looked at you then, and his expression broke your heart open.

“We have two children,” he said again, almost in disbelief.

You smiled, tears glistening on your lashes. “We do.”

He covered your hand with his, warm and steady and trembling only slightly. “And they are ours.”

You squeezed his fingers back, too tired to say much more than the truth. “Yes. They are.”

General Iroh stood beside the bed, smiling down at the sleeping twins with the kind of quiet happiness that made the whole room feel blessed. Outside, the palace remained vast and full of duty. Inside, everything had changed.

You looked at your son, then your daughter, then at Zuko, and felt your body finally begin to settle into the deep, worn-out peace that comes only after labor is over and love has arrived.

Two children.

Two tiny flames.

And the Fire Nation, for one brief and perfect moment, had never felt warmer.

andy-15-07

What Remains

pairing — Zuko x reader

word count — 2900

request open

masterlist

Six years had passed since the night the palace had been filled with two first cries, and somehow the Fire Palace had still not learned how to keep up with your children.

Mira and Iroh were everywhere at once.

One moment they were racing through the main corridor in matching red Fire Nation outfits, little boots thudding against polished stone, their laughter echoing off the high walls. The next, they were turning a corner too fast and nearly colliding with a pair of startled attendants, only to spin away at the last possible second and continue their run as if the palace itself existed only to be conquered by two small, determined children.

“Mira!” one of the guards called after them, trying very hard not to smile. “Iroh! Slow down!”

“No!” Mira shouted back over her shoulder, her braid bouncing behind her.

“We’re winning!” Iroh added, as if that explained everything.

You watched them from the open doorway of your chambers with a hand pressed to your mouth, trying and failing to hide your amusement. Zuko stood beside you, arms folded, wearing the same helpless expression he always wore whenever the twins decided the palace was a racetrack.

“They learned that from somewhere,” he muttered.

You glanced at him. “From you, obviously.”

He gave you a look. “I did not run through the palace like a storm every morning.”

“No,” you said, smiling sweetly. “You only glare through it like one.”

That earned you a reluctant snort, and then the two of you were both looking out after the twins again as they disappeared toward the garden.

It was no surprise where they were headed. Mira loved the gardens most of all. She liked the quiet spaces, the ponds, the soft rustle of leaves, the animals that did not ask her questions or tell her to be careful. Iroh loved the roses you had planted years earlier, and when he was not curled up with a book somewhere in the shade, he could usually be found reading beneath one of the flowering trellises with the serious concentration of a scholar twice his age.

Mira, though, had recently developed a particular devotion to the ducks that lived in the garden pond.

Not just the ducks.

The baby ducks.

You had caught her sneaking bread crumbs from the kitchen more than once with the solemn explanation that the ducks were “very hungry and also very small, which is basically the same thing as being babies.”

Zuko had pretended to be stern about it.

He had lasted three minutes.

“Go ahead,” you told him softly, noticing the direction of his gaze. “She’ll be disappointed if you do not.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I know.”

You turned back toward the room to fetch the shawl you had left on the chair. “You can follow her if you want.”

His brows lifted. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

He looked mildly suspicious. “Why do I feel like this is a trick?”

“It is not a trick.”

“It sounds like a trick.”

You smiled to yourself. “It is a chance for you to do what you always do when one of them wanders too far ahead.”

“And that is?”

You looked over your shoulder, very innocent. “Pretend you are not worried.”

Zuko held your gaze for a long moment before surrendering with a small, helpless shake of his head. “I hate how well you know me.”

“You married me.”

“Unfortunately for me, yes.”

You laughed softly, then kissed his cheek before heading back inside to set down your book. By the time you returned, Zuko was already heading down the corridor after the children, though he had his hands behind his back and his pace was calm enough to suggest he was simply taking a walk rather than quietly checking on the two small disasters that were currently unsupervised in the gardens.

You followed at a slower pace, content to let him go ahead. There was something lovely about watching him like this, years after the war, years into the life you had built together. Fire Lord Zuko was still a man of duty and focus and an almost frightening level of control when he needed it. But fatherhood had given him something gentler too. Something that appeared most clearly in moments like these, when he thought no one was watching.

The garden was warm with afternoon light when he arrived.

Mira was already at the pond, crouched near the edge with one small hand extended and a careful little pile of crumbs in her palm. A cluster of ducks floated nearby, and two tiny ducklings, round and fluffy as puffed rice, paddled closer with curious urgency.

Mira made a delighted sound and sat back on her heels.

“There you are,” she whispered, as if she might frighten them away.

Zuko stopped several feet behind her.

The sight hit him all at once.

The pond. The ducks. The baby ducks. The soft green of the garden. The sunlight breaking through the leaves. And Mira, so very small and focused and earnest, with her bright face turned toward the water.

For one brief, startling moment, the present slipped sideways.

He was a boy again.

Small. Wounded. Lonely in a way that had no language. Standing beside a pond with his mother’s hand warm in his own, watching her toss crumbs to the ducks while she laughed softly at his serious questions about why the ducklings stayed so close to their mother. He remembered the sound of her voice. The careful way she had knelt beside him. The gentleness she had hidden so well from the rest of the world and given only to him.

He remembered her smile.

The memory struck so unexpectedly that Zuko had to look away for a second.

Mira turned then, catching sight of him. “Papa!”

Her whole face brightened.

Zuko walked toward her slowly, and she stood to greet him, nearly wobbling on her feet in her excitement. She held out the rest of her crumbs like a very serious offering.

“I am feeding them,” she announced.

So he knelt beside her and looked into the pond. The ducks bobbed closer, unbothered by the presence of the Fire Lord as long as he was not interfering with dinner.

“You are,” he said. “That is very kind of you.”

She beamed. “The babies need help.”

Zuko glanced at the ducklings, then at Mira. Her red outfit had gotten a little dusty at the hem from her running, and a leaf had somehow caught in the sash at her waist. She looked exactly like what she was: your daughter, bright and fierce and full of opinions, with the stubborn little chin he had definitely inherited from himself.

And yet for one beautiful instant he saw his mother in her too.

Not in her face. Not in her eyes.

In the gentleness.

In the way she crouched very still so she would not startle the birds.

In the way she watched them with complete and total tenderness, as though the small, fragile lives before her mattered more than anything else in the world.

Zuko swallowed.

Mira looked up at him. “Papa?”

He reached out and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “When I was little,” he said, “my mother used to feed the ducks here too.”

Mira went very still.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He glanced toward the water. “She brought me to the garden once when I was about your age.”

Mira’s eyes widened in delight. “You were little too?”

He let out a small breath that might have been a laugh. “Very little.”

She considered that seriously. “Did you run?”

He gave her a flat look. “No.”

“Did you race your sister, aunt Azula?”

“No.”

She frowned. “That is very sad.”

The corner of Zuko’s mouth twitched. “Yes, well. I had other things.”

Mira leaned closer, fascinated now. “What did you do?”

Zuko looked back at the pond, the memory still vivid enough to sting. “I watched my mother feed the ducks. She told me not to be afraid of them, even though I was certain one of them was judging me.”

Mira gasped. “The duck judged you?”

“I think so.”

“That is mean.”

“I agree.”

She looked deeply offended on his behalf. “What did Mama do?”

His eyes softened. “She laughed.”

Mira’s small face grew thoughtful. “Did she laugh at you?”

“No,” Zuko said quietly. “Not at me. With me.”

That seemed to make her pleased in the most serious way possible. She turned back to the pond and carefully dropped the last of the crumbs into the water while the ducklings paddled eagerly closer.

Zuko watched her hands, watched the tiny concentration on her face, and felt the old ache of memory turn warm instead of sharp.

“You remind me of her,” he said before he quite meant to.

Mira looked up, startled and proud all at once. “I do?”

“Yes.”

“Because I feed the ducks?”

“Because you are gentle with them.”

She straightened a little, as if she had just received a very important title. “I am gentle.”

“I know.”

A pleased smile spread across her face. Then, from somewhere farther into the garden, came the faint rustle of pages turning.

Zuko’s eyes lifted.

Under the roses you had planted years ago, beneath the arch of a flowering trellis, Iroh sat on a low bench with a book open in his lap. He was tucked beneath the shade in complete contentment, his hair falling into his eyes, one leg bent up beside him. He was so focused on the page that for a moment he did not notice either of them.

Zuko stared.

The sight of him was nearly as startling as Mira had been.

Not because Iroh was doing anything unusual. It was the resemblance that caught him. The quiet. The stillness. The way he held himself so carefully in a world that had not always been careful with him. The way he looked down at a book with all the same thoughtful concentration your face carried when you were reading in the garden.

And then, as if the spirit of the moment had chosen to be cruel, Iroh pushed a strand of hair behind his ear and tilted his face toward the sun in exactly the same absent, peaceful way you sometimes did when you were trying to pretend you were not enjoying the afternoon.

Zuko stared a little longer.

Mira noticed at once. “Papa?”

He blinked.

“What?” she asked.

He looked from his son to the roses, then toward the spot where you would soon appear if he knew you at all, and something warm and helpless settled in his chest. “Your brother looks very much like your mother.”

Mira followed his gaze and brightened. “He does!”

“He does,” Zuko repeated, almost to himself.

At that, Iroh finally looked up from his book and spotted them.

“Papa!” he called, closing the book carefully before rising to his feet. “Mira said she was feeding the ducks.”

“She was,” Zuko said.

Iroh came toward them with an easy, careful grace that reminded Zuko so much of you that it nearly hurt again. He was older now, of course, six years old and growing into himself, but there was still something gentle in him that you had always adored. He stopped a few feet away, book tucked under one arm, and looked from his father to his sister with a knowing little smile.

“Did she feed the baby ducks?”

Mira puffed herself up. “Yes.”

“Did they like it?”

“Yes.”

Iroh nodded solemnly. “Excellent.”

Zuko looked at his son for another long moment, the memory in him shifting, changing shape. Iroh stood with one shoulder angled toward the roses, one hand still resting on the book, his face thoughtful and calm and just a little dreamy. He was not a mirror of you exactly, but something about him,the softness, the quiet attention, the way he noticed before he spoke,made Zuko think of you immediately.

Maybe because it was you who had taught him that gentleness was not weakness.

Maybe because it was you who had made the palace feel like a home.

Maybe because some children simply carried the shape of the people who loved them most.

“Iroh,” Zuko said after a moment, “do you like the roses?”

His son looked up, slightly surprised by the question, then nodded. “Yes. They are pretty.”

Zuko glanced toward the bush beside the trellis, where the deep red flowers were in full bloom. You had planted them yourself years earlier, saying the garden needed something that looked like fire without burning. He had thought it poetic then. He thought it more poetic now.

Iroh moved closer to the roses and ran his fingers lightly near one bloom without touching it. “Mama likes them too.”

Zuko felt something shift in him again.

“Yes,” he said softly. “She does.”

Iroh looked up at him, his face open and thoughtful in a way that so often reminded Zuko of you. “I think she planted them because she wanted them to be here forever.”

The words landed quietly but deeply.

Zuko let out a breath through his nose, then turned away for just a second to steady himself. Mira, already losing interest in the emotional turn of the conversation, had returned to the pond and was now trying to convince one of the ducklings that it should come closer because “Papa says ducks are friendly unless they are judging you.”

Iroh sat back down on the bench, picked up his book again, and pretended not to listen while secretly listening to everything.

Zuko looked at both of them,the daughter kneeling by the pond, the son beneath the roses,and thought, with a sudden ache of gratitude, that he had never expected his life to become this soft.

This full.

This quiet in the middle of all the noise.

And then, as if summoned by the thought alone, you appeared at the garden entrance with a shawl around your shoulders and an expression of mild suspicion that told him you had already been gone too long not to come looking for your family.

“There you all are,” you said, glancing from Mira to Iroh to Zuko and then narrowing your eyes slightly. “I was beginning to think someone had stolen my children.”

Mira looked up at once. “We were with Papa.”

You smiled. “That explains the trouble.”

Zuko stood and crossed toward you, his expression already softer than it had been all afternoon. “You need to see something.”

You looked at him, amused. “That sounds ominous.”

“It is not ominous.”

You arched a brow. “You say that a little too quickly.”

He reached for your hand and tugged you toward the pond first.

Mira straightened eagerly. “Mama, look. I fed the baby ducks.”

You bent down at once, smiling at her, and Zuko watched the way your whole face changed with that simple act of attention. “You did?”

“Yes,” Mira said proudly.

“Very well done.”

Mira beamed.

Then Zuko guided you farther across the garden toward the roses, where Iroh sat with his book and looked up the moment you approached. Your son’s face lit in that quiet way of his, and Zuko saw it again,that same resemblance he had noticed a moment ago, the same thoughtful softness you carried so naturally.

You followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “What is it?”

Zuko glanced between you and the children, then finally said, “I watched Mira feeding the ducks, and it reminded me of when I was little. My mother used to do that with me.”

Your expression softened at once.

“And then,” he continued, nodding toward Iroh, “I saw him here, reading under the roses, and he looked just like you.”

You turned toward your son, who had gone a little pink at being noticed, and your hand rose to your mouth in a quiet smile.

Zuko looked at you, then back at the children, and finished softly, “I just thought you should know.”

For a moment you did not speak.

Then your eyes warmed, and when you looked at him again, the emotion in your face nearly undid him.

“Zuko,” you said softly, “that is the loveliest thing you have said all week.”

He gave you a long-suffering look. “That is not true.”

“It might be.”

“It absolutely is not.”

But you were already smiling, and the children were already tugging at both of you from opposite sides,Mira asking if the ducklings could be fed again, Iroh asking if he could finish his chapter before dinner, both of them filling the garden with their own small, bright lives.

And Zuko, standing between the roses he had once only dreamed of and the children who had somehow become his entire world, thought that maybe this was what peace looked like.

Not silence.

Not perfection.

Just this.

A garden full of laughter, a son who reminded him of you, a daughter who carried his mother’s gentleness, and a wife who looked at him like he had given her the moon.

He found your hand and squeezed it once.

You looked up at him, smiling.

And in the middle of the Fire Palace garden, beneath the roses, with ducklings bobbing at the pond and your children racing ahead through the sun, Zuko finally felt the past and the present settle together into something whole.

arixella

Hii! Could you please do a one shot with Sokka, very angsty. Hurt/no comfort. I want to cry here. More or less an scenario where they’re married, have two kids(little) and the girl is just really sick and not getting any better and Katara just says that it’s really bad and he’s kind of in denial that she’s going to die, but at the same time he knows what he has to do since he’s a father and has to “prepare his children” for the worst, because he knows how hard it is to lose a mother at such young age.

I don’t know if I’m being way too detailed or something.😭😭 Hope you see this!! Have a nice night or day idk💕💕

Before The Grief Arrives

╰┈➤ pairing: Sokka x female! reader

a/n: WHEWWWW i can'ttt with this im so sad

summary: As your illness worsens and the reality of losing you begins creeping into the household, Sokka struggles to hold his family together while quietly unraveling under the anticipatory grief of imagining a future without you in it.

wc: 4.2k

contains: major illness, anticipatory grief, emotional hurt/comfort, parenthood,exhausted Sokka, fear of loss, denial, heavy angst, family themes, sickbed scenes, emotional breakdowns, mentions of death, grief before death, no comfort

arixella

No Knocking, No Peace

╰┈➤ pairing: Aang x female! reader

a/n: masterlist!

summary: A private late-night moment between you and Aang turns into chaotic embarrassment when Sokka barges in at the worst possible time, leaving Aang flustered but still instinctively protective of you.

wc: 1.1k

contains: Soft romance, established relationship intimacy, cuddling, playful kissing, light sexual tension (no explicit content), embarrassment humor, Sokka comedic chaos, protective behavior, blanket “cover-up” moment, affectionate teasing, Gaang dynamics.

http-joyx

FireLord zuko x Wife!fem!reader

Synopsis: After the battle against Taga, you are left unconscious, caught between the physical world and the spirit realm. As Katara struggles to heal the damage, Zuko refuses to leave your side.

The island felt wrong.

Not dangerous in the usual way—but ancient. Heavy. The air itself seemed to hum with something older than bending, older than memory. Around you, the massive stone ribs of long-dead Lion Turtles curved toward the sky, their remains forming a silent, sacred graveyard.

At the center of it all, a shallow pool reflected the pale light above.

That was where you lay.

The battle against Taga had ended—but not cleanly. Not safely.

Katara knelt at the water’s edge, her hands glowing with a bright, steady blue. The spiritual energy of the place amplified her bending, the water around her swirling gently as she worked. One by one, the others stirred—Sokka groaning, Toph shifting beneath the stone—but Katara didn’t look away from you.

Zuko did.

At first.

He staggered upright, breath uneven, but the moment his eyes found you lying motionless in the water, everything else disappeared.

He didn’t check his injuries. Didn’t speak.

He just ran.

Water splashed beneath his boots as he dropped to his knees beside you, pulling you carefully into his arms. “Hey—” His voice caught, rough and unsteady. “Hey… look at me.”

There was no response.

The mark Taga had left was still faintly visible—a cruel, burned imprint across your skin. Too familiar. Too much like the one Zuko carried himself.

His grip tightened.

“Katara,” he said, quieter now, like he was afraid of the answer. “Is she—?”

“I’m trying,” Katara replied, her voice strained with focus. “The spiritual damage is deep.”

Zuko lowered his forehead to yours, his hands trembling despite himself. For all his control, all his training—this was different. This wasn’t a fight he could win with fire.

“Come back,” he whispered.

The water around you shimmered, responding to Katara’s bending. Slowly—agonizingly—the mark began to fade. Your breathing, once shallow and uneven, steadied just enough to give hope.

But your eyes stayed closed.

Katara finally let out a shaky breath, her hands lowering. “The damage is gone,” she said softly. “But… the rest is up to her.”

Zuko didn’t move away. If anything, he pulled you closer, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressed firmly against your back as if he could keep you anchored just by holding on.

Then—

You shifted.

Barely. Just enough that your body leaned instinctively toward him.

Zuko froze.

Your skin was cold.

Too cold.

Fear flashed across his face, sharp and immediate. He tightened his hold without thinking, pressing you against him. “No,” he muttered under his breath. “No, you’re not doing this.”

“Zuko,” Aang said urgently from nearby, having just pushed himself upright. “Use your bending. Keep her warm.”

Zuko didn’t argue.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe—not fast, not panicked, but steady. Controlled. The way Iroh had taught him.

Fire wasn’t rage. Not anymore.

It was life.

A soft warmth began to build beneath his skin, not wild or destructive, but steady—like sunlight. He focused it carefully, letting the heat spread through his arms, into you, surrounding you without burning.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

A soft gasp escaped your lips.

Zuko’s eyes snapped open.

Relief hit him so hard it almost knocked the breath out of him, but he didn’t lose focus. If anything, he steadied further, keeping the warmth constant, careful.

“That’s it,” he said quietly. “Stay with me.”

Your breathing grew stronger. Less fragile.

And then, slowly—your eyes opened.

At first, unfocused. Distant.

Then they found him.

Zuko didn’t move, like even the smallest shift might break the moment. “Hey,” he said, softer now, his voice almost gentle enough to disappear into the air. “Can you hear me?”

“…Zuko?” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

His composure cracked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He leaned his forehead against yours again, eyes closing briefly. For once, he didn’t try to hide the emotion—relief, fear, all of it tangled together.

“I thought—” He stopped himself, exhaling slowly. “You’re okay.”

You shifted slightly, still weak. “Cold…”

“I know.” His arms tightened around you instinctively. “I’ve got you.”

The warmth around you deepened, steady and controlled—but stronger now, driven by instinct more than thought.

It took a moment for you to realize.

“Zuko…” you murmured, a little more clearly this time. “You’re overdoing it.”

He didn’t respond right away.

“…Zuko.”

That got through.

He hesitated, then slowly let the intensity drop, the heat settling into something gentler. Enough to warm, not drain.

“You almost didn’t wake up,” he said quietly, like that explained everything.

You managed the faintest smile. “And you’re still exhausting yourself.”

A small, tired huff escaped him—something close to a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

Only then did you notice the others.

Katara watching with relief softening her exhaustion. Aang sitting forward, worry easing from his face. Sokka and Toph both clearly trying not to look too concerned—and failing.

You gave them a small, reassuring smile.

“I’m okay,” you said.

Zuko didn’t let go.

Not when you leaned back against his chest. Not when your breathing finally evened out. Not even when the tension in the air began to fade.

His arms stayed around you, steady and certain.

Grounding.

As if, for a moment, he needed to remind himself you were really there.

And this time—

You weren’t slipping away.

Credits: I used a cai bot as my base so but i cant remember which one im so sorry. But if you find them, all credits go to them.

Note: Just the same as my other post. I just posted this here cause i refuse to share my personal info with Cai or other chatbots to verify my age and i think its a bit wasteful to let the stories go. So im posting them so the wont be lost, but the its purpose is just for myself. Sorry if my english lags its not my first langue.

websterss

CARRYING IT — AANG

SUMMARY: You were born a non-bender, but Aang tries to make you feel included.

WARNING(S): fluff, angst

WORD COUNT: 5,197

PAIRING: Adult!Aang x reader

A/N: Hope you like it! Comments and feedback are always welcome.

MASTERLIST

velaenam

mind over matter

kyojuro rengoku x pregnant!reader tags: angst, death notes: hey, the red words symbolize something. think about it! hope you enjoy, or not... i hope you don't enjoy, cause i certainly didn't! ^_< **also title is song: mind over matter - young the giant

the evening is all soft chores and softer wind, a kettle beginning to whisper, clean laundry folded into stacks. you have the window cracked for the night air, cool and damp with camellia, a thin line of steam escaping from the pot as if the house itself was sighing. you fuss with the table for longer than necessary, shift a bowl an inch left, then back right, then you catch yourself smiling at how silly it is to want everything just so. the lantern light makes honey out of the walls, and your reflection in the window holds your gaze for a second. the fabric of your robe pulled a little more snug than last season, the curve that was not there a month ago asking to be noticed.

his footsteps always sound like relief. even before you hear them, the path speaks of him, gravel answering his stride, his whistle turning into a low hum as he lifts the latch. the door opens on that familiar rush, bright and warm, kyojuro filling the doorway like sunshine, fiery hair damp with mist, shoulders easing the whole house into a grin.

“i am home!” he announces, face beaming.

you breathe, finally. “welcome back,” you murmur, hands already reaching, taking his haori to hang by the door, smoothing the edge where it always curls. he leans down to kiss your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then your mouth, a quick series of light touches, like tasting dessert before dinner.

“it smells wonderful,” he says, peeking over your shoulder at the simmering pot like a child eyeing festival sweets. “and you look,” he pauses, eyes going soft and glazed in that way that always makes your chest feel full, “—so beautiful.”

you laugh into his collar, the laugh that tries to hide how your heart is thundering. “flatterer,” you tell him, but you hold on for a beat longer than you mean to, cheek pressed to the steady warmth of him. he notices.

“tired?” he asks, voice dipping, hands finding your hips, fingers feeling through the fabric. “have you been resting enough while i was away, my love?”

“i’ve been good,” you say, and the words taste careful. you turn off the flame beneath the pot, let the silence of the kitchen settle. the kettle trills, a clear small sound, and you set two cups out by habit, then only fill one, your fingers idling along the rim.

he sees it, the hesitation that never lingers when he is near. “love?” he prompts, more tender than the word has any right to be. he takes your hands, warms them between his palms, looks at you the way he looks at sunrise, as if every day is the first time.

you exhale and it feels like stepping into a spring. “there’s something…” you start, and your mouth is clumsy, “i have to tell you... or maybe, show you.”

he straightens a little, the brightness in him gathering, eyes widening with a boy’s eager patience. “then show me!” he says, immediate, certain, and his smile is the kind that makes you feel so brave.

you guide his hand down, over the tie of your robe, past the curve of your waist, to the newness there; the small swell that answers his palm like a secret finally set free. for a heartbeat he is very still. then he lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh and a cry tangled together, astonishment tipping his cheeks pink, every part of him lit from inside.

“oh,” he says, gentle and big at once, “oh.”

you look up through your lashes, shy and wicked and soft all at once. “i was going to wait until i felt a flutter,” you confess, your fingers covering his, pressing his hand a little firmer. “but i could not keep it to myself any longer. i think, i think it is starting to show.”

kyojuro drops to his knees so quickly the floor hums, and he kisses the place beneath his hand, then looks up at you with eyes glassy and bright. “a life,” he whispers, and then louder, thrilled by the shape of it, “a spark!” and he laughs, that ringing sound that makes the cupboards tremble. he talks to your belly like it is a guest of honor at his table, low and fond and so sincere it steals your breath. “hello there,” he says, “this is your father, i am very proud to meet you!” and then he huffs like he cannot contain all of it, forehead pressing to the curve, voice rough with joy, “thank you for choosing us.”

you card your fingers into his hair, your own smile pulling at your mouth until it aches. his hand splay wider, protective already, thumb drawing lazy circles as if he could read the future under your skin. he looks up again, searching your face like it holds the answer to every question he forgot to ask. “how long have you known?”

“a few weeks.” you admit. “i wanted to be sure. i wanted to tell you with dinner and a pretty speech, but i keep waking up and touching it and thinking about your face, and tonight i couldn’t wait.”

he stands, scooping you close, lifting you just enough that your toes skim the floor. your robe rides higher, his hands steady at the small of your back, careful as if you are made of spun sugar. “i will make a speech every night then!” he says, close to your mouth, breath warm, giddy and earnest, “i will make this house a sea of thank yous,” and he kisses you slower now, tasting the edges of each word like a promise.

you end up eating later because he keeps losing track, pausing mid-bite to touch you again, to ask quiet questions that tumble out in a stream. are you craving anything strange, do you tire quickly in the afternoons, should we move the bed closer to the window so the air stays cool, would you like softer sandals for the market, do we need more blankets, i can fetch more blankets, i can fetch the whole mountain if you point.

you tell him about the mornings, the small dizzy spells, the way the sun feels warmer on your neck. he tells you he has never been happier and that he’s always knew you’d look more beautiful pregnant. halfway through the meal he breaks off to stand and fetch his haori, drapes it around your shoulders with a seriousness that turns your throat to sweetness. “for warmth,” he says, even though the room is not cold, and he tucks it around you.

after, he clears the dishes even though he keeps bumping his hip into the table because he keeps glancing back at you, distracted, grinning. he insists you sit, he insists you rest, he insists on massaging your calves with clumsy intensity until you are laughing into your knuckles, then quiet again as the laughter gentles into something watery at the edges. he notices that too, kisses the corners of your eyes, tells you there is nothing wrong with crying when the heart has too much light in it.

when the lanterns burn lower he pulls out paper and a brush and begins a list in his big cheerful handwriting, talking while he writes. names for a girl, names for a boy, little ones he met in town last month that made him laugh, a teacher who once showed him how to braid rope. he circles a few, draws tiny flame marks beside the ones he likes best, then looks up at you as if the only answer that matters is yours.

you do not choose yet. instead you reach for his hand, press it back to the place where your body has become a new geography, and he follows the invitation. you lean into his shoulder, breathing with him, matching his pace without trying. the house is quiet, night thick against the window, the kettle cooling slowly on the stove, the list half-finished and waiting.

it happens the way important things always do in your house. not with a roar of thunder, but with the gentlest shift. you are still tucked into his haori, the brush and paper abandoned on the low table, when kaname lands at the window and taps. a sound like a small bone knocking on glass.

kyojuro is already moving before you can stand. he opens the latch and the crow hops inside, a tidy bundle of dark and urgency. the message is short. his face does not change while he listens, but you watch the brightness in his eyes gather itself, that steady purpose you have learned to read. mugen train. reports of disappearances. immediate.

you feel the world tilt and then catch. you nod before he even looks your way, because this is the life the two of you fold yourselves around.

“i need to leave,” he says anyway, careful, as if the shape of the words matters. he takes your hand like he did when he proposed, like he’s doing it again. “i will make it as quick as i can.”

you swallow and it tastes like tea that has gone cool. “of course,” you say, and the steadiness in your voice surprises you. “it is a mission.” you add the smallest smile because he deserves it, because courage is a thing you both feel. “like any other.”

his mouth wobbles around a laugh that does not quite happen. “i will be all right,” he tells you, the same way he tells you the moon will rise. he touches your cheek, then your stomach, and the second touch hangs in the air between you like incense. “i will be careful. more than careful.”

you move without thinking. a bento, quickly packed. rice still warm, pickles arranged in a silly little flame pattern you know will make him grin. the good cloth, the soft one you hide in the chest for winter mornings, looped around his neck with your fingers working slow because if they move slow, maybe time will too. you find the tiny charm you bought at the shrine two market days ago, the one with the red thread and the faint bell. protection for travelers. you press it into his palm and close his fingers over it until his knuckles go pale.

he leans down and kisses your forehead, your mouth, the line of your jaw where it meets the quick beat in your neck. he talks between kisses like he is collecting them. “i will be back before you know it,” he murmurs against your skin. “you will not even miss me,” he lies with a smile that tries to soften the truth. he kneels again, as if he can help himself, and speaks to the small bump like it can hear him over the quiet storm of your heart. “i am going to work,” he tells the baby, simple and bright. “watch over your mother while i am away. i will return. eat lots for me!”

your hands find his shoulders, the shape of him so familiar you could sketch it blindfolded. something braver than you rises to your tongue. “come back to us,” you say, and it lands in the space between you with a weight you both feel. not me, not just me, never again just me.

his eyes go glassy in that way that breaks into you. he cups your face, thumbs brushing the dampness there that you did not notice until now. “to us,” he repeats, and his voice cracks on the last word like a beam under a sudden load. “i promise.”

the house shifts into urgency then. he buckles his swords with practiced ease, still half turned toward you, unwilling to give you his back even for a moment. kaname waits at the window, patient as a clock. you straighten his haori and smooth a wrinkle that does not matter, and he lets you fuss because it settles your hands. the kettle is cold on the stove, the list of names on the table haloed by lantern glow, your favorite one circled twice and kissed with a tiny flame.

at the door he hesitates. you see it, that brief falter where his body already faces the path yet his heart refuses to leave the threshold. he takes your hand and presses it to his chest, under the scarf, against the hammer of him. “feel it,” he says, smiling, almost giddy with the need to make a promise into something you can touch. “that is the sound i will follow home.”

“we will be waiting,” you tell him, and it steadies both of you. you lift his hand and tuck it back to your stomach, your breath hitching when his fingers tremble. “do not dawdle. we have a list to finish.”

he laughs, grateful for the ordinary. he kisses you once more, and then he steps away, the scarf tail brushing your wrist like a last goodbye.

you stand in the doorway and watch his back grow smaller, the crow a black stitch against the sky, the charm in his hand chiming once, faint. you press your palm to your belly and breathe with the rhythm he left behind, counting it like beads, one, two, three, until the lanterns hum, until the house remembers how to hold the echo of his voice.

the days pass like honey through a sieve, slow and sticky, clinging to your ribs in a way that makes you ache. you keep yourself busy because that’s what he’d want. because sitting still makes the silence too loud.

the first morning you spend washing the linens, just so you can smell sun in them later. the second, you scrub the floors till they gleam, humming the song he always hums when he sharpens his sword. by the third, the needle’s between your fingers again, thread taut and fine.

you sit by the window where the light hits soft and gold, a basket of fabric beside you. your mind thinks of his haori—same flame pattern, same bold red fading into pale yellow. but smaller this time. one for him, one for the baby. the sleeves tiny, meant for hands that don’t exist yet.

you picture his face when he sees it. that radiant grin that eats up the room, the way his shoulders shake when he laughs. you can hear him already—matching with me, are they? what an honor!—and it makes your chest hurt and warm all at once.

he is going to be such a wonderful father. that made you tear up.

you pause sometimes, needle hovering midair, eyes drifting toward the path beyond the window. every creak of wood, every rustle of the trees makes your heart lurch. the crow hasn’t returned, and no letter’s come. he always writes when he can. always.

still, you smile when you fold the baby’s tiny haori over your lap, smoothing the fabric flat. “he’ll love this,” you murmur to the quiet. “he’ll say it’s perfect.”

you press the back of your hand to your stomach and try not to count the hours anymore. he said he’d come back to us. and he always keeps his promises.

but the sky’s turning heavy tonight, clouds pool over the horizon, and the lantern flame flickers a stutter too fast, guttering out before you can reach it.

the demon got away. the sun was about to rise.

blood ran hot between his fingers no matter how hard he pressed, seeping stubbornly through the cracks of his grip and dripping to the ground in slow, heavy drops. rengoku’s breaths were ragged, shallow things that scraped through his chest like leaves dragged along pavement. the night air bit at his skin, colder than it had any right to be, and each blink pulled the world a little farther from focus, black blooming in the corners of his sight like vignette.

“forgive me,” he managed, voice thin but still steady as he turned toward the boys. tanjiro’s face was wet, inosuke trembled with a fury he didn’t yet know how to hold, and zenitsu’s hands shook with pained shame. “you all did well. you must keep going.”

he smiled for them.

“i have to… get back to my wife,” he murmured, almost to himself, and the sound of it grounded him more than any bandage could.

his legs wavered beneath him, but he forced them to move. there wasn’t time to stay still. his promise still hung in the air—come back to us—and the thought of breaking it cut deeper than the wound ever could.

rengoku tore a strip from what remained of his haori, binding it clumsily around the gaping wound in his abdomen. the pressure stemmed the worst of the bleeding, but he needed more. gritting his teeth, he staggers through the wreckage of the train, before spotting a small corner that held flame like a lifeline. after placing his nichirin over the heat, he takes the weapon onto his wound, enough to scorch the edges of the wound shut. the smell of seared flesh turned his stomach, but the bleeding slowed, and that was all that mattered.

his vision tilted as he rose to his feet, but he pushed forward, each step precise, each breath measured.

there was a house at the end of this road. a soft light behind a window. a laugh he’d memorized. a life that waited for him and a heartbeat still too small to teach flame breathing.

he would not die here. not in the dirt. not beneath a starless sky.

he would die at home, if he must—his head cradled in your lap, his gaze soft on the curve of your belly, the promise the two of you had stitched into forever. the only woman he wishes to see as the world fades, the only warmth he wants to fall asleep beside.

so he walked.

one step. then another.

toward you. toward them. toward home.

the evening is warm enough that the cicadas hum lazily in the trees, their steady rhythm filling the quiet as you work. the fabric sits light across your lap, the almost-finished baby haori fluttering faintly whenever the wind passes through. you’ve been stitching for hours, humming under your breath the tune he likes best, the one he always drums his fingers to on the table.

the thread slips clean through the fabric again and again, the motions soothing in their familiarity. every so often you look toward the road, half expecting the bright streak of flame that means he’s home, the sound of his laugh breaking through the stillness. it’s been three days. he always comes back smiling.

you tie off a seam and lean back, stretching your hands, when a movement catches your eye down the path. at first it’s just a shape between the trees, blurred and slow, the orange of his haori flickering through the dusk like a match struck too weakly to catch.

“kyo?” you call, half laughing as you rise. the needle tumbles from your lap into the grass, forgotten. “you’re back—”

but the words die before they can finish.

he’s closer now. close enough that the light hits him, and what you see knocks the breath straight out of you. his shoulders are hunched, his steps uneven, and there’s a black-red stain spreading across his chest, dark and wet, a hole where there shouldn’t be one. his hand is clamped over it, fingers trembling, his haori torn nearly to shreds.

“no,” you whisper, and the sound doesn’t sound like your voice. your feet are already moving, the ground a blur beneath you. “no, no, no—”

he tries to smile when he sees you, the same kind he’s always given, brave and soft around the edges, but it falters halfway. his mouth opens like he wants to speak, and blood glints dark at the corner of his lips. you hear bubbles in his lungs.

the air feels wrong, thick, heavy, too slow to breathe. the baby haori slips from your hand, the tiny fabric crumpling in the dirt as you run the last few steps and catch him just before his knees give way. he’s warm, too warm, slick with blood, his weight heavy against your arms as if the world itself is trying to pull him down.

“i told you i’d come back,” he breathes, voice breaking, eyes still bright even through the pain. “i—i kept my promise.”

and the sight of him, the stubborn flame of him still trying to burn even now, splits your heart wide open.

tiny sleeves smeared with the mud his boots dragged with him, and when his eyes fall on it, something in his face breaks.

a sound bubbles from his chest — half a laugh, half a sob — and he reaches for it with a shaking hand. “you… you made one for them,” he chokes out, tears cutting paths down his blood-streaked cheeks. “... matching… with me...”

you’re crying too hard to answer. your breath comes in ragged bursts, chest tight, throat raw as the sobs keep breaking free no matter how you try to swallow them. your fingers flutter over his face, his neck, the edges of the wound, anything, everything, searching for something you can fix. “no, no, stay awake — please, kyojuro, please — we need you, we still need you, you can’t—”

his hand closes over yours, weak but steady enough to stop you. he shakes his head just barely, the ghost of that same brave smile curling his lips. “hush,” he whispers, voice slipping thinner with every word. “don’t… don’t cry. i don’t want… the last thing i see… to be your tears.”

you sob harder, the sound tearing out of you like it’s been waiting your whole life to escape. “don’t say it like that. don’t say it like you’re — you’re not —”

he doesn’t answer, only shifts closer, until his head is pillowed in your lap. his breath shudders as he lifts one trembling hand, laying it over the gentle swell of your stomach. his palm is slick and shaking, but the touch is reverent, tender. “take care of them,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat, then forcing themselves open again so he can see you. “tell them… i would have loved them with everything i am.”

your hands grip his wrist, trying to anchor him there, trying to hold his soul inside his body with sheer desperation. “i can’t do this without you,” you sob, rocking forward, forehead pressed against his. “please, please don't leave me — please —”

“you can,” he breathes, words catching on the edge of a laugh and a cry all at once. “you have to. live… fully. for both of us. promise me.”

you’re shaking your head, the word no spilling from your mouth again and again until it dissolves into broken sounds. his thumb drags over your knuckles, a clumsy, stuttering motion as his strength ebbs, and his eyes — gods, his eyes … beautiful.. golden red.…. never leave your face.

“promise me,” he says again, quieter this time, a plea wrapped in warmth. “be happy. raise them. tell them their father burned bright.”

and then he’s still. head heavy against your thigh, breath halted, the most peaceful smile still lingering on his lips as his hand stays pressed to the tiny life beneath your skin.

zikariogirl

Story idea: Sanemi gets jealous of you being kind to Genya

— brotherly conflict.

pairing: fem!readerxsanemi

genre: angst

Genya sat on the engawa, hunched over and wincing as he tried to wrap the gash on his hand himself. The cloth slipped from his fingers for the third time, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Here,” you said gently, crouching beside him. You took the bandage from his hands and began wrapping it yourself. “You’ll make it worse if you keep tugging like that.”

Genya’s cheeks flushed faintly. He knew who you were, how much you actually meant to his brother. Although the Wind Hashira has never voiced it, Genya knew you held a special place in his heart. “I—I can do it…”

“I know you can,” you said with a small smile, tying the cloth securely. “But it doesn’t hurt to let someone help sometimes.”

For a moment, he relaxed under your care. The stiffness in his shoulders eased, and his eyes softened in a way you didn’t often see.

“Oi.”

The sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

Your head snapped up, and there he was—Sanemi, standing a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His presence was heavy, storm-like, and Genya immediately stiffened.

“What the hell are you doing, babying him like that?” Sanemi’s tone was biting, his lip curling in disdain. “He’s not some weak brat.”

You frowned, staying crouched at Genya’s side. “He’s injured. I’m not babying him, I’m helping.”

Genya opened his mouth, “Nii-chan, it’s not—”

“Shut it,” Sanemi snapped, his glare shifting between you. “If he can’t take care of a scratch, he shouldn’t be here at all.”

Your chest tightened in frustration. You stood, meeting Sanemi’s glare head-on. “He’s fought beside us. He earned the right to be cared for.”

Something flickered in his eyes at that—it wasn’t just anger. It was something darker. Something messier… and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Sanemi scoffed, looking away, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “Tch. Don’t waste your time. He won’t last long anyway.”

Your heart stung at the cruelty, but when you looked closer, you saw it—the tightness in his throat, the flicker of pain he tried to bury beneath harsh words. And as you sat back down beside Genya, continuing your quiet work, you felt Sanemi’s stare burning into you—not just angry, but aching.

Genya sat rigid beside you, jaw tight as you tied the last knot in the bandage. You gave him a reassuring smile, brushing the excess cloth flat. “There,” you said softly. “Good as new.”

Genya’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile but was too afraid to with Sanemi looming nearby.

“Didn’t I tell you to quit coddling him?” Sanemi’s voice cracked like a whip.

You looked up, irritation sparking. “I’m not coddling him, I’m—”

“You are.” He stepped closer, steps heavy on the wood, his shadow falling across you both. His eyes burned, sharp and stormy, pinned on you. “You think you’re doing him a favor, but you’re making him weaker than what he already is.”

Genya flinched. “Nii-chan, that’s not—”

“Shut it!” Sanemi snapped, and Genya’s mouth shut instantly.

You rose to your feet, squaring yourself against Sanemi’s fury. “Enough. He’s bleeding, Sanemi. What’s weak about letting someone care for him?”

He ignored your words as his gaze slid past you to Genya, and his scowl deepened. “Pathetic,” he muttered, low and venomous. “Can’t even handle a scratch without someone holding his hand.”

Your temper flared, not appreciating being ignored. You placed a comforting hand on Genya’s shoulder, but before you could bite back, Genya shifted uncomfortably under both your stares. “She was just helping…” he said quietly, his voice almost a plea.

That’s when you caught it—Sanemi’s jaw twitching, his nostrils flaring the moment your hands lingered on Genya. What the hell is his problem?

Sanemi took another step forward, too close now, his glare boring holes into you. “Stop it.” His voice was low, rough, almost dangerous. “Don’t touch him like that.”

Your breath hitched at the command, your pulse hammering in your ears. You straightened, refusing to shrink back. “Why?”

Sanemi’s brow furrowed, thrown for half a second. “Because—he doesn’t need it.”

“That’s not the real reason,” you said evenly, your voice steady though your heart was racing. Your eyes locked on his, unflinching. “Why does it bother you so much, Sanemi?”

His fists curled at his sides. He looked like he wanted to bark something cruel, to shove your words away like he always did. But his throat bobbed, and his jaw twitched.

Genya shifted awkwardly between the two of you, eyes darting nervously. “_______, maybe—”

“Stay out of this,” Sanemi snapped, but his voice cracked under the weight of it.

The tension was suffocating. Genya sat stiff as a board, eyes darting between his brother’s furious scowl and your unyielding glare. He looked like he’d rather fight ten demons than sit here caught between you both.

Your chest softened with guilt. He didn’t deserve to be stuck in this.

“Genya,” you said gently, turning toward him. “Why don’t you head inside? Get some rest.”

His brows furrowed. “But—”

“It’s alright,” you cut in, offering him the faintest smile. “I’ll handle it.”

Genya’s gaze lingered on you, then flicked to Sanemi. He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he pressed his lips together, stood, and slipped inside, sliding the door shut behind him.

The air grew heavier in his absence.

You turned back to Sanemi, your expression firm. “You didn’t have to treat him like that.”

Sanemi scoffed, though his shoulders were still tense. “I told you, coddling him will just get him killed.”

“You don’t mean that,” you countered, stepping closer. Your voice was calm but cutting. “You lash out because you’re scared for him. I see it. Every word you spit is just fear dressed up as anger.”

His jaw ticked, eyes flashing. “Don’t pretend you know what the hell I’m thinking.”

“But I do.” Your tone sharpened, a rare edge in your voice. “I know you care about him more than you let yourself admit. And I know you hate that I can show him the kindness you won’t.”

Sanemi’s nostrils flared. He looked ready to argue, but the words caught in his throat. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with all the things he couldn’t say.

You didn’t move. You stood your ground, your gaze steady. “Why does it bother you so much when I help him, Sanemi? Why does it make you so angry to see me care for him?”

Sanemi’s glare sharpened, but his lips pressed into a hard line. His whole body shook like he was holding something in, like one more push would make him explode.

“Say it,” you pressed, your voice low but firm. “If you’ve got something to tell me, stop hiding behind your anger and just say it.”

His teeth ground so hard it was audible. He took a step forward, towering over you, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts.

“You really wanna know?!” he snarled, voice breaking at the edges. “Because it should be me, damn it!”

The air went still.

Your eyes widened, your heart skipping at the weight behind his words. For a second, you thought he might keep going, but he bit down hard, his jaw locking, like he regretted every syllable.

Your lips curved. Not mocking—fond. Warm. You tilted your head, eyes softening as you whispered, “Sanemi… you were jealous. Of your own brother.”

His face flared scarlet in an instant. “Tch—don’t say it like that!” he snapped, voice cracking. He turned away sharply, muttering curses under his breath. “You make it sound damn pathetic—”

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand. “I didn’t say pathetic. I said cute.”

“C–cute?!” His head whipped back, glare sharp but his ears were blazing. “The hell’s cute about that?!”

You gave him a little pout, stepping closer. “Next time you get yourself hurt, I’ll patch you up. No one else. Does that make you feel better?”

Sanemi’s throat bobbed, and for once, he had no snarl ready. He scoffed, looking away as his cheeks burned hotter. “Hmph. Like I’d ever need it.”

You smiled knowingly, her voice playful. “Mhm. We’ll see.”

Sanemi grumbled, fists shoved into his pockets, but you didn’t miss the way his ears stayed crimson or the way his eyes darted back to you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You reached up and tugged lightly at his sleeve, just enough to make him glance at you. “Don’t worry, Sanemi,” you said with a little lilt in your voice, wanting to tease him more. “You’ll always be the one I take care of.”

His chest tightened, and though he huffed and turned away with a muttered, “Che… you’re so damn annoying,” the tips of his ears betrayed him—burning crimson.

You giggled softly. “Mhm. Annoying, but yours.”

Sanemi nearly choked, grumbling incoherently as he stomped a few steps ahead of you, trying to hide the way his lips threatened to twitch into a smile.

zikariogirl

— lost without you.

pairing: fem!readerxsanemi

genre: angst, fluff

summary: he thought he lost you in the explosion involving the ubuyashiki mansion…but little did he know, you were waiting for him at the end.

a/n: i aged ubuyashiki up just for the sake of this one shot

Flames consumed the night, their glow painting the sky in a furious blaze. Where the Ubuyashiki mansion once stood, only ruins remained—charred wood, thick smoke, and collapsing embers. The Hashira stood frozen, stunned by the devastation before them. Yet among them, one bore the weight as if the entire world had just crumbled upon his shoulders.

Sanemi stood rooted in place, horror distorting every feature of his face. His heart pounded violently, each beat heavier than the last, until it felt like his chest might shatter. His limbs felt numb and useless, as though his body itself rejected the truth before his eyes. No. It couldn’t be. You weren’t in there, you couldn’t have been. The thought clawed at him, tearing through his denial, but the fire’s cruel glow whispered otherwise… and in that moment, Sanemi felt as if the world had ripped you away from him, leaving nothing but ashes where you once stood.

The moment he heard of the attack on the Ubuyashiki mansion, he didn’t hesitate. His body moved before thought, tearing through the night in a desperate rush toward you, toward your family. The only thing that mattered was reaching you in time. Whoever dared lay a hand on you would pay in blood, and he was ready to drown himself in it if that’s what it took to keep you safe.

He thought he was fast enough. He thought he could’ve made it in time. But now here he stood, staring helplessly at the inferno devouring your home. His mind reeled, a frantic storm of disbelief. What the fuck happened? How? None of it made sense. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He only knew one thing: he had to see you. He had to know you made it out. Forcing his trembling legs to move, he pushed forward through the choking heat and smoke, every step a desperate prayer to any god listening—please… please let her be alive.

When he reached the ruins of your home, his eyes darted desperately through the fire, searching for you… only to fall upon a man standing immobilized with Lady Tamayo at his side. The energy of a blood demon art bound him in place, letting Sanemi know that this man was a demon. Rage boiled inside him, his entire body trembling with it. His fists clenched so tightly around his sword that his knuckles turned white. Every muscle screamed for release, for violence. The thought of this monster being the reason behind the flames, behind your possible loss, ignited something feral in him. All he wanted—no, all he needed—was to tear the demon apart piece by piece, to make him suffer for every second you might have endured.

“Are you the one?! What the hell did you do…to her?!” He roared in anger as he unsheathed his sword.

But then Gyomei’s voice cut through his rage, the weight of his words striking harder than any blade. The “man” before them wasn’t just any demon—it was Muzan Kibutsuji. The Demon Lord himself. The monster responsible for it all.

Sanemi’s rage swelled until it consumed him, blinding him to everything but the truth, that Muzan himself was the reason for this devastation, the reason your family was gone… the reason you might be gone too. The thought ripped through him like a blade. He didn’t want to accept it, but fear and grief sank their claws deep, whispering the unbearable: that he had already lost you. His chest tightened as memories surged. How you were always at your father’s side, refusing to leave him once his health began to wither. Even when your mother tended to him, you stayed with the Master instead, treasuring every fleeting moment. You were always there, giving your time to those you loved.

Tears burned at the corners of Sanemi’s eyes, the heat gnawing at his skin yet none of it mattered. This fucker had taken you from him. He had taken the Master too. Grief twisted into rage until there was only one thing left, one singular purpose: to end Muzan’s life. With every ounce of strength in his body, Sanemi launched himself forward, charging at the Demon Lord with nothing but fury and the desperate need for vengeance driving him.

But you?

You had stayed behind, refusing to leave your younger sibling’s side. Your father had explained his plan—how he would use himself as bait, how the entire family had agreed to lure Muzan into their trap. You had begged him for another way, pleaded for a different outcome, but his resolve was unshakable. And your mother’s too. There was no escaping it since they were determined to face this together, no matter the cost.

You weren’t allowed to tell anyone about the plan, not even Sanemi. Your heart ached at the thought that he probably believed you were gone, lost in the explosion. Grief gnawed at you relentlessly, but you couldn’t let it show. You had to stay strong for Kiriya, Kuina, and Kanata. You had to fight, to protect them, to stand against Muzan. Your family’s sacrifice would not be in vain, and you would make sure of it.

But little by little, the crows began to bring news of the Hashira’s deaths. Your mind twisted with fear, thoughts darting to Sanemi, to Genya… they were all out there, facing the Upper Moons and Muzan. You stood firm beside your siblings, forcing yourself to stay strong, but every heartbeat was a struggle, every breath a battle against the dread clawing at your chest. Sanemi could be next. The thought alone made your stomach knot, your mind scream. You had already lost so much of your family… you couldn’t bear to lose him too.

At last, the battle ended. Muzan was defeated, and the Demon Slayer Corps had emerged victorious. Sunrise broke over the horizon, washing the world in light, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe. You won. You all won.

“Father,” you whispered, tears spilling over as you held your younger siblings close. “We did it. We won. You won.”

But that wasn’t enough. There was someone else—you needed to see him, to know he was alive. Once you made sure Kiriya, Kuina, and Kanata were safe, your legs carried you forward almost on instinct, heart hammering with every step. Smoke and ash blurred around you, your breaths ragged, adrenaline surging like wildfire through your veins. Nothing existed but the battlefield ahead and the desperate hope that he was still there. You had to find him. You needed to see him.

You froze instantly, your feet rooted to the ground at the scene before you. It was a massacre. Bodies littered the battlefield, some motionless, others writhing in pain. Everywhere you looked, injured Corps members struggled to stay alive as others frantically tried to tend to them. The sight stole your breath, and for a moment, the world narrowed to chaos and blood.

As anxious as you were, your concern centered on two people above all—the Shinazugawa brothers. Your eyes darted desperately across the chaos, your feet weaving toward clusters of corps members gathered around the injured, praying that Sanemi or Genya was among them. Your heart sank with each passing moment, almost on the verge of giving up, until a turn revealed a familiar flash of white hair.

You rushed forward, your breath catching as your eyes fell on Sanemi’s injured form. His torso was covered in bandages, most of his head wrapped tightly, yet his face remained painfully visible.

“Sanemi!” you shouted, your voice cracking, startling the nearby corps members who hadn’t noticed you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Tears blurred your vision as fear gripped your chest. Falling to your knees, your hands trembled as you gently cupped his bandaged face.

“My love,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please… wake up. Please come back to me.”

You couldn’t lose him. Not him. You had already endured so much loss in so little time… you couldn’t bear losing him too.

“I’m here, my love. I’m okay. Please don’t leave me.”

No response. Around you, the murmurs of the corps members confirmed the unthinkable… the possibility that he may be gone. Panic clawed at your chest, your breathing quickened, and your body trembled uncontrollably as you pressed your head against his chest, letting your tears fall like a relentless waterfall.

Why? Why did life have to be so cruel? You had dreamed of having a family, a marriage, a future that was supposed to be yours. You had even thought about names for your children. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

The sudden weight of a hand on your hair made you flinch, and you snapped upright. Your gaze locked with Sanemi’s, his eyes barely open, but wide with unmistakable surprise.

“You’re… you’re here. I-Is this real?” he murmured, voice weak.

Tenderly, you cupped his face in your hands, a trembling smile breaking through your tears. “Yes, my love. It’s me. I’m right here.”

It took time, but Sanemi eventually healed from his wounds. Learning that he had lost Genya shattered your heart, a pain you knew all too well. You stayed by his side through it all, supporting him every step of the way, a presence that helped him heal both physically and emotionally.

The last Hashira meeting had just ended, and you had stepped back, letting your younger brother take the reins as head of the Ubuyashiki household. Now, you and Sanemi walked hand in hand, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding you both. He suddenly twirled you around to face him.

“What—”

Your words were cut off as he pressed his lips to yours in a deep, consuming kiss. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck. For a moment, the world seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you suspended in that perfect, fragile space.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“Marry me.”

You nearly choked on your own breath. Your eyes widened as he dropped to one knee, cradling your left hand in both of his before moving it gently over his heart.

“I love you so much, my angel. There’s no doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are my reason to keep going, my reason to be better, and I vow to bring you happiness and protect you for as long as I live.”

Your lip quivered as you nodded, tears of happiness welling in your eyes, accepting his proposal. He grinned, pulling you into a tight, desperate embrace.

“I thought I lost you… that night, when I saw the explosion and everything… fuck, baby, I thought I lost you,” he murmured against your hair.

“I thought I lost you too,” you whispered, clutching his haori tightly.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, holding you there for a heartbeat before slowly pulling back. Lifting your chin gently, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “It’s over now, my love. All that bullshit with those damn demons… they’re gone. Now we can finally plan our future.”

You beamed and pecked his nose playfully. “I can’t wait.”

“I love you so much, ______.”

“And I love you more, Sanemi.”

ponderingmoonlight

Sanemi losing his shit after realizing you were dragged into the Infinity Castle

Pairing: Sanemi x fiancé!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: You promised to stay behind. He promised he’d come back to you alive. But when you’re suddenly pulled into the heart of the Infinity Castle, everyhting's turned upside down.

Warnings: ohhh I LOVED that teaser y'all, did you see how Obanai literally sprinted to be on Mitsuri's side? That's exactly what I imagined here hehehehe, go have a lil fluff with your soon-to-be husband <3

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