ALTA FF

I write fanfic!! I love reading and responding to your comments Don't feel comfy writing smut sorry :(

[yellow-lampshade]

All Fanfictions I’ve Written :)

ATLA:

Aang x Airbender Reader: part one here!

part two here!

part three here!

part four (final part!) here!

Sokka x reader:

part one

part two

Zuko x reader

part one

Modern AU

Sokka - soulmates matching tattoos

JJK:

in progress Nanami’s widow x Higoruma Hiromi

OTHER:

tbd bruh

[choco-bird]

Auwgehrufhsuwu I’ve missed u sokka🥺

[yellow-lampshade]

Sokka x reader (Legend of Aang) - Modern Soulmates AU Oneshot

I hope you all are ready for thissss.... it's like a lil one shot so im sorry the pacing is fast... im working on one for zuko and one for aang too dont worry!!! I just miss writing Sokka lol

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this is a soulmates au with like matching tattoo marks they get when they're around 17-24 ish?

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You’d learned, over the years, not to ask questions about the tattoo.

People always assumed it was a choice.

It helped that it looked like your style… clean lines, minimalist, the kind of design people would normally get. A thin crescent intersected by a single, steady line. Nothing ornate. Nothing obvious, but you knew that this was your soulmate mark. 

You got it the summer you turned eighteen. No pain. No needle. You’d woken up one morning with a warmth blooming under your skin and by evening, the mark had settled in like it had always belonged there.

Everyone had an opinion. Aesthetic. Spiritual. A phase. You let them believe whatever made them comfortable. The truth was, the mark didn’t feel like art like it would if it were a tattoo of choice. 

It felt like a promise you hadn’t agreed to.

For years, it stayed dormant. Cold ink. No reaction. No sign of the person it was tethered to… if they existed at all. You lived your life anyway. You dated. You loved in half-measures. You learned when to walk away.

Sometimes, late at night, you pressed your fingers to the mark and wondered if someone out there was doing the same. It had been five years since you got the mark, and nothing seemed to signal it was anything but taunting you.

Most nights, nothing happened.

Tonight was not most nights.

—-

The conference room smelled like burned coffee and dry erase markers… the unmistakable scent of late hours and strained patience. You adjusted the folder under your arm and checked the time on your phone.

10:47 p.m.

You debated leaving. You really did, but the whiteboard was still crowded with numbers and timelines, and the man standing in front of it looked like someone who hadn’t slept properly in years.

He was tall, broad-shouldered in a way that spoke more of habit than vanity, dark hair pulled back into a low knot that had loosened over the course of the evening. His sleeves were rolled down, jacket abandoned over the back of a chair… he muttered to himself constantly, marker squeaking in short, irritated bursts.

“Sokka,” you said gently, stepping inside. You hoped he wouldn’t mind the informality; you hadn’t interacted much with this man, but he seemed kind. “They already cleared the building.”

He startled—just slightly—but enough that you noticed. He turned toward you, hand still raised, marker hovering mid-air.

“Yeah. Figures,” he replied, breathless, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “We’re very efficient around here.”

You smiled without thinking.

You’d been working with him from a distance for months with joint task forces, overlapping projects, late-night strategy calls. He was sharp, relentlessly competent, and disarmingly funny when he let his guard down. The kind of person people leaned on without realizing how much weight they placed on his shoulders.

You hadn’t realized how heavy that weight was—until now.

Because the moment your eyes met, something shifted. The constant hum under your skin the low-level tension you’d stopped noticing years ago… eased. Like someone had turned down the volume on the world.

You exhaled without meaning to. Sokka frowned.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, surprised to find that you meant it. “Just… tired.”

He gave a knowing huff. “Same.”

Silence settled as you crossed the room and set the folder down on the table, leaning against the cool surface.

“I finished the revised impact report,” you said. “You were right about reallocating resources closer to the harbor district.”

He blinked. “I was?”

You laughed softly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Hey, I just like confirmation,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “In case I completely messed it up.”

You watched the movement absently… and that’s when it happened.

A sudden, unmistakable warmth flared beneath your skin.

You stiffened. Your hand moved on instinct, pressing over the mark hidden beneath your clothes near your chest. Heat pooled there, spreading like a slow burn—not painful, but intense. Alive.

Your breath caught.

Across the room, Sokka froze.

His gaze dropped—not to your face, but somewhere closer to your shoulder, like he was suddenly very aware of his own body. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushed the inside of his forearm. You noticed his hand tremble.

“You felt that,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “You—what?”

He looked up then, really looked at you, blue eyes sharp and searching. For a moment, something raw slipped through his composure… fear, disbelief, and a cautious kind of hope that made your chest ache.

“The heat,” he continued. “That—” He stopped himself, swallowing. “That doesn’t happen for you, does it? Normally I mean—”

Your mouth went dry.

“No,” you whispered. Silence pressed in, heavier this time. Sokka exhaled slowly and rolled his sleeves up.

The tattoo sat along his inner forearm, stark and undeniable.

A crescent moon intersected by a single line. Your vision narrowed in on the lines on his arm.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. His voice was steady, but only just. “Okay. That’s… not how I expected this to happen.”

“You expected it?” you asked faintly.

He huffed out a short laugh. “No. I expected it not to.” Something about that hurt more than you thought it would. He glanced at the clock, then back at you. “It’s late. And this—” He gestured vaguely between you. “This is a lot.”

You nodded, still pressed immobile against the table. “Yeah.”

“But,” he added carefully, “if you’re willing… I’d like to talk. Properly. No pressure.”

“Yeah,” you said again, this time with more certainty. “I’d like that.”

Sokka smiled… not his easy, joking one, but something quieter.

—

Sokka had always known the mark would know before he did.

He’d spent years pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending the thin crescent and line etched into his skin were nothing more than a coincidence of biology, a cultural oddity the world insisted on romanticizing.

People liked to ask about it. He learned early which answers discouraged follow-ups.

“Yeah, it showed up when I was eighteen.”

“No, it doesn’t mean anything special.”

“Just a tattoo.”

None of that was true. But it was easier than explaining the real reason he kept his sleeves down, even in summer. Easier than admitting he hadn’t let anyone see the mark on purpose in over a decade. Because Sokka knew exactly what the warmth meant. He’d just never expected it to happen like this.

The room had gone too quiet after they noticed.

He was painfully aware of his own breathing, the way his pulse thudded in his ears. The way the ink along his forearm still felt warm, as if something beneath it had stirred after years of sleep.

They—you—stood across from him, eyes wide, hand pressed over your own side like you were trying to ground yourself. Like you didn’t know whether to run or stay. He understood the instinct.

“I didn’t plan to—” He stopped himself, exhaling. Gods, get it together. “I didn’t mean to just… show you like that.”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “I think we were kind of past planning anyway.”

Despite everything, a quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Fair.”

He rolled his sleeve back down, not to hide it again, but because the exposure suddenly made him feel too vulnerable. Like standing without armor. Like letting someone see a part of him he’d decided long ago was safer left untouched.

He leaned back against the table, running a hand through his hair.

“So,” he said, carefully. “Full transparency? I’ve known about the mark since I was eighteen. It’s… reacted before. Not like this. More like—” He searched for the word. “Echoes.”

You nodded slowly. “Me too.”

Not alone, then. Not imagined. Not something he’d carried quietly while the rest of the world moved on untouched.

“I didn’t chase it,” he continued, voice low. “Didn’t go looking. I figured if… if fate wanted to show up, it would.”

You stepped closer, not crowding him, just enough that he felt it… the warmth again, gentle this time, like reassurance instead of demand.

“I didn’t chase it either,” you said. “But I don’t think either of us were running.”

Something in his chest loosened. He’d expected panic when this finally happened. Fear. Doubt. Maybe even resentment. Instead, what he felt most strongly was… caution.

Not about you.

About himself.

“I should probably tell you,” he said after a moment, gaze drifting to the floor, “I’m not great at easy things.”

Your lips curved, soft and understanding. “I kind of got that impression.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “I mean, this—” He gestured vaguely between you again. “People act like soulmates are supposed to fix things. Make everything clearer.”

He looked up at you then. “I don’t want to assume that. I don’t want to pretend this means more than it does—or less.”

You considered him, really considered him, and he had the distinct, unsettling feeling of being seen in a way that made lying pointless.

“Then we don’t pretend,” you said. “We just… start where we are.”

It was such a reasonable thing to say. It terrified him anyway. Because starting meant choosing. Choosing meant care. And care—real care—came with consequences he had spent most of his adult life learning how to survive. But as the warmth beneath his skin settled again, steady and patient, he realized something else. For the first time since the mark appeared, it didn’t feel like an unanswered question.

It felt like an invitation.

He straightened, nodding once. Decisive.

“Okay,” he said. “Then here’s where I am.”

You waited.

“I want to do this right,” he continued. “No disappearing acts. No assuming you’ll just… sync up to my life. You don’t owe me anything just because the universe decided to be weird.”

You smiled and this time it reached your eyes. “Good,” you said. “Because I don’t really believe in the universe doing the hard work for me.”

Something warm—not the mark, this time—spread through his chest.

“Then,” Sokka said, allowing himself a small smile in return, “how about I walk you out, and we get coffee sometime when it’s not almost midnight?”

“I’d like that.” Your smile grew as you stepped closer to him. 

As he opened the door and fell into step beside you, he became acutely aware of how naturally your presence fit… how the echo he’d lived with for years had finally quieted into something steady instead of sharp. He didn’t believe in promises carved into skin.

But he believed in choices. And for the first time in a very long while, making one felt… hopeful.

—

The café Sokka chose was small.

Not trendy. Not crowded. The kind of place tucked between a bookstore and a dry cleaner, where the furniture didn’t quite match and the barista greeted regulars by name. Sunlight pooled near the windows in uneven patches, dust motes drifting lazily in the air.

The café Sokka chose was small.

Not trendy. Not crowded. The kind of place tucked between a bookstore and a dry cleaner, where the furniture didn’t quite match and the barista greeted regulars by name. Sunlight pooled near the windows in uneven patches, dust motes drifting lazily in the air.

You arrived early out of habit, fingers curled around your phone, nerves humming low beneath your skin. You were reading the same paragraph for the third time when the door opened.

Sokka stepped inside, scanning the room automatically before spotting you. He relaxed almost imperceptibly when your eyes met.

“Hey,” he said, shrugging off his jacket as he crossed over. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“You didn’t,” you replied, smiling. And this time, it felt natural. Earned.

He ordered first—a frappuccino… with no hesitation at all—then gestured for you to go ahead. When you finished ordering your americano, he paid without comment, like it was the most normal thing in the world. You had to hold back a giggle when the barista called out Sokka’s order, and his face lit up like he had been given a million dollars. 

For a few moments, you talked about nothing important at all.

Work frustration. A book you’d both tried and failed to get into. The merits of oat milk versus “just drinking real milk like a person,” as Sokka phrased it with a goofy grin.

The warmth crept in slowly… not the sudden flare from the night before, but something softer. Like standing too close to a heater you didn’t realize was on. You shifted instinctively, and Sokka’s gaze flicked down, then back up again.

“You feel it too,” you said quietly.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He hesitated, then added, “It’s… different. Less intense.”

“Less scary,” you offered.

He considered that. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That.”

He wrapped both hands around his mug, thumbs brushing the ceramic absently. You noticed the way his sleeve rode up just slightly… not enough to reveal the mark, but enough that the warmth seemed to respond anyway, a faint hum beneath your skin.

“I’ll be honest,” he said after a moment. “I don’t usually do this.”

You smiled into your cup. “Coffee?”

“Dates,” he corrected, then paused. “If that’s what this is.”

“It can be,” you said. “If you want it to be.”

Sokka exhaled, slow and careful.

“I do,” he said. “I’m just… trying not to let the mark write the whole story for us.”

Something about that settled deep in your chest.

“I don’t want that either,” you admitted. “I want to actually know you. Not just… what we’re supposed to be.”

His mouth curved into a quiet smile. “Good. Because I’m kind of terrible at being what people expect.”

“I’ve noticed,” you teased gently.

He laughed then and the warmth flared brighter, pleased and unmistakable. You felt it echo where the mark rested against your skin, steady and affirming.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Outside, people passed by, lives intersecting briefly before moving on. Inside, time felt strangely suspended, like you were both standing at the edge of something new and deliberately deciding how fast to step forward.

Sokka broke the silence first.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“What was it like,” he asked carefully, “living with it before… this?”

You considered the question, fingertips tracing the edge of your cup.

“Lonely,” you said finally. “Not in a dramatic way. Just… quiet. Like waiting for a song to finish resolving.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

You met his gaze. “You don’t have to be.”

“But I want to,” he replied. “Not because we’re… connected like this.” He gestured vaguely, between you. “Just because I care.”

When your fingers brushed accidentally atop the table, skin to skin, it felt like confirmation rather than discovery. The mark bloomed with heat, bright and steady, like it had finally found the rhythm it was meant to keep.

[yellow-lampshade]

Hi!

What do you think about writing an aang x reader where they are just being all cute and cuddly but no one in the gang knows they are together so one day when they were kissing and being all lovey done the grand walks in on them

that’s so cute I love that 🥺 I love a secret romance!!!!

[yellow-lampshade]

PLEASE WRITE MORE FOR AANG, SOME YEARNING AND PINING

don't worry pookie i gotchu i just have hmwk this week ngl....

[yellow-lampshade]

modern aang x reader?? 🤔

OR A SOULMATES AU ALGZPWBSPQNS

I EAT UP A SOULMATES AU .... should it be modern ??? lemme pull up my writing docs hahahah

[yellow-lampshade]

I loved reading your aang x airbender reader fic!!! It was so cute and wholesome and ughhhhh

tysmmm 🥺🥺 I appreciate that you took the time to read and comment!!!

have any reccs for what I should write next?

[yellow-lampshade]

I really really love your aang x airbender reader fic!!! Is there anyway you could write more about them? Maybe like a side story or a whole new different story line, whatever you’re comfortable with but it’s totally okay if you don’t want to🥹🥹

have you been reading my docs👀👀 lol yes I am low key working on more stuff but more like one shots and shorter… probs more 1500-2000 words instead of +4000 word posts like the previous story :) if you have any ideas or one shot ideas lemme know!!

[yellow-lampshade]

I really wish everyone write story about Aang x airbender reader like that. I was falling in love.

I’m so so glad🥺🫶🏻 bruh I had so much funnnnn writing it!!!!

[yellow-lampshade]

Aang x airbender reader (PT 4) Legend of Aang

first off… thank you all so so much for all the love you have shown this little story!!! I hope you enjoy the ending and please feel free to message any more story ideas you would like to see in the future from me! love you all🫶🏻

—

Aang x Airbender Reader:

part one here!

part two here!

part three here!

—

The wind changes.

Not sharply. Not urgently. Just enough that it settles differently around your shoulders, like something familiar passing through and leaving an echo behind. You pause where you stand outside the tea shop, hands still, breath caught mid-inhale, struck by the strangest sense that somewhere, someone is listening to the same air.

The feeling passes as quietly as it comes. Life continues.

Days move in gentle, unremarkable ways. You help where needed, drift where invited. You learn the rhythm of the neighborhood… the carts that arrive too early, the children who run too fast, the way the late afternoon light always pools near the corner of the street as if it favors that place specifically.

You find comfort in the lack of expectation. No one asks what you plan to become. No one watches you like you are an answer waiting to be filled in. The wind is generous here. Cooperative. It doesn’t demand anything from you beyond attention.

One afternoon, as a vendor laughs loudly over a mistake with his scales, you catch yourself turning, half‑expecting commentary—something light, curious, infused with wonder over something small and human and good.

You stop. The space beside you stays empty.

It’s such a small thing, barely worth naming, but it follows you. Lingers. You try to ignore it, but it surfaces again later, when you’re on the roof adjusting a loose tile and the clouds are scattered thin across the sky. You watch them stretch and break apart, and without meaning to, you think about how Aang used to narrate clouds like stories.. never the same twice, always delighted by their changing shapes.

Your fingers curl against your wooden charm. You hadn’t meant to think of him.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. You don’t regret leaving. You needed the space. You still do. That much feels solid… anchored. But something softer presses alongside it now, not in opposition, just present.

You miss talking without explaining. Miss the way silence with him never felt earned. Miss being near someone who understood the wind not as a tool, but as a companion. The realization doesn’t arrive as a rush. It doesn’t knock the breath from your chest.

It unfolds.

That night, as you help close the shop and laughter lifts easily between you and Iroh and Zuko, your smile falters just slightly at the end—because instinctively, inevitably, you wait for another voice to join in. Bright. Familiar. A little off‑tempo in the best way.

It never does.

Later, alone in your room, you sit with your wooden charm resting warm in your palm, tracing its grooves as the wind slips through the open window. You let the truth exist without pushing against it, without letting it define you.

I miss his company. Not the Avatar. Not the future others built around him. Just Aang.

—

Aang’s POV

The day goes on.

That’s the strangest part. Meetings end. Plans move forward. People speak to him the way they always have… careful, hopeful, certain that he will know what to do next. Aang nods, smiles when expected, and listens. He even laughs once, reflexively, at something Sokka says.

But the feeling doesn’t leave.

It’s subtle. Not panic this time. Not the sharp fear from the morning. Just a quiet dissonance, like a note the world keeps hitting slightly wrong.

He’s standing on the upper walkway when he notices it properly.

The wind brushes past him, gentle and warm, moving through the open arches of the tower with an ease that makes his chest ache. For a split second, instinct pulls at him… to turn, to comment, to share the moment—

And then he remembers. There’s no one beside him.

Aang stills.

That’s when it settles… not as loss, exactly, but as absence with weight. The kind that doesn’t shout, just takes up space where something used to be.

He thinks about how you would’ve stopped here. How you always noticed the way the air behaved around the stone, how it narrowed and widened, how the currents slipped through the structure like they were curious. You would’ve said something quietly clever about it, something that would’ve made him grin before he even realized he was smiling. It had been sweet seeing you open up more and more throughout your short time together…

His chest tightens with a pain.

“Oh,” he murmurs, barely audible.

He hadn’t meant to think of you. He hasn’t been letting himself, not really—too busy trying to understand where he went wrong, how he could fix it without making things worse.

He misses the way you kept pace with him. Not chasing. Not lagging behind. Just… there. Misses how talking to you never felt like performance. How silence didn’t require interpretation. He leans his elbows against the railing, staring out over the city, watching the banners ripple below. The world feels louder without you in it.

The memory comes back without asking… of that night, the lantern light, the almost-kiss. The way the wind had slowed like it didn’t want to interrupt. The absolute certainty he’d felt in that moment was bright and terrifying in its simplicity.

That kind of truth doesn’t come from pressure.

It doesn’t come from destiny.

It just… is.

“I will find you.” He mumbles to himself as he plays with the end of his cloak. “No matter how long it takes,” he says. “No matter how far the wind carries you.”

Because what he felt with you wasn’t a moment born of pressure or circumstance. It wasn’t something spoken into being by the world’s expectations.

It was real.

And real things are worth seeking… not to claim, not to fix, but to meet again, freely, when both people are ready. Aang closes his eyes and lets the breeze move past him, carrying that intention without force, without urgency.

“Until then,” he murmurs to the open sky, “I’ll be here. Becoming someone who deserves to stand beside you.”

—

YN POV

The afternoon hums along the way it has all day.

You’re inside the shop, folding linen napkins while Iroh argues cheerfully with himself over which tea blend smells friendlier. Outside, Zuko’s voice drifts in through the open door as he finishes fixing something on the porch.

Then the voices change. Not louder. Just… more careful.

You notice it the same way you notice the wind shifting before a storm… not because it’s dramatic, but because the rhythm is wrong. There are boots on the street. Coordinated. More than usual.

You glance up just as several Fire Nation soldiers stop at the edge of the porch. Not aggressive. Not tense. Just very, very formal.

Zuko straightens instinctively. That alone sends a little click through your brain.

One of the soldiers steps forward and dips his head. “Sir. We’re here to escort you back to the palace.”

Zuko lets out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I said I’d be done by sunset.”

“We understand,” the soldier replies. “But the council has advanced the meeting.”

Iroh hums softly behind you, utterly unsurprised. “Well, duties do have a way of interrupting good tea.”

You stare at Zuko. Travel clothes. Scar. The posture you’d chalked up to discipline. The way the neighborhood listened when he spoke, even when he barely raised his voice.

“…Wait,” you say flatly, before you can overthink it. “You’re—”

Zuko winces a little. “Yeah.”

You blink. Look at the soldiers. Look at Iroh. Look back at Zuko. Huh. That… actually explains a lot.

“You’re the Fire Lord,” you say, more like you’re confirming the weather than anything else.

“Unfortunately,” he mutters. You snort before you can stop yourself.

“I mean,” you shrug, “you talk like someone who’s been crushed by responsibility since you were twelve. You fix things instead of delegating. You hate being noticed. And you literally said doing good should be quiet.” You pause. “In hindsight, yeah. That tracks.”

There’s a beat - then Zuko exhales, this time almost laughing.

“…Okay. That’s fair.”

The soldiers exchange quick looks, very much unused to this tone.

Iroh resumes sorting tea like nothing monumental just happened. “Would you like me to pack something for later?” he asks his nephew. “You always forget to eat when you’re trapped in long meetings.”

“I resent that,” Zuko says automatically. “…but yes.”

You shake your head slowly, still processing, but not unsettled. It doesn’t make him feel bigger. If anything, it explains why he was trying so hard not to be.

Zuko pauses before stepping down from the porch, glancing back at you. There’s a flicker of concern there—not fear, just… checking.

“You good?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. I mean—congrats on the whole ruling a nation thing.”

He grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that… you remind me of someone I know…”

The soldiers straighten as Zuko walks closer to them. “I’ll be back later,” he says to Iroh, then adds to you, “Try not to redecorate the shop without me.”

“No promises,” you reply with a grin.

He gives you the smallest smile before turning and letting himself be escorted away. As the street settles back into itself, you realize your chest isn’t tight. Your pulse isn’t racing. If anything, the puzzle has just finished assembling.

You glance at Iroh. “You absolutely knew this whole time.”

He beams. “Of course.”

“…Cool. Cool cool cool.”

The wind brushes past the porch, steady and unconcerned. Power or not, Zuko is still the guy who fixed lanterns and sat by the fire talking about choosing the right thing when no one’s watching.

And somehow, knowing the truth doesn’t push him farther away. It just makes him make more sense. You’re grateful that his advice came from a place of knowing and meant something… not just talking to talk.

–

It was the evening of the next day before you and Iroh saw Zuko again. 

You don’t realize how much time has passed until the street settles into that quieter, stretched‑out stillness that comes after evening but before true night. Lanterns flicker lower. Voices thin. The air cools just enough that the breeze feels deliberate.

You’re helping Iroh sweep the porch when the sound of boots approaches—unhurried, tired.

Zuko looks like someone who’s been talking for hours and listening for longer.

His shoulders are tight, jaw set in that familiar way you’re starting to recognize as restraint rather than anger. He pauses at the edge of the porch, taking in the shop like he needs the visual reminder that this place is still real.

“You survived,” you say lightly.

He exhales through his nose. “Barely.”

Iroh hums sympathetically. “The council survives you too, I hope.”

Zuko gives his uncle a look. “Debatable.”

Iroh smiles, satisfied, and ducks back inside, leaving the two of you alone under the lantern light.

“I don’t envy you,” you say honestly.

“No,” he agrees. “You shouldn’t.”

He sits on the edge of the porch, elbows on his knees, staring out at the empty street. You follow, settling a little distance away, close enough to share the quiet but not crowd it.

After a while, he speaks again—more careful now.

“You don’t owe us anything,” he says. “Not for staying. Not for helping out earlier.” His gaze flicks toward you briefly. “But if you’re looking for a way to keep… doing what you’ve been doing…”

You turn slightly. Listen.

“There are towns not far from here,” he continues, choosing each word deliberately, “that don’t show up on council maps. Refugees. Displaced families. Places that get overlooked because they’re inconvenient.”

The wind stirs, attentive.

“I’m heading that way in a few days,” he says. “Unofficially. Just… checking in. Making sure resources actually reach the people they’re meant for.”

He pauses.

“You don’t have to come. I’m not asking you to attach yourself to anything. I just thought I’d tell you.”

The offer hangs there—not a pull, not a push.

Just information.

You look out at the street, at the way the lantern light fades into shadow, at the shop behind you that has felt like a harbor rather than an anchor.

“I don’t think I’m meant to stay here forever,” you say slowly, more to yourself than to him.

Zuko nods once. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“But I don’t want to go back to hiding,” you add. “Or drifting just to drift.”

He glances at you then, something like recognition passing between you.

“There are people I trust,” he says eventually. “Friends.” The word is simple, but deliberate. “They travel a lot. Go where things are broken before they turn into disasters.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Like… relief work?”

“Something like that,” he replies. “They help when governments are slow. Or when bureaucracy gets in the way of common sense.” A pause. “They care more about people than plans.”

You glance back at him. “They sound like your kind of people.”

He huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah. They are.”

“They could use someone with your… instincts,” he says. “And your heart.”

Your fingers curl around your wooden charm, thumb tracing its grooves as his words settle.

“That’s a really generous offer,” you say honestly.

“Just information,” he reminds you gently, echoing his earlier words. “You don’t have to decide anything now. Or ever.”

You smile faintly at that—at the consistency, the way he practices what he preaches.

“It’s funny,” you murmur. “I keep ending up around people who believe in choosing your own way.”

Zuko chuckles quietly. “Must be exhausting.”

“Terrifying,” you agree. “But… kind of freeing.”

The lantern above flickers as the breeze passes, steady and unhurried.

Zuko stands, stretching like the weight of the day is finally loosening its grip. “Think about it,” he says. “If the wind pulls you in that direction, I can make the introduction.”

You nod, holding back a smile at his choice of words. “Okay.”

Zuko heads inside, the screen door sliding shut with a soft wooden thud.

You stay where you are. The porch creaks faintly as you shift your weight, settling back into the chair. The street has gone nearly still now; lanterns dim, voices distant, the air cool enough that the breeze feels deliberate as it curls around your wrists and ankles.

For a while, you just sit. Then, without warning, you smile. It’s small. Reflexive.

You can almost hear it—Aang’s voice, bright and a little breathless, commenting on the lantern light like it’s something miraculous instead of ordinary. You picture the way he would’ve leaned over the railing, feet swinging, talking with his hands even when he forgot to use them.

Your smile fades. You press your thumb into the grooves of your wooden charm, grounding yourself as the quiet stretches.

“I think you’d like it here,” you murmur, words slipping out before you can stop them.

The breeze answers, brushing past your cheek, familiar and gentle.

You don’t feel regret. Not really. You still know why you left… why you had to. But sitting here now, with choices offered instead of demanded, you can finally name what’s been humming beneath the calm. Your chest hurts. How did you get so used to being alone before Aang?

“I hope you’re okay,” you whisper to the empty street.

You sit there a while longer, letting the ache coexist with the peace, understanding something new and steady settle in its place: missing him doesn’t mean you chose wrong.

It just means the story isn’t done yet.

—

[this would be a crazy place to stop the storyyyyy lmao… but im not that mean here’s a lil bit more]

—

Morning comes softly.

The sound of a kettle warming and the smell of tea steeping patiently into the air wakes you from your sleep. You wake slower than usual, head clear in a way that feels new, like you rested without bracing yourself for something afterward.

When you step into the main room, Iroh is already awake, arranging cups on a tray. He glances up and smiles, eyes warm but observant.

“You slept well,” he notes pleasantly.

“Yeah,” you say. “I really did.”

He hums approvingly as he pours hot water, steam curling upward like it has nowhere better to be.

“You seemed thoughtful last night,” he says, not looking at you directly. “That is often the mind testing whether rest has done its job.”

You lean against the counter, considering that. “Zuko mentioned… traveling. Helping people in places that get overlooked.”

Iroh’s hands still for just a moment. Then he resumes pouring tea.

“My nephew has a good sense for where attention fails,” he says gently. “And a strong desire to correct that, even when no one will thank him.”

You smile faintly. “That checks out.”

Iroh sets a cup in front of you, and you finally look up into his kind gaze.

“You have already discovered that staying here was a choice you made freely,” he continues. “Going next would be the same kind of choice.”

“I don’t think I want to hide again,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be swallowed by something big either.”

Iroh smiles. Not amused—pleased.

“Then perhaps,” he says, lifting his cup, “you have found the difference between resting and rooting.”

You smile and nod as if you understand, but Zuko was right… Iroh certainly believed everything was mystical. You exhale slowly as the tea’s warmth reaches your lips and you ponder what your future could hold… when could you reach out to Aang? He was probably upset you abandoned him so quickly… 

Later that morning, Zuko finds you outside, tightening the cord on one of the porch lanterns. He pauses when he sees you, watching for a second like he’s gauging whether he’s interrupting something.

“Uncle talk to you?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“…And?” His tone is careful. Neutral.

You tug once more on the cord, testing it, then step back. “I think I’d like to hear more about your plan.”

“I can do better than that,” he says. “I’ll bring my friends here. As soon as I can.”

You glance at him. “They trust you enough to just… show up like that?”

He snorts quietly. “They’re used to being dropped into situations without warning.”

That makes you laugh before you can stop yourself.

“When?” you ask.

“A few days,” he says. “I’ll send word today.”

Inside, Iroh watches from the doorway, tea in hand, smiling as the wind settles again… content, for now, with the direction it’s chosen.

And somewhere far away, someone just decided to start walking.

—

The day stretches.

That’s how it feels… not long, exactly, just extended, like the world is holding a breath it hasn’t decided whether to release or not. The tea shop hums with the same steady rhythm as always, but the air feels charged now, restless in a way you can’t quite name.

You try not to think about why.

Zuko has been gone since early morning, leaving only a brief, offhand remark about meetings that couldn’t wait and roads that couldn’t be delayed any longer. Iroh seems entirely unconcerned by his absence, moving through the shop with calm precision, setting cups out just so, humming as the kettle warms.

You, on the other hand, can’t quite settle. The wind keeps circling the porch more than usual… slipping through the chimes, tugging lightly at loose paper, brushing your sleeves as if checking that you’re still there. It’s not urgent. Just… attentive.

“You are pacing,” Iroh observes gently, as you cross the room for the third time without realizing it.

You stop, startled. “I am?”

He smiles into his tea. “Only a little.”

You huff a quiet breath, rubbing the back of your neck. “Sorry. Guess I’m just… waiting.”

“For what?” he asks mildly.

You open your mouth. Close it again.

“…I’m not sure.”

He doesn’t press. Instead, he gestures toward the open doorway. “The wind is rarely impatient without reason.” That doesn’t help. Not really.

The afternoon wears on. You help where you can—stacking cups, wiping down tables, listening as neighbors drift in and out. Every so often, your attention snaps to the street at the sound of footsteps, only to ease again when it’s not who—or what—you’re expecting.

You’re not sure who you are expecting. That’s the problem.

The light begins to shift toward evening when you feel it properly—the change in the air, sudden and unmistakable. The breeze sharpens, lifting with intention, like it has somewhere to be.

Your heart stutters. Iroh straightens near the counter.

“Oh,” he says softly. “They’re here.”

Before you can ask who they are, the wind surges through the doorway, warm and familiar and impossibly specific. It brushes past you with a sensation that steals the breath from your lungs—not forceful, not wild. Footsteps sound on the street.

Zuko’s voice carries first, steady and grounded. “Uncle.”

“There you are,” Iroh replies pleasantly, already moving forward. “I was beginning to wonder if the world had claimed you for the rest of the week.”

“Almost,” Zuko says. Then, closer now—“Thanks for waiting.”

Your pulse is loud in your ears. You turn toward the door just as multiple figures step into view—travel‑worn, sun‑touched, familiar in silhouette even before faces come into focus. The wind curls tighter around you, like it’s urging you forward and holding you back all at once.

Zuko steps aside slightly.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, glancing between you and the group behind him. His tone is casual and calm.

He gestures. “This is Avatar Aang—”

—

Aang’s POV (heheheheheheh)

Zuko pauses just inside the doorway.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” he says.

Aang’s stomach drops as he sees your face. You’re standing there. Not imagined. Not a trick of memory. Not a ghost made out of wind and regret. You. Exactly the way he remembers—but steadier. Grounded. Real.

For half a heartbeat, Aang’s brain simply… stops.

His mouth opens, uselessly.

He can already feel the panic rising.. the reflexive fear that you’ll see him and freeze, or worse, leave again. That the moment he acknowledges you, the choice you made will reassert itself and you’ll turn away, apologize softly, disappear like mist.

He takes a step back before he can stop himself.

“I—” he starts.

You don’t let him finish. You move.

“Aang!”

The sound of his name hits him like a gust to the chest—and then you’re there, arms around him, solid and warm and real, the impact knocking the breath clean out of his lungs.

“Oof—!” He stumbles automatically, hands flying up in pure instinct to steady you… and then his arms close around you before his brain can form a single coherent thought. 

“Wait—what—hi—?!”

You laugh—right there, against his shoulder—and that’s it. That’s the last thread holding him together. 

“Oh wow,” Aang blurts, voice cracking as he squeezes you back, hugging you harder like if he lets go you might vanish. “Okay—okay, hi—hi—I thought you were gonna—YN!”

“I was planning on saying hi first,” you mumble into his robes, arms tightening around him. “But this seemed faster.”

He lets out a sound that’s half‑laugh, half‑relief‑sob, eyes stinging as he buries his face briefly against your hair.

“You— you ran at me,” he says, stunned. “That’s… that’s new.”

“I know. Character growth.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—to really see you. Steady. Smiling. Here. Not small. Not cornered.

“You’re—” He swallows. “You’re okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“…You’re not leaving?” he asks, quiet now.

You shake your head. “Not right now.”

His shoulders sag with relief so sudden he nearly laughs again.

“Oh thank the spirits,” he breathes.

Somewhere behind you, he hears Zuko clear his throat.

“Uh,” Zuko says. “So. You two… know each other.”

Aang doesn’t let go, but nods quickly before burying his head deeper in the crook of your neck.

Zuko let out a laugh. “This is new.”

You snort.

The wind rushes through the shop like it’s been waiting forever for this exact moment—lifting, circling, joyful. For the first time since you left, Aang doesn’t feel like he’s chasing anything. You came back on your own. And gods, he’s holding you like he’s never letting go again.

—

YN POV

For half a second, you don’t understand what you’re seeing.

The tea shop doorway feels too small to hold the shape of the moment as it unfolds—travelers stepping in one by one, the late light catching dust in the air, the wind moving through the space like it’s remembering itself.

And then—

You feel it.

Before your eyes fully register him, before your mind can catch up, the air shifts—warmer, brighter, unmistakably alive. Not summoned. Not bent.

Recognizing.

Your breath catches painfully in your chest.

Aang stands just inside the doorway.

He looks… older. Not by much, but enough that it lands. Broader through the shoulders, calmer in the way he holds himself, eyes quieter but deeper than you remember. His arrow tattoos are visible where his robes fall open at the collar, familiar and grounding and suddenly overwhelming.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves.

The noise of the shop fades to a distant hush. You’re acutely aware of your hands—how they curl reflexively, how your thumb presses into the grooves of your wooden charm like it can keep you tethered to this moment.

After running to him, hugging him, and trying not to cry, you hear Zuko’s voice break the bubble. 

Zuko looks between you, brow furrowing in real confusion now. “Wait,” he says, slow. “Do you—?”

“We know each other,” you say at the same time Aang blurts, “We traveled together—”

You both stop.

Aang laughs once, short and disbelieving, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

You shake your head, heart racing. “It’s okay.”

Across the room, Iroh watches with a soft smile, eyes crinkled in quiet satisfaction, like this was never a surprise.. only a matter of timing.

Zuko lets out a long breath. “Wow,” he mutters. “Okay. That explains a lot. You guys are a LOT alike…”

You don’t look away from Aang. He looks… hopeful. Careful. Like he’s standing at the edge of something precious and refusing to move until he knows it’s safe.

“I didn’t know,” he says gently. “Zuko didn’t tell me where we were stopping. I just—”

“I know,” you smile into his chest as you hold him closer. “I never want to leave you again. I’m so sorry—”

“Never say sorry!” Aang blurts out as he holds you by your shoulders and looks down into your eyes. “I just can’t believe this is real!”

You stay like that for a moment longer… breath still uneven, the rest of the world respectfully quiet around you as your brain struggles to process what’s going on. Aang’s hands are warm at your sides, careful now, like he’s relearning where he’s allowed to be. You realize, distantly, that you’re doing the same… standing here without bracing yourself to disappear.

“You don’t have to explain,” you say softly, before either of you can fall into that habit again.

He blinks. Then smiles—slow and careful and real. “Okay.” 

You pull back just enough to look at him properly. The wind presses in around you both, curious, pleased, carrying none of the tension it once did. Outside, the street moves on—cups clink, footsteps pass, life continuing exactly as it should.

“I chose to leave,” you say, steady. “And I chose to come back.”

Aang nods, understanding settling into his bones. “And I chose to wait.” A pause, quieter. “And to walk forward.”

You laugh softly at that—not because it’s funny, but because it fits him so perfectly.

“I don’t feel small here,” you admit. “Not now.”

“You never were,” he says immediately… then stops himself, catching your expression. “Sorry. I mean—”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “But it’s nice to hear it anyway.”

Zuko mutters something about “needing air” and retreats with Iroh toward the back of the shop, leaving the doorway open and the moment intact.

Aang hesitates… his eyes flicking to yours as if asking permission without words. When you don’t move away, when you tilt just slightly closer instead, he exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days.

He leans in and kisses you.

It’s quick. Soft. Almost tentative—more a confirmation than a claim. Like he’s afraid of startling the moment if he presses too hard.

it’s perfect.

You smile against his lips before he can pull back too far, resting your forehead against his as the wind lifts around you, light and delighted. 

Aang laughs under his breath, cheeks warm. “Okay,” he says again, a little breathless. “Hi.”

You grin. “Hi.”

Aang glances at the sky, then back at you. “So… wherever you’re going next—”

“—can you walk with me for a bit?” you finish for him.

His eyes go bright.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d really like that.”

—

[gotta give the people what they want…. Hehehe]

—

A FEW YEARS LATER……. 

The wind knows this place.

It always slows here—curling gently around the stone steps, teasing the prayer flags strung between beams, lifting the scent of tea and warm bread into the open sky. The tower isn’t new anymore. It bears scuffs and soft wear, hand‑repaired railings, faint etchings along the walls of where you and Aang had tried to replicate from your old tower.

You sit on the terrace with your feet tucked beneath you, folding linen while the afternoon sun settles comfortably on your shoulders. Somewhere below, laughter rings out—easy, familiar. Not urgent.

Behind you, there’s movement.

Aang sets a mug down within easy reach of your hand, pressing a kiss into your hair without ceremony. It’s second nature now—muscle memory shaped by years of mornings like this.

“You forgot you left these soaking,” he says lightly, nodding at the cloth in your lap.

You smile. “I didn’t forget. I just… reprioritized.”

He hums skeptically, leaning his hip against the railing. His face is calmer these days, lines at the corners of his grey eyes earned by laughter instead of worry. The tattoos along his arms are faded just slightly from sun and time. He looks content.

“You always say that,” he replies.

“And I’m always right,” you counter without looking up.

He laughs and the wind seems to laugh with him, lifting and settling like it approves of the exchange.

“You know,” he says after a moment, gaze drifting toward the horizon, “there was a time I thought the wind was always telling me to move.”

You tilt your head to look at him. “And now?”

He smiles, pressing his forehead to yours. “Now it tells me when I’ve arrived.”

Your chest warms as you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. 

Below, someone calls Aang’s name. He answers without urgency, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

“I know,” you reply.

He pauses, then leans in and kisses you before heading down the tower stairs. 

—

[you thought I was done lolllll]

—

A few more years later?? 

Small feet patter across the terrace stones behind you, uneven and quick, accompanied by an excited rush of air that definitely wasn’t invited.

“Hey—easy!” Aang calls, half‑laughing as he turns just in time to steady a small body before they collide with his legs.

“I did it!” a little voice declares triumphantly.

You glance over your shoulder, smiling as you watch Aang crouch instinctively, hands already gentle and sure as he steadies your child… hair sticking up in every direction, grin wide enough to rival the sky.

“Yes,” he says solemnly, “you absolutely did. But remember what we practiced about slowing down?”

They scrunch their face in exaggerated thought, then attempt to walk very seriously for exactly three steps before dissolving into giggles again.

You stand and join them, smoothing a stray curl back into place. “Inside voice for the wind,” you murmur fondly.

They nod, earnest, immediately lowering their arms—only for a breeze to whirl around them anyway, delighted by the effort. Aang catches your eye over their head, smiling in that familiar way that still makes something warm settle in your chest.

“They get that from you,” he says softly.

You snort. “You taught them how to walk on air before they learned how to walk on the ground.”

“That feels unfairly accurate.”

From the doorway, another smaller presence appears, watching the scene with wide eyes before toddling forward and reaching for your leg.

You scoop them up easily, pressing a kiss into their hair.

By the time the sun slips low and the terrace fills with the quiet sounds of home, soft laughter, small footsteps, the kettle settling back into stillness, you realize how complete it all feels. Not finished, not perfect, but held together by choice and time and a love that has learned how to stay without staking a claim. Aang’s presence is unwavering at your side, familiar as breath, as the feel of air moving just because it wants to, and the life you’ve built together hums gently around you… rooted, unafraid, whole. You are home.

[yellow-lampshade]

UR KIDDING ME????? CUZINNNN WTFFF R DOIN TO MY HEART PLEASEEE!!!! On a rlly cool side note I’d like to inform u of the utter poetry u slapped me in the face with. The family line from Iroh??? Shook me to the damn core that was a crazy read I SSed it and sent it to everybody bc I will never find that in a hardback book <3

You’re tearin it UPPPP in there babes please never change who u r ilysm

broooooooo YOU ARE SO SWEET IMMA CRY :(

POSTING FINAL PART NOW

[yellow-lampshade]

Aang x airbender reader (pt 3!)

(Legend of Aang) yall are not ready…. Omg…

part one here!

part two here!

gl guys… my heart hurts already lol

—

Gliding has always felt like listening more than moving… leaning into currents instead of commanding them. Before Aang, you had never owned a proper glider. Today, the air feels heavy with unsaid things, but it still catches your sail when it matters. The tower shrinks behind you, pale stone melting into the haze of morning as the city stretches awake beneath a sky painted in soft gold.

You don’t look back twice.

Instead, you think. You think about the way Aang smiled like the world would always make room if he believed hard enough. About how his presence felt like standing at the edge of something good and lasting… and how frightening that made it. About Katara’s words and how your chest had tightened at the thought, even though a small, traitorous part of you had wanted a quieter life.

You’d lived quietly your whole life.

That wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was realizing you couldn’t go back to being invisible… not after being seen the way Aang saw you. Not after laughing, sharing food, letting yourself imagine a place to set your things down.

The wind hisses softly against the sail, urging you onward.

I don’t want to be alone, you think suddenly, surprised by how clear the thought is. But you don’t want to be a symbol. Or a promise. Or a future written in council chambers by people who will never live inside your skin.

You bank slightly south, letting the land unfold beneath you… hills softening into warmer tones, architecture shifting subtly with distance. After what seemed like hours the air itself begins to change, warmer, tinged with something earthy and faintly metallic. Fire Nation territory, or close enough to it.

You land briefly by a river to drink, letting your glider rest beside you. The charm presses warm against your palm as you think of Aang again… of the word us said so softly it hadn’t realized how loud it would be.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit aloud to no one.

The wind doesn’t answer this time. It just waits.

You take a deep breath in and are surprised by the sweet scent of tea filling your nose. As your stomach grumbles, you take a look around to find a little tea shop tucked away behind a cluster of trees towards the outskirts of the larger city.

It seemed so unassuming. A wooden building tucked between stone storefronts on a quiet Fire Nation street, steam curling lazily from open windows. Wind chimes hang crookedly along the porch, chiming louder as you approach the building… that’s probably what kept you from turning away. It seemed like the chimes were giving a friendly call to you, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

You step inside.

The shop is small, sunlight filtering through paper screens, casting soft amber patterns across worn tables. There are only a few patrons scattered about, murmuring quietly. A kettle whistles somewhere behind the counter.

And then you hear humming.

Low, cheerful, entirely unconcerned with the weight of the world.

The man behind the counter turns, smiling before he even sees you properly.

“Ah,” he says warmly, eyes crinkling as they land on you. “A traveler with heavy thoughts and far too little breakfast.”

“…Is it that obvious?”

He laughs, gentle and booming without being loud. “After many years, one learns to read the language of shoulders and sighs. Please—sit. Tea first.”

You hesitate only a moment before obeying, perching at a small table near the window. When he sets the cup down in front of you, the steam curls upward, fragrant and calming.

You take a sip.

It tastes like warmth without expectation.

Something in your chest loosens.

The man returns to his place behind the counter without comment, humming as he adjusts the kettle and wipes at a surface that is already clean. He doesn’t watch you drink. He doesn’t ask questions. He lets the silence stretch the way comfortable silences do—not demanding, not heavy.

Outside, wind brushes past the open window, stirring the hanging chimes just enough to make them whisper.

“Travelers often come in with the wind loud in their ears,” the man says eventually, still turned away. “Sometimes they forget what quiet feels like.”

You blink, fingers tightening slightly around the cup.

“I don’t feel very loud,” you admit.

He chuckles softly. “No. Usually, the quiet ones are the ones carrying the most… You look like you’re far from home.”

You look down at your linen pants, hyper-aware of the dirt smudges that create a pattern across your legs. The kettle clicks off. He pours another cup then finally sits across from you, carefully sipping his tea thoughtfully. 

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” you say quietly.

“Ah.” He nods, unsurprised. “That is a very honest place to be.”

He takes a sip of his own tea, savoring it. “Some believe that belonging comes from roots—where you stay, who you stay for. Others think it comes from motion, from not letting the world pin you down.”

He gestures loosely between the cup and the open window.

“I have learned,” he says, smiling faintly, “that family is not always the place you return to. Sometimes it is the place that makes room for you to leave… and trusts you will find your way back if you wish.”

The wind stirs again, warmer here, steadier. You exhale slowly, realizing you’d been holding your breath. You don’t explain yourself. He doesn’t ask. Instead, he reaches over and nudges a small plate toward you… something simple, sweet, warm.

“Eat,” he says kindly. “An empty stomach rarely improves decisions.”

You huff a quiet, surprised breath that almost resembles a laugh and take another bite, letting the tea and the words settle.

The bell above the door jingles. Footsteps follow, heavier than most, measured and familiar. The older man behind the counter glances up before the figure even reaches the threshold, his mouth already curving into an easy smile.

“You’re late,” he says mildly.

“I had things to finish, Uncle,” the newcomer replies, shrugging off his cloak. His voice is low, restrained... Just tired in a way that suggests responsibility rather than anger.

He looks… ordinary, at a glance. Traveling clothes. Dark hair tied back. A scar visible once the light catches him right on his eye… But the way he moves through the space tells a different story—careful, aware…

His uncle pours a second cup and slides it across the counter before the newcomer can ask.

“Strong tea,” he says pleasantly. “No honey. Just how you like it.”

The younger man huffs a quiet breath, almost fondly as he picks it up. “You remembered.”

“I always remember,” his uncle replies.

He finally glances your way then… not long, just enough to acknowledge your presence with a small, polite nod. You return it instinctively.

There is something about him that feels familiar in a way you can’t place. Not friendly. Not threatening. Just… known, somehow. 

He takes a sip of tea and exhales slowly, shoulders loosening just a fraction.

“…Did I interrupt?” he asks.

“Not at all,” his uncle says, already refilling your cup. “You arrived exactly when you were meant to.”

The younger man raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. He turns his attention briefly to you.

“You passing through?” he asks—not prying. Just curious.

You hesitate, then nod. “For now.”

“Mm.” He considers that. “Sometimes ‘for now’ is the most honest answer.”

The older man smiles into his own cup before glancing up quickly in a start. “Oh yes— I apologize for my rudeness, I am Iroh. This is my nephew Zuko!”

You greet them officially. “Thank you for the tea again, my name is YN.”

Zuko settles into the chair across the room, back to the wall, tea held carefully between his palms. He doesn’t stare, but you can feel his awareness like a low ember… Not watching you, exactly. Watching the space around you. Iroh moves easily between counter and table, refilling cups, adjusting the kettle, humming faintly. The shop breathes again, calm restored not by silence but by familiarity.

“You’ve been traveling for a while,” Iroh says conversationally, eyes on the steam rising from the pot.

“Yes,” you answer. It feels safe to keep it simple.

“On foot?” Zuko asks, glancing over.

“…Not always.” His gaze flicks, brief but sharp, to the way the breeze nudges the edge of your sleeve before settling again. 

Iroh sets a small dish of pastries on the table between you. “Some people,” he says lightly, “travel because they are looking for something. Others because they need distance from what they already found.” You chew slowly, considering.

“And some,” he continues, smiling gently, “are simply listening to the wind to see where it asks them to stop.”

Zuko exhales the faintest laugh through his nose. “You always make it sound mystical.”

“Life is mystical,” Iroh replies cheerfully. “People are just impatient about it.”

Your eyes drift to the window. Outside, the street glows orange in the late evening light, people passing, unaware of the fragile stillness held inside this room.

“I didn’t think stopping would feel like this,” you admit quietly. “Like… relief, and fear at the same time.”

“That usually means you stopped in the right place,” Iroh says.

Zuko studies his tea. Then, without quite looking at you, he adds, “You don’t seem lost.”

You look back at him, surprised.

“Just… undecided,” he clarifies. “There’s a difference.”

Iroh watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction, then claps his hands once, gently.

“Well!” he says. “The sun will set soon. I think this is a good place to rest for the evening. The spare room is clean, and no one will ask you questions you don’t want to answer.”

You blink. “I didn’t—”

“It is an offer,” he says kindly. “Nothing more.”

You hesitate. Then nod.

“…I’d like that.”

Zuko stands, setting his empty cup down. “I’ll be out back if you need anything later tonight,” he says to Iroh… then pauses, turning back to you.

“I’m glad you stopped,” he adds, simply as he leaves out the door.

Iroh smiles at you, eyes warm as he shows you to the spare room in the back. 

—

Sleep comes lightly.

Not badly… but not deep either. The spare room creaks softly as the building settles, and sometime after midnight, you wake with the sense of being watched by the quiet itself.

The window is open. The wind slips in, cool now, brushing your cheek like a question.

You sit up slowly, pulling your wrap tighter around your shoulders. The tea shop is dark, lanterns dimmed low, but there’s a faint glow outside—firelight.

Curiosity wins. You pad quietly through the back hall and step out into the alley behind the shop.

Zuko stands near a small fire pit, flames kept deliberately low… Just sitting on a crate, elbows on his knees, staring into the embers like they might answer him if he waits long enough.

He glances up when you step closer.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head. “You?”

“Not lately.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s… companionable. Like sitting beside someone on watch, even if there’s nothing to guard against. After a moment, you sit across from him, letting the fire warm your hands. 

“I thought leaving would make things clearer,” you say finally. “Instead it just… made the questions louder.”

Zuko pokes at the embers with a stick, sending a brief spray of sparks into the night.

“Yeah,” he says. “That tracks.” There’s no agenda in the way he listens. No expectation that you’ll explain yourself better, or faster, or at all. He just waits, as if he trusts you’ll keep going if you want to.

You glance at him, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “You don’t seem like someone who likes loud questions.”

“I don’t,” he agrees with his raspy voice. “But sometimes they’re the only ones worth answering.”

The wind curls around the fire, tracing the path of your eyes as you ponder.

“I don’t want to live a small life,” you say. “But I don’t want to be used for something ‘important’ either. I don’t know how to exist in between.”

Zuko watches the fire a moment longer before speaking.

“For a long time,” he says, “I thought doing something bigger than myself meant being seen doing it. Being recognized for it.”

He exhales slowly. “I was wrong.”

You tilt your head, listening.

“Real good,” he continues, “usually looks boring. Or quiet. Or inconvenient. It’s helping people who won’t know your name. Making choices no one applauds. Doing the right thing even when it costs you something.”

He glances at you. “And it only works if you choose it freely. The moment someone decides it for you… it stops being good.”

The words settle deep, warm and steady. You stare into the fire, heart easing in a way it hasn’t since you left.

“…That sounds lonely,” you admit.

Zuko shakes his head. “It can be. But it doesn’t have to be.” A pause. “Family helps. Not the kind that binds you. The kind that lets you walk away and still leaves the light on.”

You think of Iroh’s tea. The spare room. The offer without pressure. The wind lifts, gentler now.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

Zuko nods once. “Anytime.”

The fire crackles. The night stretches on, and before you get too dozy you decide to return to your room. Gratitude pools in your chest as you hold your wooden charm close, fading off to sleep. 

—

The morning arrives wrapped in the scent of jasmine and toasted grain, sunlight spilling across the floor in long, amber ribbons. For a heartbeat, the world feels unfamiliar—until the memory of the shop, the night air, and the low ember of the firelight settles into your chest without its usual weight. Sleep had come as a gift, quieter and deeper than you had dared to expect.

Stepping into the main room, you find Iroh already at work, his hands moving with a patient rhythm against the dough as he hums a low, cheerful melody. He looks up, his smile suggesting that your arrival is precisely on time.

“Good morning,” he says warmly. “The dreams were kind, I hope?”

“Kinder than they’ve been in a long time,” you admit.

After breakfast, you don’t return to the spare room. You drift instead.. out the door, into the street, drawn by small currents you barely notice until you’re already following them. The neighborhood is awake now.

A vendor struggles with a torn awning near the market square, canvas flapping angrily in the breeze. You pause, then step closer, lifting your hands just enough for the air to respond… steadying the fabric, easing the strain so he can retie it properly.

“Oh—” he says, startled. 

You smile and move on before he can say more. By midday, you’ve helped carry water for an elderly woman whose hands shake too much to lift the buckets. You listen while she talks.. not about anything important, just about the way the city has changed, about her grandchildren who visit less often now.

When the sun begins to lower, you find yourself back near the tea shop, calves tired, heart strangely full.

Zuko is outside again, this time repairing a loose lantern fixture for his uncle. He glances up when he hears you approach, eyes narrowing slightly… Curious.

“You’ve been busy,” he says.

You shrug a little, unsure how to explain it even to yourself. “You too?” 

“Uncle always has more to do around the shop, and I like to help where I can.”

You settled into a chair on the porch of the shop, watching the breeze play with the leaves around the street. It was calming to simply exist and be where you could make a difference without having pressures or expectations. 

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” you held your wooden charm in your pocket, carefully tracing its pattern. “I don’t know what I can do to help make up for my stay last night.”

Zuko gave out a small chuckle. “Oh, Uncle always wants to help others… It’s what makes him such an inspiration.”

You remain there for a long time, watching the tide of humanity drift past the shop, a slow realization beginning to bloom in your chest… something vital and quiet.

You didn’t have to vanish into the horizon to find your own freedom.

And you didn’t have to be a legend to have a place in the world.

The breeze curls softly around the porch chimes, unhurried and belonging to no one.

Just like you.

—

HAHAHA sorry for the lack of aang… but don’t worry….. Let’s see what’s going on in Aang’s head….. :))))

—

Aang’s POV….

Something is wrong. Aang knows it before the sun finishes climbing over the tower, before the air fully wakes.

The wind is… off. Not silent. Just different. Like a held breath that never quite finishes exhaling.

He stands in the entry hall where the night air still clings faintly to the stone, eyes fixed on the staircase. On the space where you should be padding down the steps any second now, yawning, rubbing your eyes, pretending everything is fine. You don’t come.

Aang swallows and heads up the stairs two at a time.

He tells himself not to panic. Not yet. Maybe you went to the terrace early. Maybe you couldn’t sleep and went wandering. You told him you’d decide what you wanted after resting, and he promised—promised—he wouldn’t push.

Your door is ajar. That’s when panic sets in.

“A—are you awake?” he asks, already pushing it open.

The room greets him with stillness.

Too much of it.

The bed is untouched. The neatly folded wrap he lent you is gone. The window stands wide open, curtains drifting lazily inward. Your pack is missing.

Aang’s heart drops so fast it feels like falling.

“No. No, no, no—”

He crosses the room in a rush, calling your name, checking the corners like you might somehow be hiding, like you might be playing some quiet joke he doesn’t understand. His fingers brush the edge of the writing desk—and stop.

“Oh no,” he whispers.

The wind slips past him, gentle and apologetic.

He sinks onto the edge of the bed, hands fisting in his robes as everything from yesterday crashes in all at once—the officials’ words, the way you went quiet, the way he’d tried to smile it all smooth like he always does when things go wrong.

“They don’t mean anything by it.”

“We’ll take it one step at a time.”

He presses his palms to his eyes.

“I should’ve stopped them,” he says out loud now, voice trembling. “I should’ve shut it down. I heard it. I heard it.”

They talked about you like a solution. Like an answer.

And he let them.

Aang stands again abruptly, pacing as the room feels smaller and smaller. The Avatar in him—the part that carries nations and histories and futures—starts listing possibilities automatically on how he could possibly fix this.

But the boy in him just feels sick.

“Katara,” he breathes suddenly, turning toward the door.

He finds her already awake, standing near the open windows in the common room. She takes one look at his face and knows.

“She’s gone,” he says.

Katara’s shoulders sag softly. “Aang…”

“I didn’t mean to make it feel like a cage,” he rushes. “I just—I thought if I showed them the tower, the gardens, the library—I thought it would help.”

Katara reaches for his arm. “I know.”

Aang turns away, fists clenched.

“I liked them,” he admits, voice small now. “I liked being around them without the world watching. And I didn’t know how to protect that.”

Katara hesitates. “Sometimes… protecting someone means letting them leave.”

He doesn’t answer. That couldn’t be right. You liked being with him? Right? He steps out onto the terrace instead, eyes scanning the skyline, heart aching as he reaches out, feeling the breeze against his teary eyes. 

Aang closes his eyes.

“I hope you’re safe,” he whispers into the open sky. “I hope you don’t think I wanted that for you.”

And for the first time since the war, Aang feels something terrifying and new: the possibility that doing everything right still wasn’t enough.

He thought back to that night the air had been soft. Warm for once. You’d been sitting close… closer than either of you had acknowledged. He remembers the way the lantern light caught on your hair, turning it glowing at the edges, like even the world was leaning in.

You’d been laughing. Quietly. The kind of laugh that slips out when you feel safe enough to forget yourself.

He’d stopped breathing. He remembers how the wind had slowed around you, not commanded, not summoned… just present. How his heart had been pounding so hard he was sure you could hear it. How when you looked at him, everything else had blurred until there was only the two of you there in that fragile pocket of time.

He remembers leaning in before he could talk himself out of it.

How close he’d gotten.

Close enough to see the small hitch in your breath. Close enough to feel the warmth of you without touching. Close enough to know—absolutely, undeniably—that this wasn’t something imagined or projected or invented by hope.

You’d nearly kissed.

Not because of duty.

Not because of legacy.

Not because the world wanted it.

Because it felt right.

Aang squeezes his eyes shut. “That wasn’t nothing,” he whispers, voice breaking with conviction. “That wasn’t pressure. That wasn’t expectation.” It had been real. Simple. Terrifying in its honesty.

And that’s what makes this hurt so much.

Because if it had been a fantasy, he could have let it go. If it had been obligation, he could have rejected it.

But it wasn’t.

It was a moment he hadn’t tried to make happen—a truth that existed whether he wanted it to or not. And now the space where you stood feels impossibly empty. The wind moves past him again, softer somehow.

“I should’ve protected that,” he murmurs towards the clouds. “I should’ve protected you.”

The sky does not answer.

[yellow-lampshade]

JUST READ PART TWO HELLOOO!???? MY POOR HEART IS GONNA SHATTER INTO A MILLION PIECES IF THIS ISNT REMEDIED OMGGGG

AHHAHA WELP… gl on the next part… bout to post rn ~~~

[yellow-lampshade]

WAS IT THE END???? I ALMOST CRIED

NO PART THREE IS COMING HOPEFULLY FOLLOWED UP BY PART FOUR

[yellow-lampshade]

Aang x Airbender Reader PT 2 (Legend of Aang)

<<part one is linked here>>

thank you to everyone who loved part one!! Here’s what I have for what happens next - already working on part three so hopefully that comes out later this week??

——

The wind changes first.

You notice it before anything else… before the distant skyline, before the sound of voices, before the shift in Aang’s posture beside you. It loses some of its freedom as you descend, funneling itself awkwardly between buildings and stone, tugged this way and that like it can’t decide where it belongs. Since traveling with Aang you had discovered so much about your airbending. After a few weeks of traveling by foot and flying together, Aang had summoned Appa so you both could bring some of your findings back to the new airbender tower in the United Republic City. 

The United Republic rises out of the land in layers. Stone and steel and color stacked atop one another, banners snapping overhead, streets already alive with motion even from above. Boats crowd the harbor, smoke trails curling lazily into the sky. It’s beautiful in a way that feels promising… like hope. It had been so long since you had been inside such a big city… so long ago you started to feel the anxiety fill your chest.

Appa lands with a heavy thump just beyond the new tower’s edge. People were surrounding the area like they were anticipating your arrival.

“Avatar Aang!” someone calls almost instantly.

Aang straightens, instinctive and practiced. His shoulders square… not tense, but ready. The version of him the world expects slips into place like a well-worn glove. He dismounts and greets the people. You stay where you are for a moment longer, fingers still tangled in Appa’s fur.

People hurry forward—officials, aides, guards you don’t recognize. Their eyes flick over you briefly, curious but unfocused, before snapping back to Aang like iron filings to a magnet.

“Avatar Aang, we weren’t expecting you until next week—”

“There’s a council meeting that can be rescheduled—”

“We’ll get you settled immediately—”

“Katara’s initiatives have been—”

Their words overlap, stack, crowd.

Aang answers easily, kindly, warmth still intact. He’s not the Aang who sat beside you by a fire and spoke softly about belonging. This is the Avatar; he has duties.

You slide down from Appa at last, boots hitting the grass. The wind swirls halfheartedly around your ankles, then drifts away again, distracted by everything else demanding its attention.

One of the older officials glances at you again—slower this time.

“And this is…?” she asks.

Aang opens his mouth without hesitation. “This is YN. They’re an airbender.”

Eyes sharpen. Heads tilt. You feel the shift immediately, like pressure building behind your ribs.

“Oh,” the woman says. Something unreadable slips into her expression. Interest? Calculation? “I see.” She bows to Aang again, deeper now. “We weren’t aware there were others. This is great news!”

Aang blinks. “Yeah. Neither was I, until—”

“…I see,” a man says after a moment. “How extraordinary.”

Another official steps closer, studying you with open curiosity. “That means—” He stops himself, then smiles. “Forgive me. It’s just not often the future arrives all at once.”

You blink.

“I wasn’t aware the Air Nomads had… survived elsewhere,” someone murmurs. Not judgmental. Almost impressed.

Aang laughs softly. “Yeah. Neither of us knew… but hey! It’s great!”

“Still,” the man continues, thoughtful now, “this is quite significant. Two of you.” His gaze flicks between you and Aang, something settling behind his eyes. “So much responsibility, carrying an entire people between you.”

Between you. Your stomach tightens as you start to put the pieces together.

“We’ll need to discuss expectations,” the woman says gently—too gently. “Cultural restoration. Training. Public presence. There’s been a great deal of conversation about how the Air Nomads might return to the world. There is so much more assurance since you have eachother now… you can definitely have airbender offspring.”

Offspring. You felt like throwing up.

Aang nods slowly, absorbing it. “Um...” His eyes were shifting between you and the crowd, his nervousness and hesitation was evident.

You glance at him, heart beginning to thud harder in your chest.

None of this was asked of you before you came here. None of it feels like what you’ve spent months building quietly in ruin and wind and shared silence.

“Well,” Aang says after a beat, smiling politely, “maybe we can take it one step at a time.”

“Yes, of course,” the woman agrees quickly. “Naturally. Though people will have questions.”

The group begins guiding Aang toward the tower, conversation flowing ahead like a current. Plans. Timelines. Theoretical futures spoken as though they’re already decided. You fall into step behind him without thinking.

The wind presses close, uneasy now. After a few paces, Aang glances back over his shoulder. “You okay?”

You nod. A little too fast.

“Yeah,” you say. “I just—didn’t realize—”

The words land quietly, but something in Aang’s expression stills. He slows, just enough to fall back beside you.

“They don’t mean anything by it,” he says, gentle. “I think everyone’s just—excited.”

“About us,” you say. You don’t mean it accusingly. Just honestly.

He opens his mouth, then hesitates. “About what we represent,” he corrects, after a moment.

That doesn’t help. You manage a small smile. “Right. That makes sense.”

—

After escaping from the officials, Aang leads you into the new airbender tower. The doors close behind you with a soft, hollow thud. Inside, the noise doesn’t vanish… but it dulls. The stone walls curve upward in familiar spirals, wide windows cut open to the sky. Wind chimes hang from high beams, catching the breeze and answering it with quiet tones that feel… rehearsed. Practiced. Like someone tried to recreate a memory from description instead of experience.

The air moves here, but it feels cautious. Polite.

You stop just inside the entry hall, pack still slung over your shoulder. Your chest tightens, breath shallow, as if the space is waiting for you to perform something you didn’t agree to.

Aang takes a few steps forward before he realizes you’ve stopped. He turns.

“You don’t have to stay right here,” he says gently. “There’s a garden terrace upstairs. It’s quieter. I can’t wait to show you the library of airbending scrolls I’ve been collecting!”

Your mouth opens. Closes. It takes a couple of seconds to put together your thoughts. “…Did you hear them?” you ask.The question lands softly, but it doesn’t miss.

Aang’s expression shifts to concern. He comes back toward you, slowing until he’s standing at a respectful distance.

“Yeah,” he says. “I did.” Silence stretches between you, the chimes ticking faintly overhead.

“They spoke like we were already part of some plan,” you say. You keep your voice steady, even though your hands aren’t. “Like something had already been decided.”

Aang exhales slowly, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “I think… they were trying to be hopeful. Clumsy hope, but—”

“—they talked about my body,” you cut in quietly. 

That stops him cold. For a heartbeat, the space between you feels too large. The wind stirs, uneasy, slipping between the chimes without making them sing.

“They talked about offspring,” you continue, barely above a whisper now as you tried to keep your voice from cracking. “About what I’m supposed to produce. About what I’m meant to represent.”

Your throat tightens as you continue. “I didn’t come here to be a solution. I came because you’re my friend and I thought there would be answers about who airbenders are… I don’t want to be a savior.”

“No,” he says immediately, face paling. “No, you’re not.” Your reaction must have been dismissive because he said it again firmer. “You’re not.”

He steps closer, not enough to crowd, just enough to anchor the space.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve stopped that conversation sooner. I didn’t realize how fast it would… turn into that.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I spent my whole life hiding so I wouldn’t be taken. I thought coming with you meant I was choosing to be seen… not assigned.”

Something in his eyes flickers. Recognition. Guilt.

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” Aang says, voice low and certain. “Not legacy. Not continuity. Not… expectations like they want.” He hesitates, then adds honestly, “I’m still learning how to say that out loud, apparently.”

You huff a weak breath that almost resembles a laugh. You felt a little better but couldn’t help but still feel an anxious storm rising in your gut.

“It’s just… a lot,” you admit. “I was starting to feel like I belonged. And suddenly it feels like that belonging has conditions.”

Aang shakes his head. “It doesn’t. Not with me.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Being an airbender isn’t about preserving bloodlines. It never was. It was about freedom. Choice. Detachment from exactly this kind of pressure.”

He gestures upward, toward the tower walls. “This place is new,” he says. “And the world is trying to remember something it lost. But that doesn’t mean they get to rewrite it wrong.”

You search his face for hesitation—and don’t find it.

“…Okay,” you say quietly. It’s not an agreement, but you didn’t know where else to go for now. 

“Come on,” Aang says gently. “Let me show you the terrace. You can decide what you want to do after that. Stay. Go. Yell at someone. I won’t stop you hahaha!”

His boyish laughter almost made you crack a smile, but you still couldn’t get over this nauseating feeling. Sure, he was certainly good-looking and one of the kindest people you’ve met, but that didn’t mean you wanted what those advisors were insinuating. 

He walks beside you up the winding stairs, giving you space, matching your pace exactly. When you step out onto the open terrace, the blue sky greets you immediately wide, familiar, unbothered by councils or futures. The wind surges up to meet you, wrapping around your shoulders with unmistakable relief.

You inhale deeply for the first time since landing. The sky felt more like home than any place you’d traveled. 

Aang watches you with a kind smile as he leaned over the stone railing. 

“You don’t have to disappear again,” he says softly. “And you don’t have to stay if this place makes you feel small.”

You look out over the city, then back at him.

“Thanks, Aang.” you turned away from him and looked up at the wispy clouds in the sky. You could get used to this view. 

—

Aang leaves you at the doorway to your room with an apologetic smile.

“I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything,” he says. “Anything. Food, questions, yelling—”

“I heard,” you say, and this time you actually smile a little.

He laughs, relief obvious, then gives a small wave before padding off down the hall, the sound of his steps fading into the tower’s quiet.

You step inside. The room isn’t large, but it breathes.

Sunlight spills through tall, open windows that curve outward toward the city, sheer curtains shifting gently with the breeze. The walls are pale stone, etched faintly with spirals that feel more sincere than the chimes downstairs, worn, not polished. A low bed rests against the far wall, blankets folded neatly at the foot. There’s a small writing desk near the window, already stocked with fresh paper and charcoal, and a shelf holding a few simple bowls and cups.

Someone tried to make this comfortable.

You set your pack down slowly, like if you move too fast the feeling might spook and leave. The wind slips in through the window and circles the room once, pausing near the bed, then the desk, like it’s taking inventory.

“So this is where we’re staying,” you murmur to yourself as you place your pack down. 

You cross to the window and look out. From here, the city feels farther away. Smaller. Rooftops layered in uneven rows, people moving like slow currents below. Above it all, the sky stretches wide and unbothered. You sit on the edge of the bed and take off your boots, hands lingering on the worn leather longer than necessary. Your chest still feels tight… not panicked, just heavy, like you’re carrying something new and don’t know where to set it down yet. How long can you pretend to be okay in this new tower?

—

Dinner is held in one of the tower’s communal rooms. Sokka and Toph had gotten you from your room. Apparently when everyone is in town they like to do family dinners in the tower… although Toph said this guy named Zuko was missing; he usually made things interesting.

It’s circular, with low tables set in gentle arcs, cushions scattered instead of chairs. Open windows let the evening air wander freely, carrying the faint smells of the city below. Someone has lit lanterns, their light soft and golden, casting spirals of shadow along the walls.

It feels… lived-in. 

You hover by the entrance for half a second too long before Aang notices you.

“Hey!” he says immediately, popping up from where he’d been helping Katara set dishes down. “You made it.”

“Against Sokka’s best efforts,” Toph adds from your left.

“I resent that,” Sokka says, already seated and eating something that may or may not have been identified yet. “I was very welcoming.”

Katara gives him a look. “You asked if they were ‘emotionally prepared’ for your cooking.”

“It’s an important question.”

You settle onto a cushion near the table, smoothing your clothes without meaning to. The closeness of everyone—the easy way they move around one another—still feels foreign. Not uncomfortable. Just… new.

Katara slides a bowl toward you with a gentle smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you say, surprised to realize you mean it.

The food is simple: noodles, vegetables, something steaming and fragrant that Aang proudly identifies as “air temple-inspired, but improved with sauce.”

Toph snorts. “He means Katara made it and he watched.”

“I contributed spiritually,” Aang protests.

Sokka points his chopsticks at you. “So. Airbender.”

You pause mid-bite.

“Yes,” you say carefully.

He nods, then immediately barrels onward. “You’re different from Aang.”

You glance at Aang instinctively.

He doesn’t look offended—just curious.

“Different how?” you ask.

Sokka shrugs. “He’s a bouncing ball of responsibility disguised as a monk. You’re more… contained.”

Toph nods. “Like you learned how to fold yourself smaller.”

The table goes quiet.

Aang’s smile fades just slightly.

You swallow, then set your chopsticks down. “I didn’t grow up in a temple,” you say simply. “There wasn’t room to… take up space.”

Katara’s expression softens instantly.

“Well,” she says, firm but kind, “there is now.”

Something tight in your chest loosens just a fraction.

Dinner continues after that—stories, mostly. Sokka recounts a wildly exaggerated version of a past mission. Toph heckles him relentlessly. Katara laughs, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen yet.

Aang keeps checking in on you with his eyes—nothing obvious, just little glances to see if you’re still okay, still present.

At one point, Sokka nudges your elbow. “So, important follow-up question.”

Here it comes, you think.

“Favorite dessert?”

You blink. “…I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”

The table freezes.

Aang’s gasp is horrified. “We have failed you.”

Toph grins. “Fixable.”

Katara laughs. “We’ll start small. There’s fruit in the kitchens.”

Sokka nods solemnly. “This will be a process.”

For the first time all evening, the knot in your stomach eases enough for you to smile without forcing it.

As dinner winds down and lanterns are dimmed, you realize something quietly profound:

No one asked what you were going to be.

No one talked about the future of the Air Nomads.

They argued about food. Told dumb stories. Let silence sit where it wanted to.

Aang walks you back toward your room afterward, steps unhurried, matching yours without comment.

“Thanks for staying,” he says softly.

You nod. “Thanks for… making space.”

—

Later that night… Sleep doesn’t come easily.

The tower settles around you slowly… stone cooling, lanterns dimmed, voices fading into distant murmurs. The wind slips in through your window, restless again, pacing the room like it can’t quite settle.

You sit on the edge of the bed, turning the small wooden charm over in your fingers as you think about today. The cool breeze from your window tickled the back of your neck.

A voice drifts in from—from outside… Soft and familiar.

“…you can’t pretend it doesn’t change things.”

Katara. You still, trying to catch their conversation.

“I’m not pretending,” Aang replies, just as quiet. “I just—didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

Footsteps shift. You picture them standing somewhere beneath the open skylight, voices kept low.

“They’ve been through a lot,” Katara says gently. “And now everyone’s watching them. Watching you together. There’s a lot that could mean for your future.”

There’s a pause.

“I know,” Aang says. Then, quieter, “But I really like them, Katara.”

Your chest tightens.

“It’s obvious,” Katara replies softly. “That’s what worries me. Do you think that they will be able to hold up to what is expected if you two do end up together?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“I don’t want them to feel trapped,” Aang continues. “Or small. Or like they have to become something just because of me. I just want them to be happy… and I really like being around—”

The wind stirs, uneasy as his voice fades.

“And being with you would mean that,” Katara says, not unkindly. Just honest. “Whether either of you want it to or not.”

Silence stretches.

“I don’t know how to protect them from that,” Aang admits. “I don’t even know how I’d protect us.”

The word us lands heavy. You close your fingers around the charm. The familiar feeling of anxiety rising in you like when you first landed. 

Katara sighs. “Maybe… they deserve the chance to choose something quieter.”

Your throat tightens. Something quieter.

You step back before the floor can betray you. Moving slowly, you pack without thinking. Only the things that matter. The charm. Your staff. The wrap Aang lent you, folded neatly despite the way your hands shake.

You pause at the window one last time.

The city sleeps below, vast and bright even in the dark. So many paths. So many futures are already being decided without asking. You peak around to see if Aang and Katara are still outside, but are relieved to see that they had gone inside. 

You press your forehead briefly to the cool stone. “You were right,” you whisper to the wind. “Acceptance does have conditions.”

The wind answers softly—not angry. Sad. Understanding. When you slip out of the tower, no alarms sound. No voices rise. The world doesn’t stop for heartbreak.

By the time the sun begins to color the sky, you’re already gone… moving with the air on a borrowed glider, light as you know how to be. Choosing yourself.

[yellow-lampshade]

Wandering Airbender!Reader anon again hehe, I love that. Or wait, what if the Gaang member that the Reader is friends with doesn’t even know they’re an Airbender? Like, they know the Reader is a bender, but not which kind… and definitely not an Airbender?! Bc again, isn't Aang the last Airbender????😭

I’d eat that up, because meanwhile Aang is out here hearing all these stories about this kind, mysterious “airbender” that people keep praising, and he slowly, unknowingly starts falling in love with the stories about you. Every retelling just pulls him in deeper. The way people describe your kindness, your quiet help, how you just appear and disappear like the wind, it stays with him.

At some point, it’s not even just curiosity anymore, he needs to meet you. He needs to know if you’re real, if you’re okay, if you’re anything like the person he’s built up in his head. And it hurts him, because every new story he hears means you helped someone else again… and it wasn’t him. He wasn’t the one you smiled at, or saved, or stayed with, even for a moment

Srry I'm rambling but I could go on and on tbh I love talking abt this HAJBSIAHAJAH

no stop I LOVE THISSSSSSSSS

literally could ramble about this allllll dayyyyy!!!

BUT ALSO I may have figured out how to incorporate this into my current avatar x airbender reader…. I’m literally wrapping up editing the next part rn so keep your eyes out for it and maybe you can see where I’m going with it hahahaha

thank youuuu for messaging btw I love chatting with fellow fans🥺🫶🏻 like makes my day so much brighter!!

[yellow-lampshade]

I love your work smm, I literally went crazy giggling because of your Aang x Airbender!Reader work, and it got me thinking, what if it had the same premise, but instead of him finding us right away, it turns into this whole goose chase of trying to find us? Like, imagine a wandering Airbender!Reader who just travels wherever the wind takes them (heh), quietly doing good deeds along the way. Then the Gaang starts catching wind (heh again) of all these rumors, stories about this mysterious bender who helps people in need using nothing but the wind??? But ofc that's impossible bc they know the Avatar is the last Airbender!!!

And Aang? Oh, he’d be desperate. Constantly trying to gather information, chasing every lead, because he needs to know if the rumors are true!!! if there’s really another airbender out there. I can just imagine so many moments where the Reader is literally right under their noses, like just passing by or leaving right before they arrive, and they just miss each other every single time.

Ugh, I love desperate Aang so much it actually hurts 😭💔

bro….. literally we might have to make another aang x airbender reader….. first I gotta at least do a pt 2 to the other one and then we will see about another premise… maybe gotta like put another fun element in there too ya know?? Like maybe reader is already friends with one of the gaang so like they see eachother in the same locations like oh hey! But then that gaang member has NO CLUE that this is the airbender that Aang and them are looking forrrr lmaaooo

Who knows :) my wheels are turning and I swear I will post soon!!! If not today, tomorrow!!!