firelord!zuko x maid!reader
In the aftermath of war, Fire Lord Zuko is expected to secure the future of the Fire Nation through tradition: a carefully chosen consort from noble lineage, and an heir. What they don’t expect is his refusal to make a decision based on duty alone. When political pressure escalates, an unconventional solution is proposed, bringing palace servants into consideration.
eventual smut, minors dni !! 17,5k words
The capital always looked different when you were standing inside it instead of staring from the hills. Up close, everything felt louder. The clang of metal, the distant roar of furnaces, and the murmur of merchants. Still, the Royal Palace itself stood above it all, silent and imposing, its red walls and golden shingles catching the morning light like embers. You swallowed, tightening your fingers around the worn pouch you carried, as if holding it together would keep your resolve from unraveling. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t turn back.
Your father walked beside you, his steps slower than usual. He hadn’t argued when you told him your plan, but his silence had been heavy ever since. Your little brother, on the other hand, seemed to think this was an adventure. He skipped ahead, then doubled back, tugging at your sleeve. “Do you think the Fire Lord eats sweet buns every day?” he asked with wide eyes, as if this were the most important question in the world. You huffed a quiet laugh. “I don’t know. If I find out, I’ll let you know.”
Your father’s voice came low, almost reluctant. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll manage.” You shook your head immediately. “You’re already working too much. And winter’s coming. This way… I can help.” You tried to sound practical, not emotional, because if you allowed yourself to think about leaving them, you might lose the courage you had spent weeks building. “They said palace maids are paid monthly. And meals are included. It’s stable.”
Your family was poor. You lived with your father and younger brother in a small shed near the Imperial City, surviving day by day under harsh conditions. Life had never been easy for any of you. One day, you noticed a notice pinned to a nearby information board. It announced that the royal palace was hiring new maids. It was not an easy decision. The idea of leaving home weighed heavily on you, but if your family was going to survive, you knew it was something you had to do.
Your brother tugged your sleeve again. “Will you still tell me stories?” You crouched, smoothing his messy hair. “I’ll send letters. And when I visit, I’ll tell you twice as many stories.” He grinned immediately, satisfied, and you felt something twist in your chest. You stood before it could grow heavier and turned toward the gates.
They were taller than you remembered, flanked by armored guards who watched the line of applicants with detached indifference. There were more girls than you expected, some whispering nervously, some stiff with determination, a few clearly not used to standing in dust. You smoothed your dress self-consciously but kept your posture straight. An attendant addressed you all without warmth. “You will be tested for discipline, cleanliness, obedience, and etiquette. Follow instructions. Speak only when addressed.” Her eyes swept across the group, lingering on no one in particular, and yet you felt as though she saw everything.
The first room you were led into was in disarray. Ash was scattered across the floor, tea stains marked the polished wood, and cushions lay overturned as if hastily abandoned. Cloths and cleaning brushes were left behind, untouched, as though whoever had been there had simply walked out mid-task.
Some girls rushed forward immediately, knocking into one another. You stayed still for half a breath, forcing yourself to think. Corners first. Don’t spread the ash. You moved quietly, wiping in smooth strokes, wringing your cloth properly, straightening objects as you went. You weren’t the fastest, but when you stepped back, the space looked clean. You folded your hands and lowered your gaze. The attendant walked past. Her finger brushed the baseboard near you. Not a speck of dust clung to her touch. Satisfied, she made a small note on her scroll and moved on.
The second test involved trays of hot tea. The porcelain felt fragile, the heat seeping through the lacquered wood. You lifted carefully, ignoring the tremor in your fingers. One step. Then another. Someone beside you hissed as liquid spilled onto her wrist, and you resisted the urge to glance. Looking would only make you nervous. You reached the end without a drop falling. Another mark.
By the time etiquette began, your nerves had settled. Kneel. Bow. Rise. Serve tea. Apologize. Your voice came out soft but steady. The attendant studied you a moment longer than before, then wrote again.
Hours passed before names were called. Each one tightened the knot in your stomach. You clasped your hands together, trying not to hope too much. Then your name was spoken. For a moment you didn’t move, convinced you had imagined it. The attendant looked up. “You will report tomorrow morning. Living quarters will be assigned. Salary begins immediately.” Relief hit so suddenly your knees felt weak. You bowed, murmuring your thanks, then hurried toward the gates where your father and brother waited. The moment your brother saw your face, he knew. He launched himself at you with a shout, nearly knocking you off balance. You laughed, the sound shaky and bright at the same time, hugging him tightly. Your father exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing for the first time that day. “You’ll be careful?” he asked quietly.
You held them both a little longer than necessary, as if memorizing the warmth, the familiarity, the simple stillness of the moment. Tomorrow, you would step into the palace as a maid. Present, but unseen, belonging to the Royal Palace in the quietest, most invisible way.
The next morning arrived too quickly. You left before the sun had fully risen, the sky still washed in pale grey-blue, your small cloth bag slung over your shoulder. It held very little. Only a spare dress, a wooden comb your father had carved years ago, a ribbon your brother insisted you take for luck, and a folded scrap of paper with your address written carefully in case you were ever allowed to send letters. The bag felt light, but its weight tugged at you all the same. Everything else you owned stayed behind.
Inside, the palace felt even larger than you remembered, its corridors stretching endlessly in polished red and gold. Servants moved with practiced ease, their steps quiet, their eyes lowered. You tried to mimic them, keeping your shoulders relaxed and your pace careful as you followed the directions given to you. Eventually you were guided to the servants’ quarters, a long room lined with sleeping mats and low wooden chests. Several girls were already there, some braiding their hair, others whispering softly. The moment you stepped inside, conversation faltered.
You hesitated, offering a small, polite smile. “Good morning.”
One girl blinked as though she had misheard you, another leaned toward her friend, whispering under her breath. You felt heat creep up your neck and shifted your bag awkwardly, unsure whether you had broken some unspoken rule. Before the silence could stretch too long, a girl near the center of the room brightened and hurried toward you, her expression warm and open. “You’re new, right?” she asked, her voice warm. “You must be. I’ve never seen you before.” You nodded, relieved someone had broken the silence. She clasped her hands together, smiling. “I’m Rin. Don’t worry, everyone looks terrified on their first day.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I nearly fainted when I got here.”
You let out a small laugh. “I might still.”
She laughed softly, then tilted her head, studying you more closely. The smile faded into something like quiet amazement. “You’re really pretty,” she said, almost apologetically, as though she knew it might embarrass you. “Sorry, that’s probably strange to say. It’s just…” She gestured vaguely, cheeks pink. “You’ll see. People notice things like that here.”
A few of the other maids murmured in agreement, their curiosity more open now. You ducked your head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think i’m anything special.” Rin shook her head immediately, but her tone stayed gentle. “You are. Anyway… would you like to sit with me? We usually help each other remember instructions. And I know where the kitchen girls hide extra buns if you’re lucky.” Her smile returned, bright and a little eager, almost too eager, but sincere enough that it felt comforting.
“I’d like that,” you said, and she seemed genuinely pleased, guiding you to an empty space. You set your bag down carefully, still feeling the weight of unfamiliar eyes, but the atmosphere had softened. Rin chatted quietly, pointing out where things were kept, explaining small routines, her kindness flowing easily. You found yourself relaxing, thinking that maybe this wouldn’t be as frightening as you had imagined.
The door slid open sharply, and the room fell silent. Every maid straightened at once, lowering their gaze. You followed their lead a second later, your pulse quickening as a tall woman entered. Her uniform was darker, more formal, her posture perfectly composed. She didn’t raise her voice, yet her presence filled the space effortlessly. She was the head maid. Her eyes moved across the room, calm and assessing, until they stopped on you.
You stepped forward and bowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
She approached, her gaze steady, studying your face in a way that made you acutely aware of every movement. There was no hostility in her expression, only a quiet scrutiny, as though she were measuring something carefully. “Your name?”
You answered. She nodded once, then gestured slightly. “Turn your head.” You obeyed, confused but compliant. She examined you for a moment longer, her brows drawing together just slightly, not in anger but in thought. Then she turned to another maid. “Bring a half-mask.” Rin shifted beside you, surprised, but remained silent. You blinked, unsure you had heard correctly. The mask was brought quickly, a simple cloth piece meant to cover the lower half of the face. The head maid took it and held it out to you.
“You will wear this during your duties,” she said, her tone calm and matter-of-fact. “At all times outside the sleeping quarters. The men here can behave like pigs, it would do you well not to provoke them.” You hesitated only a second. “Yes, ma’am.”
You tied it carefully behind your head, the fabric soft against your skin. Your vision narrowed slightly, your breath warm beneath the cloth. It felt strange, but thankfully not uncomfortable.
She studied you again, then gave a small nod, satisfied. “Good. Training begins shortly. Be attentive.” Her voice held no harshness, only quiet authority. Without further explanation, she turned and left as smoothly as she had entered. The tension dissolved into quiet whispers. You reached up, touching the edge of the mask uncertainly. “Is that normal?”
Rin shook her head, eyes wide, then offered a reassuring smile. “No, but it’s okay. It suits you.” She lowered her voice. “Maybe she just wants to protect you.” You nodded slowly, accepting that explanation. The mask still felt unfamiliar, but you straightened your posture, determined not to complain. You had come here to work, after all, not to question decisions. Rin’s soft chatter resumed beside you, and you focused on her words, trying to calm your nerves. You didn’t notice the subtle way the head maid paused just outside the door, glancing back once, her expression thoughtful rather than stern, before continuing down the corridor.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of instructions and small tasks. You followed Rin closely at first, watching how she folded cloths, how she bowed when passing higher-ranking staff, how she balanced trays without looking down. The mask tugged lightly at your awareness, a constant reminder on your face, but no one commented on it again. Eventually your movements began to settle into something more natural. You polished railings until they gleamed, carried linens to storage rooms, and helped sweep a quiet inner corridor where sunlight filtered through narrow windows in warm stripes across the floor. The work was steady and almost soothing, and you found comfort in its simplicity. Every completed task felt like proof that you belonged here, that you hadn’t made a mistake leaving home.
By midday, you were assigned to assist with service preparations. Rin nudged you lightly. “You’re doing well,” she whispered, handing you a small tray. “Just remember - slow steps, steady hands.” Her smile was encouraging, and you returned it, grateful. Before you could respond, a senior attendant entered briskly. “All junior maids, assemble. You will assist in the council chamber.” Her tone left no room for hesitation.
You exchanged a quick glance with Rin, then followed the others through winding corridors that grew progressively grander. The air felt heavier here, quieter, the polished floors reflecting the high ceilings above. Your pulse quickened. The council chamber doors stood open, revealing a long table already occupied by several men in formal robes. You kept your gaze lowered as instructed, stepping into position along the walls with the other maids.
At the head of the table sat the Fire Lord.
You only dared a brief glance as you poured tea for the nearest advisor. He looked younger than you expected, though the sharpness in his posture carried unmistakable authority. Long dark hair framed his face, one side marked by a burn scar you recognized immediately. His expression, however, seemed almost impatient. He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping once against the table, as though he would rather be anywhere else.
You moved down the line, pouring carefully. When you reached one of the older nobles seated midway along the table, he leaned back slightly as you approached, his eyes lingering on the mask covering half your face. You kept your movements steady, tilting the teapot just enough to fill his cup. He gave a soft, derisive huff. “They’ve started hiding the servants now?” he muttered, not bothering to lower his voice much. The man beside him smirked faintly. “I suppose she must be terribly unfortunate-looking,” he continued, glancing at his companion. “Otherwise, why cover half of her? The palace does value appearances, after all.”
A quiet chuckle followed. Your hands didn’t shake, though you felt the words settle heavily in your chest. You placed the lid back on the pot, bowed politely, and stepped away without a word. There was nothing you could say, and even if there had been, you wouldn’t have spoken. You focused instead on your breathing, on the simple rhythm of your steps, letting the moment pass like something carried away by a current.
“…and the matter of succession,” one of the older men at the head of the table was saying, his voice measured. “It would be wise to begin considering suitable candidates.” Zuko’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Suitable candidates,” he repeated, sounding unimpressed. “You mean a wife.”
The advisor inclined his head. “Yes, Fire Lord. The court has already gathered a list of eligible noblewomen who-”
“Of course you have,” Zuko muttered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You always have lists.” Another man leaned forward. “It is not merely tradition. Stability requires-”
“I’m aware of what stability requires,” Zuko cut in, not raising his voice, but the edge in it was unmistakable. “We just finished restructuring three provinces. Trade agreements are still being negotiated. There are actual problems to solve.” He gestured vaguely, clearly irritated. “And you want me to… what? Sit in a room and smile at strangers?” You moved quietly between them, refilling cups, careful not to draw attention, though you couldn’t help listening. Rin, a few steps away, seemed equally focused on not spilling anything.
“It is customary,” the first advisor pressed gently. “The Fire Lord must eventually produce an heir.” Zuko leaned back further, staring at the ceiling for a moment as if searching for patience. “Eventually,” he echoed. “That word usually means ‘not today.’”
A few of the advisors exchanged looks. One cleared his throat. “The candidates are already present in the palace. It would be efficient to begin introductions.” He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound somewhere between annoyance and reluctant amusement. “You’ve already brought them here?”
Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly exasperated. “Of course you did.” He let his hand drop, glancing around the table. “And if I say no?”
“Then we would respectfully advise reconsideration.”
He stared at them for a long moment, then gave a short, humorless huff. “You’re all very persistent.” His gaze flicked briefly toward the doorway, then back. “Fine. I’ll meet them. But if this turns into some kind of charade, I’m ending it.”
You lowered your eyes quickly as he shifted in his seat, straightening. There was something restless about him, like he disliked being boxed into expectations. Even the way he accepted his tea felt unpretentious for someone with so much power. The conversation moved on to logistics, but the tension lingered. You continued your duties, careful and silent, though your thoughts kept circling back to the young Fire Lord who looked far less interested in marriage than his advisors seemed to hope. When the meeting finally ended, you gathered empty cups, stepping aside as the men rose. As Zuko passed, you caught only the faint scent of smoke and something clean, and the sense of contained energy in his stride. He didn’t look at any of the maids, his focus already elsewhere, as though the entire discussion had only confirmed his reluctance.
Once outside, Rin exhaled softly. “That was intense,” she whispered.
You nodded, adjusting your grip on the tray. The earlier comment still lingered faintly in your mind, but you pushed it aside. “He didn’t seem very happy about it.”
Rin smiled faintly. “I don’t think he likes being told what to do.”
You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips behind the mask. Somehow, despite the grandeur of the palace and the weight of the titles, he had seemed human. Restless, stubborn, and quietly defiant. Nothing like the distant figure you had imagined.
The afternoon settled into a quieter rhythm after the council meeting, though the palace seemed to hum with something just beneath the surface. You and the other maids were reassigned to various duties, and you found yourself helping arrange a smaller reception room not far from the inner gardens. Low cushions were placed with careful symmetry, a lacquered table set in the center, porcelain cups aligned precisely. Fresh tea leaves were measured out, incense lit. It felt more intimate than the council chamber, and yet the precision demanded was even stricter.
“What’s this for?” you whispered to Rin as you adjusted a cushion. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “It’s for the Fire Lord...” Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the door. “...and the noblewomen.” You nodded slowly, understanding. The earlier conversation came back to you, and a small part of you wondered whether he had managed to avoid it. Judging by the preparation, it seemed he hadn’t.
Once everything was arranged, you were instructed to stand along the wall with the others. The first of the noblewomen arrived shortly after, dressed in rich silks that shimmered with embroidered flames. You kept your gaze lowered, though you noticed the careful grace in her steps. Moments later, the Fire Lord entered from the opposite side.
He bowed politely, and the noblewoman returned it, seating herself across from him. Tea was poured. Silence lingered for a moment before she began speaking, her voice practiced and elegant. She spoke of her family’s influence, of her skill in calligraphy, of her admiration for the Fire Nation’s traditions. Zuko nodded at appropriate moments, asked a polite question or two, but his responses were brief. When she laughed lightly at something she said, he offered a small, courteous smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The meeting ended quickly.
The second noblewoman entered soon after, dressed in deep crimson, her confidence more overt. She spoke animatedly, complimenting the palace, the gardens, even his leadership. Zuko shifted slightly in his seat, listening, but his gaze drifted more than once toward the window. He answered when required, never rude, but distant. When she leaned forward as if to emphasize a point, he leaned back in equal measure, creating space without seeming obvious.
By the third meeting, he rested his elbow briefly on the arm of his chair, pressing his fingers to his temple as though suppressing a headache. This candidate spoke at length about her firebending training, describing demonstrations she had performed. Zuko’s attention sharpened momentarily at the mention of bending, but when she began listing accomplishments, it dulled again. He thanked her politely when she finished, his tone careful, neutral.
The fourth noblewoman tried a softer approach, her voice gentle, asking about his interests. For the first time, he seemed slightly more engaged. “I don’t have much free time,” he admitted, almost apologetically. “But I used to train a lot.” He paused, then added, “And I like being outside.” It was the most personal thing he had said so far, yet the conversation still felt strained, like two strangers trying to find common ground that wasn’t quite there.
By the fifth, his patience was visibly thinning. He sat upright, still polite, but his answers grew shorter. When she praised the idea of strengthening noble alliances through marriage, his jaw tightened subtly. “I see,” was all he said, his voice carefully even.
Through it all, you moved quietly with the other maids, refilling cups, clearing them once finished. The rhythm became almost mechanical. Yet it was hard not to notice the contrast between the elaborate efforts of each noblewoman and the Fire Lord’s restrained, increasingly weary composure. He never interrupted and never showed open disrespect, but the absence of enthusiasm was unmistakable.
When the final meeting ended, the room emptied slowly. The last noblewoman left with composed dignity. The advisors murmured quietly among themselves near the doorway. Zuko remained seated for a moment longer, staring at the untouched remains of his tea. He let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh, and rubbed the back of his neck. “This is ridiculous.” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. One of the advisors stepped forward. “You handled it well, Fire Lord.”
He gave a small, humorless huff. “Did I?” He stood, straightening his robes. “They all seemed very accomplished.” He paused, searching for the right word. “Just not…never mind.” He stopped, shaking his head. He turned to leave, then hesitated briefly, glancing once around the room, not really looking at anyone, more like collecting himself. Then he walked out, his stride purposeful but lacking the energy he’d carried earlier.
You lowered your gaze again as he passed, but you couldn’t help thinking that none of the meetings had changed his mind. If anything, they seemed to confirm his reluctance. The room felt strangely quiet afterward, as though something unresolved lingered in the air, waiting for the next move.
A week passed faster than you expected. The routines that had once felt intimidating began to settle into something familiar. The early mornings, the quiet corridors, the steady rhythm of polishing, carrying, sweeping. You learned which floorboards creaked, which attendants preferred silence, which kitchen worker might slip you an extra bun if you helped carry crates. The mask became less of a distraction, more like part of your uniform, something you tied on each morning without thinking. And somewhere in between all of that, you and Rin became inseparable. It wasn’t something either of you declared, it just happened. You gravitated toward each other at meals, shared quiet jokes during chores, and instinctively fell into step whenever assignments overlapped.
One afternoon, the two of you knelt side by side in the royal gardens, pulling weeds from between the carefully arranged stones. The sun warmed the back of your neck, and the scent of trimmed hedges drifted lazily through the air. It was peaceful enough that Rin immediately leaned closer, clearly ready to gossip.
“So,” she whispered, already smiling, “about the noblewomen.”
You tugged at a stubborn weed. “You mean the charade?” Rin choked on a laugh. “Exactly. Five of them. Five. I thought by the fourth he might just jump out of the balcony.”
“He looked like he wanted to. He was still polite, though.” you murmured.
“Polite, yes. Interested? Absolutely not.” Rin said as she tossed a weed into the basket. “I bet he’d like you more.” You snorted loudly at her words, and nearly tipped backward. “Rin, you’re ridiculous,” you said, still laughing. “I’m literally pulling weeds right now, not exactly a noble thing to do.”
“So? Maybe he likes girls who pull weeds.” she said and you gave her a look. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what the Fire Lord is searching for. Must have experience removing stubborn roots.” Rin gasped dramatically at that.
Rin narrowed her eyes, then flicked a small clump of weeds at you. It hit your sleeve and fell harmlessly into your lap. You blinked. “Did you just-”
“Accident,” she said sweetly.
You picked up a slightly larger clump and tossed it back. It bounced off her shoulder. “Hey!” she whispered loudly, scandalized.
She grabbed a handful and threw it. You ducked, laughing, and the weeds scattered across the stones. You retaliated immediately, both of you now trying, and failing, to stay quiet. Soon you were tossing small clumps back and forth, half whispering, half giggling, the basket forgotten. Rin lunged for the watering can beside her. Your eyes widened. “Rin, don’t you dare.” She tilted it just enough for a thin stream to splash across your sleeve.
You stared at the damp fabric, then slowly looked up at her. “You’re going to regret that.” You grabbed the smaller dipper and flicked water at her. She squeaked as droplets hit her cheek. “Okay, now it’s a war,” she whispered fiercely. You both dissolved into a chaos, splashing small amounts of water, dodging, stifling laughter as best you could. It was harmless, childish, and completely inappropriate for palace servants, which only made it funnier.
Above the garden, unseen by either of you, a balcony door stood slightly ajar.
Zuko had stepped outside for air after another long stretch of meetings, expecting silence. Instead, he paused when he noticed movement below. Two maids, one with her face hidden by a mask, were crouched near the stones, clearly supposed to be working. Instead, they were throwing weeds at each other. He watched, eyebrows lifting slightly as one splashed the other with water. For a moment he simply stared, surprised. It was so normal, so unguarded, that it felt almost out of place in the carefully controlled palace. Then the masked one laughed loudly, he could hear it faintly even from above, and the other clapped a hand over her mouth, both of them trying and failing to stay composed.
A quiet, involuntary laugh slipped from him before he could stop it. It wasn’t loud, just a brief exhale of amusement, but it lingered. He leaned lightly against the railing, watching another second as they scrambled to avoid getting wet. There was something oddly refreshing about it. After a moment he straightened, the faint smile still lingering, and stepped back inside, the tension in his shoulders noticeably lighter.
Down below, your laughter cut off abruptly. The head maid stood at the end of the path, arms folded. You froze, still holding the dipper. Rin slowly set the watering can down like it might explode. “...Explain,” the head maid said calmly. Neither of you spoke. Her gaze moved from the scattered weeds to the damp sleeves, then back to your faces. “You are here to work. The gardens are not a playground.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you both murmured in unison, heads lowered. She studied you for a moment longer, her expression stern but not harsh. “Finish your assignment. And compose yourselves.” With that, she turned and walked away, her steps measured.
You waited. Rin waited. The moment she disappeared around the hedge, you both looked at each other, and burst into muffled laughter, shoulders shaking as you tried to stay quiet.
“That was terrifying,” Rin whispered between giggles. You shook your head, still smiling, and reached for another weed. The two of you finished the task properly this time, though the occasional suppressed laugh kept escaping, the afternoon suddenly feeling much lighter.
A few days later, the palace had settled back into its usual rhythm, but it no longer felt as unfamiliar to you as it had before. You moved through it with more confidence now, your steps quieter, your hands steadier, your sense of direction slowly forming a map in your mind. The mask was still part of your daily routine, tied on without thought, adjusted once, then forgotten. Though sometimes you were faintly aware of the way it separated you from the world in small, invisible ways.
You and Rin were assigned to the inner administrative corridor, a long, polished stretch of palace where messengers came and went constantly, carrying scrolls sealed with red wax. Your task was simple but repetitive: sort returned documents, dust the shelving units, and ensure everything was returned to its proper place. It was the kind of work that left room for conversation, and Rin, as always, filled that space effortlessly.
“They’re announcing it today,” she said immediately. You looked up from folding your sleeve. Rin leaned forward, eyes bright with barely contained excitement. “All five noblewomen will gather for a formal presentation. The entire court will be there.” That made you pause. You stared at her for a moment, processing slowly. “Oh,” you said at last. Rin grinned. “Oh, indeed.” You lowered your hands into your lap, suddenly aware of the weight behind her words. “So it’s really happening.” “It’s been happening,” Rin corrected lightly. “The one-on-one introductions over tea were just unofficial. This is the part where everyone actually watches.”
You leaned back slightly, exhaling. “And he has to decide?”
Rin shrugged. “Yes, or pretend to.”
Outside, the palace continued preparing for the formal introductions without fanfare, but with a quiet, unshakable certainty. Somewhere within its endless halls, everything was shifting toward a moment that would be impossible to ignore. The palace had not felt this tense in weeks. From early morning, every detail had been arranged with obsessive precision: the grand hall prepared, the seating aligned, incense burning in controlled trails that curled toward the high ceiling. Guards stood rigid along the walls, and every servant moved as though even breathing too loudly might disrupt the fragile balance of the room.
You had been assigned to the inner service line with the other junior maids. Nothing direct. Nothing visible unless necessary. Still, your stomach had been tight since you arrived. Rin, of course, looked like she was trying very hard not to explode with curiosity. “I feel like something dramatic is about to happen,” she whispered as she adjusted her tray. “You say that every time there’s more than two chairs in a room,” you murmured back.
“This is different,” she insisted, eyes wide. You almost laughed, but the sound caught in your throat when the doors at the far end of the hall opened.
Fire Lord Zuko entered first.
He didn’t look particularly pleased to be there. That was the first thing you noticed. Not his posture, not his clothing, but the expression he wore, controlled but unmistakably strained. Annoyed. His advisors followed behind him, and immediately the room seemed to tighten into formality. The noblewomen were already present, seated in a careful arrangement across from him. Five of them. All perfectly composed. All waiting.
Zuko took his seat, and the quiet murmur of the hall fell into complete silence.
One of the advisors cleared his throat. “Fire Lord, the court is honored to present the selected candidates for consideration.” Zuko only exhaled softly through his nose. Then one of the noblewomen began to speak, her voice carefully practiced, introducing herself, her lineage, her accomplishments. Zuko listened without interrupting, hands resting loosely on the armrests of his chair. He already heard all of that. When she finished, he nodded once.
“Thank you,” he said. And then nothing else.
The second spoke. Then the third. Each time, the pattern repeated. Polished introductions, measured responses, polite acknowledgment. You watched from the side, moving quietly when needed, but mostly observing. Rin, beside you, leaned slightly forward as if she might physically will something interesting to happen. By the fourth, Zuko’s expression had gone even more distant. Like he was present in body only, while his attention wandered somewhere far away that none of this could reach.
The fifth noblewoman finished her introduction with a soft, hopeful smile. A long silence followed. Then Zuko leaned back slightly in his seat. “I appreciate the effort,” he said finally, voice calm but edged with finality. “But I am not pleased with any of the candidates.”
A ripple went through the room. The advisors stiffened immediately. One stepped forward carefully. Zuko lifted a hand slightly, stopping him without looking up. “I said what I said.” Then he continued, more bluntly, “I am not making a decision today. Or this week.”
The main advisor, the one who had been carefully composed all morning, visibly lost patience. “Fire Lord Zuko,” he said sharply, stepping forward, “the court has arranged this selection under the assumption that you would fulfill your duty to the realm. You cannot simply postpone indefinitely.” Zuko’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t raise his voice. “I can postpone anything I want if I don’t see a reason not to rush it.”
“That is not how succession works,” the advisor insisted.
“It is now,” Zuko replied flatly.
The tension snapped like a thin wire pulled too tight. The advisor turned slightly, clearly struggling to maintain control. “If none of the noblewomen are satisfactory… then perhaps the issue is not the candidates.” Zuko gave him a look. “Be careful where you’re going with that sentence.”
The advisor didn’t stop. “Then perhaps the palace has overlooked other possibilities.” Zuko straightened slightly. “Explain.” The advisor hesitated for just a moment too long, and then committed. “There are maids within the palace. Young women of discipline, proven obedience, and familiarity with court life. If your concern is compatibility, then perhaps alternative candidates should be presented.”
Zuko stared at him. For the first time that day, his expression shifted. Not anger, certainly not agreement. In disbelief. “You are suggesting,” he said slowly, “that I choose a wife from the palace staff.”
“It would only be a temporary arrangement for evaluation,” the advisor said quickly, as if speed could make it reasonable. “If one should prove suitable, it would resolve the matter efficiently.” Zuko leaned back again, exhaling through his nose, visibly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical tiredness. “…You people are unbelievable,” he said quietly. The advisor pressed on anyway. “It could solve the issue of compatibility immediately.”
Zuko stared at him for a long moment. Then he looked away slightly, rubbing his temple once. “Fine,” he said at last. “But not because I agree with your logic,” he added immediately. His gaze lifted slightly toward the hall. “Bring them.”
Rin went rigid beside you. Your stomach dropped slightly, though you didn’t fully understand why yet. The advisor bowed sharply. “At once, Fire Lord.” And just like that, the atmosphere of the entire hall shifted again. A line had been formed along the side of the room. Maids, all of them young women from within the palace staff, standing in careful order under the watch of stern attendants. Whispers had already spread through the palace, and now, against every tradition the court preferred to cling to, he was being presented with the alternative the advisors had pushed for.
You stood among them. Just another nameless figure, mask still tied neatly over the lower half of your face. Around you, you could feel the tension building in small, contained ways. Rin was somewhere two positions to your left, and even without looking at her, you could feel her energy vibrating with barely contained disbelief. “This is insane,” she had whispered earlier. “This is absolutely insane.” You hadn’t disagreed.
Zuko lifted a hand slightly. “Let the evaluation begin,” he said flatly. Silence returned instantly. His gaze moved across the maids slowly now. You kept your head lowered, as instructed. Invisible in the way you had been trained to be.
The advisor stepped forward again, voice cautious. “As said before, you may indicate approval or rejection. Those approved will be assigned as temporary concubines for court evaluation.” Zuko exhaled through his nose again. “This really is ridiculous,” he muttered.
The first maid stepped forward. Zuko listened to her introduction without interruption. When she finished, he nodded once.
Simple. No emotion attached. The maid stepped back.
The second followed. More confident, more practiced. She spoke of discipline, service, loyalty. When she finished, Zuko tilted his head slightly.
The pattern continued. Some were nervous. Some overly polished. Some visibly hopeful. Each time, Zuko listened. Each time, he gave the same kind of answer.
The room began to tighten with each rejection, not because he was cruel, but because of how steady he remained while doing it. You felt Rin shift slightly beside you at one point, as if she might say something and thought better of it. Then the line continued forward. Zuko’s expression remained unreadable as the next maid stepped forward. Another rejection..
Then the advisor leaned in slightly, voice low. “Fire Lord… there are only a few remaining.” Zuko didn’t respond immediately, his gaze moved again across the line. And then it stopped. On you. Not for long, but long enough that your breath caught slightly without permission. Something in his expression shifted. Perhaps it was recognition.
“Step forward,” the advisor said sharply before you could move on your own. You obeyed, stopping at the center of the hall. Zuko’s gaze didn’t leave you now. “Remove your mask,” the advisor ordered. For a moment, the silence stretched tight and absolute. Then you untied it, and as the fabric slipped away, you kept your eyes forward. Not yet looking up. Not yet meeting the weight of the room. Not when every presence in the hall seemed to settle on you at once, in a way you had never experienced before.
Zuko’s expression didn’t shift into anything dramatic. He didn’t react like the court advisors did. No visible shock, no outward change at all. But deep inside, a thought settled that he couldn’t quite push away: he had never seen a woman as beautiful as you. Then, quietly:
Zuko’s gaze remained fixed on you. “She will do, I choose her,” he said, steadier now. Then the advisor bowed quickly, voice tight. “Understood. A wonderful decision, my lord.” Around you, movement slowly resumed, but nothing felt normal anymore. Zuko, still seated, leaned back slightly. You stayed where you were. The mask was still in your hands. And even though you could feel the attention shifting away from you, you didn’t feel any relief.
The next maid stepped forward.
One of the five noblewomen who had already been rejected earlier stood quietly at the side of the hall, expression carefully unreadable. Another remained composed as well, though her gaze flicked briefly toward you once.
The maids continued one by one. And one by one, Zuko rejected them without change in expression. There was no humiliation in it, no satisfaction, no performance of power. Until, eventually, there were no more. The advisor stepped forward again, visibly tense now. “The selection is complete.” Zuko didn’t respond immediately. His gaze moved once across the room, briefly over the rejected noblewomen, then back toward where you stood. Then he gave a small nod. “That will be all.”
The advisor hesitated. “And the arrangement?” Zuko exhaled softly through his nose. “Let all the noblewomen remain as candidates for now. I will decide what is necessary moving forward. The chosen maid shall move to new chambers and meet me for tea tomorrow at dawn.” The advisor bowed quickly. “Understood.”
And just like that, the hall began to empty. The noblewomen were escorted out, maids were dismissed back into service corridors, and other attendants started dispersing as well. You were escorted through quieter corridors, deeper into the inner palace than you had ever been allowed to go. Finally, you were brought to a set of chambers that were already prepared. Not lavish in the way noble rooms were, but undeniably private.
“This will be your quarters,” one of the attendants said formally. “Until further notice.” You stepped inside slowly, the door closed behind you with a soft thud. For a moment, you didn’t move. Then you exhaled. Rin would not be far, she never was, but palace structure still mattered. Still, something in you tightened at the thought of being separated from her in this way, even slightly. You turned toward the attendant: “I have a request.”
The woman paused. “State it.” You hesitated only briefly, then spoke clearly. “I want Rin assigned as my personal maid.” The attendant studied you for a moment, as if weighing whether this was appropriate, unusual, or simply inconvenient. Then she nodded once.
“It will be forwarded.” And with that, she left.
You stood alone in the chamber again, listening to the quiet settle properly for the first time since the hall. An hour later, the door of your chamber shut behind Rin, and for a second the room stayed quiet enough that you could hear your own pulse in your ears. Then Rin exploded. “WHAT JUST HAPPENED THAT WAS CRA-” she blurted, hands flying to her head like she physically couldn’t contain the thought. “I’m sorry, I need to sit down. No, I need to lie down.”
You blinked at her. “Rin-” She didn’t hear you. Or chose not to. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” she continued, pacing immediately, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug in her excitement. “He said no to everyone like it was nothing. It was literally ‘no, next, no, next’...and then YOU-” She pointed at you so dramatically it was almost accusatory. You leaned back slightly on the bed. “Yes?”
“AND THEN YOU,” she repeated, louder, as if volume would improve the logic, “and suddenly it’s just YES???” She slapped both hands over her face for a second, muffling a scream of disbelief. “I am going to pass away,” she said into her palms. “I am going to die in this room and haunt you. I can't believe it, my best friend is going to be Fire Lords’ wife.”
You exhaled, half amused, half exhausted. “Rin, breathe. That’s not going to happen.”
“That is EXACTLY what is going to happen,” she insisted, pointing again. “He didn’t even hesitate with you. Do you understand that? He didn’t do his little ‘no, thank you’ voice. He just looked at you and went…” She straightened her posture exaggeratedly, deepening her voice into a very poor imitation of authority.
“Yes…ISN’T THAT CRAZY? He’s so in love with you.”
Then she immediately clutched her chest again. “I’m sick. I’m actually sick. This is the best day of my life.” You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re overreacting.” Rin whipped around. She crossed the room again, pacing faster, words spilling out now like she couldn’t stop them even if she tried. She was practically vibrating. “I’m serious,” she said suddenly, turning toward you with absolute conviction. “you’re naming your first baby after me.”
“Rin,” she repeated firmly, as if it was already decided by law. “Firstborn. Regardless of gender.” You blinked slowly. “We are not at the baby stage.” Rin just waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”
You let out a breath, leaning back against the bed again. The excitement in the room was still there, still buzzing in the air, but it didn’t quite reach you the same way it did her. Instead, it settled somewhere heavier in your chest. “Still, that’s not going to happen,” you said quietly. Rin paused. “Why?” You hesitated, then shook your head slightly. “He’s not going to choose me like that. Not really.” Rin frowned immediately and opened her mouth to argue, but you continued before she could interrupt.
“And I’m not even a firebender,” you added, voice quieter now. “Everyone else there was noble, trained, powerful. Firebending families. Political alliances. Real candidates.” You looked down at your hands for a moment. “What if he actually chose me? What if it became official? What if there were children?” you said softly.
Rin blinked, her expression shifting slightly as she actually listened now instead of reacting. You swallowed once. “They’d expect them to be firebenders,” you said as a small, uneasy laugh left you. “But what if they couldn’t bend? Because of me?”
Rin went quiet. You continued, voice more fragile than before, even though you tried to keep it steady. “No one would accept an heir of the Fire Nation who can’t firebend,” you said. A pause settled between you. Rin slowly straightened, her earlier chaos fading into something more grounded, more serious. “You’re thinking too far ahead,” she said quietly.
“I’m thinking realistically, I was just the safest option for him” you corrected. Rin shook her head immediately and leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees now, voice softer but steady. “He didn’t pick you because you were the safest option,” she said. “He already had safe options. He said no to them.” You frowned slightly, still uncertain. Then you looked away slightly, voice lower. “That still doesn’t change what I am.”
Rin immediately scoffed. “Wrong.”
You glanced at her. Rin softened slightly, then leaned back again, though her energy hadn’t fully disappeared. “And for the record,” she added, “if you ever do have kids, I am still insisting on Rin as a name.” Despite everything, a small laugh slipped out of you this time. Rin pointed at you immediately, victorious. “There. That’s better. That’s the energy I like.”
The tea had been arranged in a smaller, quieter sitting room than the council chamber.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You kept your hands folded in your lap, posture carefully composed. The mask was gone now, not needed anymore, but you still felt oddly aware of your own face, as it made you more visible than usual. Zuko sat across from you. A kettle of tea sat between you, already poured. Steam curled gently upward. He glanced at it once, then at you. “You can speak freely,” he said. You hesitated slightly at that, then gave a small nod. “Alright.” Then he asked, “What’s your name?”
That caught you off guard more than anything that had happened in the last few days. You blinked. “You don’ know it?” His expression didn’t change much. “My apologies, I was preoccupied during the selection.” That was one way to put it. You gave it a moment, then answered quietly. “Y/n.”
He nodded once, slowly, as though committing it properly to memory. “Y/n,” he repeated, testing it in a quiet, sweet tone. Your name rolled off his tongue in a way that felt unexpectedly gentle. Then silence again, but not uncomfortable this time.
You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with the silence, so you filled it the only way you knew how. “My father is a fisherman,” you said after a moment. “Well… he used to be. Before his hands started hurting too much. Now he helps with repairs along the docks. Nets, boats, anything small enough that doesn’t require too much strength.” Zuko listened without interrupting, his attention steady. You continued more slowly, finding the rhythm of it easier than expected. “And my younger brother… he’s seven. He thinks he’s going to be a soldier one day, but he also cries whenever I pull a prank and scare him, so I’m not entirely convinced.” Zuko let out a quiet laugh at that, and you glanced at him, a little surprised.
“What about you?” you found yourself asking. His eyes shifted slightly. “You already know what I am,” he said. “I know what you’re called,” you corrected gently. “That’s different.” He exhaled faintly. “I spent a long time away from the palace. I had my share of… adventures.”
“Do you miss it?” you asked. He stiffened almost imperceptibly. “I do.”
He didn’t elaborate, instead turning the conversation back to you with small questions: what you liked about palace work, what annoyed you most, why you decided to become a maid. The conversation settled into something easy and unforced. You asked about his likes and dislikes too, and he answered honestly. Now and then, you even found yourselves joking around, the quiet space between you gradually losing its tension.
You hesitated, fingers lightly touching the edge of your cup. And then you said it.
“Whatever happens… don’t choose me.”
Zuko’s eyes lifted immediately. The shift was subtle, but instant. “Why?”
You looked down at your tea. “It’s better that way,” you said carefully. “I’m not a noble. I’m not a bender. I’m just a maid. There are expectations for your consort. For your court. For your heir.” Your voice softened, but didn’t waver. “I don’t think I fit into any of that.”
Zuko didn’t respond right away. When he did, his tone was quieter than before. “You think bending is what matters here?” You hesitated. “It matters to the court.”
“I didn’t ask about the court,” he said simply. That made you look up slightly. His expression was steady, but there was something firmer underneath it now. “I don’t care whether you’re a bender,” he continued. “That was never the point.” You frowned slightly. “It has to matter for something like this.”
You didn’t answer. He leaned back slightly, eyes still on you. “To be honest,” he said after a moment, his gaze drifting briefly toward the tea before returning to you, “I chose you because I saw you once. In the garden. You were with another maid… you were both playing around.” He paused, as if deciding how much to explain. “It reminded me of how I used to be with my friends. To some people, it might have seemed childish. But to me, it felt familiar.” His fingers rested loosely against the cup. “And now that we’re simply talking like this, for some reason I can’t quite explain, it doesn’t feel forced.” A small pause followed, softer than the ones before. He decided to leave out just how beautiful he thought you were. “Perhaps, at least for now, we could be friends? I do not wish to pressure you, but I would like to get to know you better.”
Silence settled between you again, heavier this time, but not uncomfortable. You exhaled softly, uncertain what to say to that. Zuko’s gaze didn’t waver. “So don’t tell me who I should or shouldn’t choose,” he said quietly. “Not based on what you think you lack.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around your cup. And for the first time since this entire situation began, the certainty you had tried to hold onto didn’t feel quite as solid anymore. The tea room stayed quiet for a moment after his words. You were still staring into your cup when Zuko finally spoke again. His voice was lower this time, more distant at first, like he was choosing where to place the thought before letting it exist in the room.
“When I say I don’t care if you’re a bender,” he added, “I mean it. I’ve seen people destroy entire lives over what they think someone is supposed to be.”
He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to. The weight of it was already there, in the way he spoke about it like something that had permanently changed how he saw everything afterward. The conversation settled into something easier after that, like both of you had unconsciously agreed to leave heavier topics where they belonged for the moment.
You finished your tea a little slower now. Zuko leaned slightly back in his seat, studying you for a moment like he was considering something that had little to do with protocol or court expectations. Then, almost casually, he said: “Would you like to meet my friends?”
That caught you off guard enough that you actually paused mid-movement. “Your friends?” you repeated. Zuko nodded once. “Yes.” You looked at him for a second, unsure if you were misunderstanding the context. “As in… palace staff?”
“No,” he said, a bit more straightforward now. “Actual friends.” There was a short silence as you processed that. Then you asked carefully, “You mean the Avatar?” Zuko didn’t react strongly to the question, just gave a small nod. “Yes.” That alone would have been enough to make most conversations stop entirely. But he didn’t treat it like something monumental. You hesitated. “Why?” He glanced at you briefly, then leaned forward slightly again, elbows resting loosely on the table. “We meet up once in a while in Republic City. I was planning to go alone, but it could be nice to have a plus-one with me for a change.”
You studied him for a moment, then asked, “You’re just inviting me to meet them?”
His expression shifted slightly, as if the question itself was unnecessary. “No.” You leaned back a little, considering it, then gave a small nod. “Alright.” Zuko mirrored the motion once, like that settled it entirely. “Good,” he replied, the single word quiet but carrying a hint of relief. And just like that, the tea continued, the palace outside still vast and complicated and full of expectations neither of you were speaking about anymore, at least for now.
The ship moved steadily through the air for two days as of this moment, the wind quieter up here than it felt like it should be. You had been talking to Zuko without thinking too much for a while now. About small things, normal things. Your father, your brother, the kind of stories that didn’t really matter, which somehow made them easier to say.
You and Zuko were talking about your shared love for Sizzle-crisps when suddenly, Republic City came into view. It didn’t ease in slowly. It just appeared. Towers layered over water, bridges cutting through open air, movement everywhere at once. You went quiet without meaning to. Your earlier sentence disappeared completely from your mind.
Zuko noticed immediately. “You’ve never seen it?” he asked. You shook your head slightly. “No. I didn’t expect it to be this beautiful.” He subtly glanced at you. “It always is.”
You looked at him briefly then, and for a moment the conversation from earlier felt very far away, all those small things that suddenly felt like they belonged to a different version of your life. Below you, Republic City kept getting closer. And neither of you spoke again until the ship moved into its approach.
The airship docked with a low mechanical hiss, metal settling into place as the ramp extended toward Republic City’s platform. The moment it locked in, there was already movement waiting below. Zuko stepped off first, calm and composed as ever, and you followed a half-step behind him, still adjusting to the sheer scale of the city you’d just seen from above. And then you saw them. A small group waiting near the dock.
Aang was the first to wave. “Zuko!” he called, smiling openly as he stepped forward. He immediately turned his attention to you with the same warmth. “Hi! You must be Y/n. It’s really nice to meet you.” You froze for half a second. The Avatar knows your name?
“Oh hi there…. yes. Hello.” Just what is your life.
Katara stepped forward next, smiling immediately. She introduced herself very politely. Toph was next, arms crossed, head tilted. “So you’re the girl,” she said bluntly. “I guess I am.” was the only answer you could come up with.
“Cool. Zuko doesn’t have many friends. Let alone female friends.” she snarked. Sokka immediately leaned in from the side like he had been waiting for his moment the entire time. “Okay,” he said, eyes flicking between you and Zuko. “I have questions.”
“No,” Zuko said immediately.
“Yes,” Sokka corrected him. Zuko sighed faintly like he had predicted this exact moment. Sokka didn’t even look at him properly at first, just continued talking, half to you, half to the air. “So you’re just casually here now,” he said. “In Republic City. With him.” He jerked his thumb at Zuko. Zuko’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t start.” Sokka ignored him completely and leaned closer to you, lowering his voice like he was sharing classified information. “I’m just saying,” he added, “that guy does not introduce people to us, like ever.”
Katara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sokka.”
“What?” he whispered loudly. “It’s observational.” Then his eyes flicked back toward Zuko again, and something in his expression shifted. “Oh,” he said slowly. Zuko narrowed his eyes slightly. “No.” Sokka grinned wider. “Ohhh, yes.” Aang looked between them, confused. “What’s happening?” Sokka grabbed Zuko by the sleeve. “Nothing. I just need to talk to you. Privately. Like, very urgently.” Zuko didn’t move. “No.”
“This time it’s important,” Sokka insisted, already trying to drag him away. Katara immediately called after them, “Sokka, don’t start something.”
“No promises!” Sokka said, already half-turned away. Zuko let himself be pulled a few steps aside with visible reluctance. “This better be actually importat.”
“It is,” Sokka said quickly. Then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Okay. Real talk.”
Zuko stared at him as Sokka gestured subtly back toward you.
Zuko blinked once. Then, without warning, he grabbed Sokka by the front of his shirt and shoved him straight into the water below the dock. From the water, Sokka resurfaced, screaming bloody murder. Zuko exhaled once, completely unbothered, and straightened his sleeve like nothing had happened. Katara looked at him flatly. “You couldn’t have just said ‘don’t be weird’?”
Aang laughed awkwardly, then turned back to you a little softer. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s… normal for them.” You watched Sokka tread water for a second longer, still complaining loudly, then looked back at the group. “…I can tell you’re all good friends,” you said.
Republic City moved differently once you were inside it. From above, it had looked overwhelming. From ground level, it was even louder, faster, full of motion that didn’t seem to pause for anything. Airships passed overhead constantly, street vendors shouted over one another, and bending of every kind happened in small, casual ways like it was just part of walking down the street. You followed the group as they guided you through it. Aang walked slightly ahead, pointing things out with easy enthusiasm. Katara stayed closer to your side, occasionally stepping in when Sokka tried to turn explanations into something unnecessarily complicated. You listened more than you spoke at first, trying to take everything in without feeling like you were falling behind. At some point, Aang slowed slightly so you were walking more evenly beside him.
“So,” he said casually, “how do you actually know Zuko?”
The question landed simply. Katara glanced over briefly, also listening now. Sokka, of course, perked up immediately like he had been waiting for exactly this moment.
“Oh yeah,” he said, pointing lightly between you and Zuko walking a little ahead. “Because that part is still unclear. Like, he doesn’t exactly ‘pick up friends at random’ kind of guy.”
You opened your mouth slightly, trying to think how to phrase it in a way that didn’t sound like what it was still becoming. “We met in the palace,” you started carefully. “I was assigned there as-”
“Friend,” Zuko cut in immediately.
Everyone paused. You looked up. He hadn’t turned around fully, but his voice had been firm enough that it stopped the conversation cleanly. Sokka blinked. “Friend?”
Zuko finally glanced back. “Yes.”
Katara studied him for a second. “Since when?”
“Recently,” Zuko said simply.
Aang smiled, accepting it immediately in the way he always did when things didn’t need to be complicated. “Oh, that’s nice.” Sokka, however, narrowed his eyes slightly like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “…Right,” he said slowly. “Friend.”
The group started moving again, the conversation easing back into something lighter, Aang pointing out buildings, Sokka immediately getting distracted by something, Toph commenting on architecture in ways that were both accurate and mildly insulting, Katara steering everyone back on track when needed. Zuko fell slightly back into step beside you for a moment. “Why not tell them the whole story?” you asked quietly.
“It’s easier this way. Besides, I did ask you to be my friend back at the palace.” he answered. You glanced at him, but he was already looking forward again, expression neutral.
After that, you rejoined the group. Suddently, Aang asked you a simple question: “Have you ever ridden an air bison?” he said as you walked, hands clasped loosely behind his head, You slowed slightly. “A what?” Sokka immediately made a sound like he had been waiting his entire life for this moment. “Oh, you are going to love it.”
Zuko, walking a little ahead and to the side, didn’t interrupt. He rarely did when the group got like this, he just listened, as if he was deciding how much chaos he was willing to tolerate at any given moment. Aang smiled at you, completely unbothered by the reactions around him. “It’s Appa. He’s my air bison. He flies.”
You stared at him for a second. Then very carefully: “Like actually flies?”
“Yeah,” Aang said simply, like that explained everything. Sokka leaned in. “You’re doing great, by the way. Very calm reaction.”
“I think I’m going to need clarification on that,” you said honestly.
Aang just laughed. “You’ll see.”
You weren’t fully prepared for the moment Appa actually arrived. The first thing you saw was fur. Then the horns. Then the sheer size of him as he stepped into view. You stopped walking without meaning to.
“…Oh wow,” you said quietly.
Aang stepped forward immediately, placing a hand on Appa’s side. “It’s okay. He likes people.” You hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly approached. When you reached out, Appa lowered his head slightly, and something in your expression softened almost instantly. “He’s so fluffy,” you said.
Katara gestured for you to follow. “Come on. It’s safe.” You nodded once and carefully climbed up after them. The moment you settled into the saddle, Appa moved.
At first, you didn’t speak. There was no immediate reaction that felt appropriate enough for what your brain was trying to process. The city fell away beneath you in layers, buildings shrinking, streets becoming lines, water reflecting light like scattered glass. The air was colder, sharper, louder, and somehow gentler all at once. Then Appa leveled out and you exhaled. “I can’t believe this,” you said under your breath, leaning forward slightly as the wind caught your hair. “He’s actually flying.”
Your attention had already drifted out toward the open air. The sky stretched endlessly in front of you, wide and uninterrupted in a way you had never experienced before. And slowly, almost unconsciously, you lifted your hand. The wind hit your fingers immediately. You tested it again, letting it pass through your hand, curl around your skin, disappear and return again as Appa moved through it. “I can touch them,” you said softly. Aang glanced over. “The clouds?”
You nodded slightly, still focused outward. “It feels like I can.” A small pause followed, like no one wanted to interrupt that moment. Then you added, quieter, almost to yourself, “I didn’t think they would feel like this.” Your hand stayed lifted for a moment longer, fingers opening slightly as if you were trying to hold something that couldn’t be held.
There was something strangely calm in your expression now. Behind you, the group continued their usual noise, but it faded slightly into the background. Zuko wasn’t speaking at all. He was sitting slightly further back, posture relaxed but attentive, watching you rather than the view. Not openly. Not in a way that drew attention of the others, or you. Or so he thought.
There was a faint shift at the edge of his expression, subtle enough that it didn’t fully form into anything obvious. Not a smile in the usual sense. More like the tension he normally carried had loosened by a fraction without him noticing.
Katara noticed first. She leaned slightly toward Sokka, lowering her voice. “Look.” Sokka followed her gaze immediately. Then grinned. “Oh,” he said quietly. Katara gave a small, knowing smile. Sokka wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, whispering, “That’s new.”
Zuko didn’t react outwardly, but his voice cut in without looking away from you. “I can hear you.” Sokka pointed immediately. “You are smiling at her.”
“I am not smiling,” Zuko said flatly.
Katara tilted her head. “You kind of are.”
Zuko exhaled once, very quietly, and didn’t deny it again. And you, completely unaware of any of that, were still looking out at the sky with your hand slightly lifted, fingers opening and closing slowly in the wind like you were trying to understand how something so large could feel so gentle at the same time. Appa moved smoothly through the sky, steady enough that you stopped thinking about balance and started thinking about everything else instead.
The air was colder up here, cleaner in a way that made your lungs feel sharper with each breath. You had leaned forward again without realizing it, hand still outstretched, fingers opening into the wind like you were trying to understand it by touch alone.
“I can touch it,” you said again, quieter now, almost like you were testing whether the words would still be true if you repeated them. The clouds drifted close enough that your fingers brushed through them- They were not solid, not really, but there. Cold mist breaking around your skin and disappearing just as quickly.
Your expression softened in a way you didn’t notice, something unguarded settling into your face as you leaned a little farther forward. Then Appa shifted. It wasn’t sudden in a dramatic sense, just a small adjustment, a dip in motion as he changed direction. But because you were leaning forward, already half outside your center of balance, your weight didn’t correct with it. For a split second, there was no sound in your head at all. Just air.
Then gravity caught up. Your breath left you as you tipped forward, hands instinctively reaching for something that wasn’t there. There was a brief moment where everything slowed. The sky, the clouds, the distance between you and the saddle, and then the world tilted again as someone moved. Strong hands caught you around the waist before you could fully register the fall. The motion was quick but controlled, grip firm enough to stop your momentum without pulling too harshly.
You landed against him, momentum pulling you down into his lap as he shifted slightly to absorb the impact. His hands tightened instinctively at your waist, keeping you steady, his fingers spreading just enough to keep you from slipping. For a brief moment, neither of you moved. The sudden closeness made the air feel warmer, your balance held entirely by the firm line of his arms around you. You could feel the controlled tension in his grip, as if he was making sure you were comfortable before even thinking of letting go. Slowly, his hold eased, though his hands remained at your waist, steadying you while you caught yourself, the moment stretching just a second longer than either of you seemed prepared for. Only when you were fully steady did his grip loosen, though not immediately, his hands lingering at your waist before he finally let go.
For a second, neither of you spoke. The wind rushed past, Appa continuing forward like nothing had happened. You were very aware of the fact that you were no longer where you had been a moment ago. “…Sorry,” you said first, slightly breathless, still trying to process the sudden change in position. Zuko didn’t say anything.
From behind you, Sokka’s voice immediately broke the silence.
“Shut up, Sokka,” Zuko muttered under his breath, his tone flat but edged with irritation. He shifted his posture slightly behind you, creating just enough space for you to sit properly again, though he didn’t move far. His hands had already left your waist, but they remained close, ready to steady you if you lost your balance again.
“Be careful,” he said simply.
You nodded once. “I will, promise.”
Dinner with the Zuko’s friends in Republic City was louder than anything you were used to. Not unpleasantly so, just full of life in a way that made it hard to tell where one conversation ended and another began. The table they’d ended up at was long enough for everyone, though no one really stayed in one place for long. Aang was mid-story, hands moving as he spoke. “...and then the Fire Nation ship just drops out of the sky, right over the canyon, and we’re all like…” Sokka leaned forward immediately. “And I was like, ‘this is the moment I die heroically,’ but then I didn’t, so technically I won.”
Katara just sighed at her brother.
Toph was chewing like she was only half-listening, but still managed to interrupt. “You screamed the entire time.”
Everyone laughed, clearly used to this. Zuko sat slightly back from the main chaos, listening more than speaking, occasionally adding something short when directly included but otherwise letting the noise exist around him. You were listening too. At first, it was easy. Their stories were fast, they spoke of moments that had clearly shaped them into who they are now. It was a lot. And it was easy to sit there and just listen. Until it wasn’t.
Because somewhere between their laughter and overlapping voices, something quieter settled in your chest. Your life didn’t sound like that. There weren’t stories of travel or battles or bending or destiny. There was your father coming home tired. Your brother getting stuck in a roof beam. Days measured in work and small responsibilities and making sure things didn’t fall apart rather than running toward something larger. You weren’t unhappy with it. But sitting here, listening to them speak of grand adventures…you went a little quiet without meaning to. Your hands rested on the table, still.
Sokka was mid-exaggeration. “...and then I totally outsmarted…” He stopped slightly. “Wait, why did you get so quiet?” Katara glanced at you, more observant now. “Hey… you okay?” You blinked, pulled back into the moment. “Yes. Sorry. I’m just listening.” Aang smiled gently. “It’s a lot when you hear it all at once.”
You simply nodded at his words. There was a brief shift in the table, the kind that happens when conversation slows for half a second but doesn’t fully stop. Zuko hadn’t spoken, but his attention had changed. You didn’t notice immediately. He leaned slightly under the table, just enough that it wasn’t visible to the others in any obvious way, and his hand found yours. A quiet grounding point in the middle of everything else. Your fingers tensed slightly at first out of surprise, then slowly relaxed as you realized what it was. You didn’t look at him. Neither did he look at you.
Above the table, the group was still talking. Nothing had changed. But under the table, something had. Zuko’s thumb moved once, a small, absent motion against your hand, barely noticeable unless you were paying attention. And your chest eased in a way you didn’t have words for yet. You stayed like that through the rest of the conversation.
The dinner eventually ends and by the time you all step out into the streets of Republic City, the evening has softened into that late glow where everything looks a little gentler than it actually is. Lanterns hang over the streets like floating embers, their light trembling across wet stone and narrow canals that reflect the city back at itself in broken, shimmering pieces. The noise of the restaurant fades behind you, replaced by distant traffic, water, and the constant hum of a place that never truly stops moving.
Eventually, the group turns off the main street and into a quieter district near one of the canal intersections where the Fire Nation has arranged accommodation for Zuko. The building itself is understated compared to the rest of Republic City, elegant in a restrained way, polished wood and warm light filtering through paper screens, quiet staff stepping forward to guide the group inside with polite bows. The moment you enter, the city outside dulls into something softer. The noise becomes distant, like it has been wrapped in cloth and set aside. The interior is warm and carefully maintained in a way that feels almost unfamiliar after the chaos of the street. For a moment, it even feels peaceful.
You are still taking in the layout of the hallway when Sokka slows down, which is never a good sign. “Oh,” he says suddenly. Aang turns back. “What’s wrong?”
“Aang, Katara, Toph… i need to speak to you. In private.” Sokka says as he herds them down the corridor with far too much seriousness. Katara throws one last look over her shoulder, but Sokka is already talking again, too quickly for her to interrupt. And just like that, the hallway empties, the group disappearing around the corner in a swirl of reluctant curiosity, leaving only a confused you and even more confused Zuko standing in front of the room.
Down the corridor, far from the two of you, Sokka whispers to the rest: “I’m just noticing that the room distribution seems… inefficient.” Katara doesn’t even look at him. “We are not changing anything.” Sokka ignores her completely and instead turns toward Aang and Toph with a mischievous expression. “So,” he says brightly, “fun idea.”
Aang tilts his head. “What kind of idea?”
Sokka gestures vaguely down the corridor. “What if, hypothetically, people who are already emotionally entangled…” Katara cuts in immediately. “No.”
“...were placed in situations that encourage clarity of communication...like, say, sharing accommodations…”
“Finish that sentence,” Toph says flatly. Sokka smiles wider.
Katara closes her eyes for a second, the expression on her face suggesting she is counting down from ten in a language only she understands, while Aang looks mildly intrigued in the way, about to support something he absolutely shouldn’t. Toph full on bursts out laughing at the thought.
“We can’t,” Katara says at last.
Sokka lifts a finger. “Too late, I may have… spoken to the staff already.”
And just like that, you and Zuko ended up in one room, with one bed. That fact does not change no matter how long the two of you stare at it. The bed sits in the center of the room, sheets neatly arranged, pillows aligned. There is no second bed tucked into a corner, no divider, no excuse that could soften the obviousness of it. Just one bed. For two people who have known each other for only a few days.
“I will have this corrected,” Zuko says, more firmly this time, as though speaking it into existence will summon staff and additional furniture immediately. There is a pause. Then, quieter, almost reluctant in a way that feels out of place coming from him, he adds, “…unless you want it like this.”
You blink slightly, your attention shifting fully back to him now. He is not looking at you directly when he says it, at least not at first. His gaze is still angled toward the bed, toward the space rather than the person, but there is a subtle tightness in his posture that suggests he is very aware of exactly what he has just implied, even if he is not giving it permission to fully surface as meaning.
For a moment, you do not answer. The day has already been too much. Republic City, Appa, the falling, the catching, the hand under the table that you are still pretending you didn’t think about for longer than you should have. And now this. One bed. You remain near the entrance for a few seconds longer before finally stepping inside fully, letting the door remain closed behind you without thinking too much about it. Zuko grows self-conscious by your lack of answer so, after a minute, he clears his throat and adds: “I’m sorry, I will request separate arrangements immediately."
“There’s no need,” you say before you can second-guess it.
You continue, a little more slowly, “It’s just one night.”
The words feel simple, but they change something in the room in a way you cannot quite define. Zuko looks at you properly this time, really looks, and there is a flicker of something in his expression that you have seen before in smaller moments. The same focus he had during tea, the same stillness he had when he caught you on Appa. Except this time, there is something you don’t quite recognize beneath it, a change so subtle it almost feels imagined, his expression darkening for just a moment before settling again.
“…It is not appropriate,” he says finally, though there is less certainty in it now.
You shrug slightly, because suddenly it feels easier to treat it as what it is rather than what it implies. “It’s a bed, Zuko.” That earns a very faint exhale through his nose, something that almost sounds like surrender, though he does not say anything immediately after. Instead, he turns slightly away again, gaze drifting across the room as if reassessing the situation from a more strategic angle. And then, quieter than before, he says:
“I suppose it is just a bed.”
None of you said anything for a while. For a moment, it looks like Zuko might go back to the idea of requesting separate rooms. But instead, he just stands there, the faint tension in his posture shifting. He reaches for the knot at his waist, loosening the sash with a controlled motion. “It’s warm in here,” he says, almost as an explanation, though it doesn’t really sound like one. He shrugs his shoulders, allowing the heavy fabric of his robe to slide down his arms. It pools around his waist, cinched by the belt so that the garment hangs behind him, leaving his torso bare.
You nod slightly, because it is, in fact, warm, though that is not what your attention is caught on. The movement is practical and unceremonious, the fabric falling away to reveal the sharp lines of his abs and the lean strength of his frame. It’s worse because he seems entirely unaware of the effect.
Zuko turns his head away from you, his bare shoulders tense as he stares at the far wall. "We should get some rest," he mutters, his voice a fraction lower than usual. "It’s a long journey back to the Palace tomorrow."
"Right," you whisper, finally finding your voice. "Of course, Zuko."
As if by some silent, mutual command, you both move at the same time to maintain the thin veil of modesty remaining. You turn your back to him, facing the opposite corner of the room, and begin to undo the fastenings of your clothes. The sound of fabric rustling is deafening in the quiet space. Behind you, you hear the soft thump of his discarded boots and the rhythmic slide of silk as he pulls on his sleeping trousers.
Your fingers fumble with your buttons. You are acutely aware of the heat radiating from him just a few feet away, and the image of him is burned into your mind. You quickly pull your nightgown over your head, the cool linen a relief against your skin, but your heart is still hammering against your ribs.
"Are you finished?" Zuko asks. You can hear him moving toward the bed, the wooden frame creaking slightly under his weight. "Yes," you breathe, cinching your waist tie and finally turning around. He is already under the covers when you do. Even in the dim light, the tips of his ears are a deep, betraying red. He’s left exactly half the bed open for you.
You slide into the bed, moving as gingerly as if the sheets were made of glass. The mattress dips under your weight, and you’re suddenly terrified that the momentum might roll you right into him. You settle on the very edge, your back to him, staring into the shadows of the room. The space between your spine and his chest is only a few inches.
The air in the room feels like it’s thinning. You’re acutely aware of the fact that he is shirtless under those covers, and the memory of his bare torso from moments ago is making your pulse race in your ears. After what feels like twenty minutes, you shift your legs, and the fabric of your nightgown brushes against his calf. It’s a tiny, accidental contact, but the effect is almost electric.
Zuko stiffens instantly, his breath hitching. He doesn't pull away, though. For a long, agonizing minute, neither of you moves. The tension is so thick it’s almost suffocating. You hear the soft rustle of the pillow as he turns his head toward you in the dark. You can’t see him, but you can feel his gaze lingering on the curve of your shoulder.
Then, you feel it… the ghost of a touch.
His fingertips, calloused from years of fighting, graze the crest of your shoulder where your nightgown has slipped slightly to the side. The contact is so light it’s almost a question, but the heat of his skin is unmistakable. You stop breathing. Every nerve ending in your body seems to migrate to that single point of contact.
He doesn't stop. His hand moves with agonizing slowness, sliding down from your shoulder to the small of your back. Even through the thin fabric of your nightgown, his palm feels like a brand. His touch is steady now, trailing downward in a long, firm caress that follows the line of your spine. It’s a possessive, grounding movement, entirely at odds with the awkward, formal Fire Lord he was just minutes ago.
You hear him shift closer, the mattress groaning softly. The heat radiating from his chest is now pressed right against your back, though he doesn't fully pull you against him yet. His breath, warm and slightly ragged, fans over the nape of your neck.
"I tried," he whispers, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that makes your stomach flip. "I tried to just... go to sleep." His hand flatters against your back, his fingers splaying wide as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through the silk. The discipline he’s so famous for is clearly fraying, and in the dark, without the crown or the robes, there is only the raw, pulsing gravity between a man and a woman. He leans in, his forehead resting for a fleeting second against your shoulder blade.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his hand pausing its slow trek across your skin. "Tell me to stop, and I will." But his fingers twitch against your waist, and you can tell by the hitch in his throat that "stopping" is the last thing he actually wants to do.
Your brain is screaming a thousand warnings about duty, protocol, and the sheer impossibility of this, but your body refuses to listen. You lean back, molding your spine against the hard heat of his chest, and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
"Don't," you whisper, your voice trembling but certain. "Don't stop."
The permission seems to break the last of his restraint. Zuko’s hand, which had been pausing at your waist, grips you with a sudden, needy firmness. He pulls you flush against him, and as you instinctively press your lower body back into his, seeking that grounding weight, you feel the unmistakable, rigid proof of his desire pressing hard against you through the thin layers of your clothes. A soft, sharp gasp escapes your lips. He is solid, powerful, and completely undone by you.
Zuko lets out a low groan into the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there just for a second. His hand slides from your back, moving lower to pull your hips more firmly into his, ensuring there isn’t a single breath of space left between you. The sheer friction of the movement, combined with the searing heat of his bare skin, sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core.
"You have no idea," he rasps, his voice vibrating through your entire frame, "how long I’ve been trying to pretend I don't want this." He buries his face in your hair, his grip on your hip tightening as he drags his touch back up your side, his thumb grazing the underside of your breast. Every movement is heavy and deliberate, the Fire Lord's precise discipline finally turning into a slow, burning hunger that threatens to consume both of you right there in the dark.
The friction of your nightgown against his skin creates a static charge that seems to hum in the dark. Zuko’s movements are no longer hesitant, they are fueled by a slow, simmering intent. With a low, grounding pressure against your hip, he guides you to roll onto your back.
As you turn, the covers shift, and suddenly he is moving, shifting his weight until he is hovering directly above you. He towers over you, his broad shoulders blocking out what little moonlight filters through the window. In the shadows, the gold of his eyes seems to glow with a faint, internal heat. He supports himself on his forearms, framing your head, his chest almost touching yours. The sheer scale of him now feels like a physical weight pressing down on your very senses.
“Look at me,” he commands softly, though it’s more of a plea than an order. When you meet his gaze, you see the cracks in his stoic mask. His long hair is messy, falling over his forehead, and his jaw is set in a line of pure, focused tension. He slowly lowers one hand, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is agonizingly gentle, a stark contrast to the hard, demanding heat of his body pressing into your lap.
“I spent every second of today wondering if you were thinking about me the way I was thinking about you,” he murmurs, his chest finally brushing against yours as he sinks lower. He leans down, his nose grazing yours, his breath mingling with yours. He’s taking his time, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes. The heat radiating from him is overwhelming. He doesn't kiss you, instead, he just stays there, draped over you, letting you feel every inch of his strength and the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart against your own.
The tension that has been building since the moment he shed his robe finally hits its breaking point. Your brain’s warnings are silenced by the sheer, magnetic pull of him hovering over you, and the slow torture of his restraint becomes too much to bear. So, you reach up, your fingers tangling into his long hair, and pull him down.
The kiss is hungry. Desperate, even. shattering the silence of the room. You taste the heat of him, and he lets out a sharp, muffled moan of surprise against your lips before he completely gives in, his weight sinking more fully onto you. Zuko’s response is a low, guttural growl that vibrates deep in his chest. His mouth slides against yours with a raw, unrefined passion, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you open for him.
His hands, previously so gentle, now grip the mattress on either side of your head with enough force to make the wood creak. He’s anchoring himself to you, his chest crushing against yours as he drinks in the sound of your whimpers.
The friction of his bare skin against your nightgown, the hard press of his body, and the sheer intensity of the way he’s claiming your mouth makes the world outside the room vanish. He breaks the kiss for a split second, only to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in jagged, scorched gasps.
He shifts his weight, his body sliding down yours with a slow, heavy friction. He trails a path of kisses down your throat and when his mouth reaches the neckline of your gown, he pauses for a heartbeat, his hot breath soaking through the fabric. With a hand that trembles slightly, he hooks the collar, pulling it down to expose the curve of your breast to the cool air, only for that air to be immediately replaced by the searing heat of his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste you, before he takes one of your nipples into his mouth with a low, possessive hum that vibrates straight to your center. You cry out, your fingers digging into his bicep.
He doesn't stop there. He moves slowly, his kisses marking a path down your ribcage and across the sensitive skin of your stomach. Every time his lips touch you, it’s like he’s branding you. He reaches the hem of your gown and slides the fabric down your hips. Leaving you bare.
He settles between your thighs, his broad shoulders prying them apart as he towers over your lower half. The gold of his eyes catches the dim light one last time before he dips his head. The first touch of his tongue at your core is almost unbearable. Your hips buck off the mattress instinctively, but he’s there to catch you, his large hands sliding under your thighs to hold you steady against him. He drinks you in, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin, worshipping you with a slow intensity that makes the world tilt.
He doesn't just touch you, he devours you. His tongue is firm and rhythmic, swirling against your heat with a desperate, thirsty intensity that makes your vision swim. Every time you try to stifle a cry, he only redoubles his efforts, his breath hot and damp against your skin. He finds the small, sensitive part of you and centers his attention there, his movements precise. As he drinks you in, he adds a new layer to the torture. You feel the sudden, blunt pressure of his fingers sliding inside you. Two of them, slick and warm, mirroring the relentless pace of his mouth. The combination is too much. The internal stretch of him coupled with the wet, searing friction of his tongue against your clit makes your breath hitch and then vanish entirely. You’re tossing your head back into the pillow, your hands clutching the sheets so hard you can hear the threads groan. His fingers curl deep inside you, finding the exact spots that make your back arch. Every time you cry out his name, he only pushes harder, his thumb joining the fray to grind against you as he maintains that steady, punishing rhythm.
The tension in your gut coils into a tight knot. You’re shaking, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. He stays buried between your legs. "Zuko, please-" you sob, the plea breaking as the first waves of your climax hit.
He doesn't pull away. He leans into you, his fingers driving deeper and his tongue flicking faster, catching every muffled scream and every frantic shudder of your body. He stays there through the entire peak, anchoring you through the explosion of heat until you’re gasping against the pillows.
When he finally crawls back up the bed to hover over you, he looks like a man possessed. His face is flushed, his lips are wet, and his golden eyes are dark with a need that hasn't even begun to be satisfied.
"I’m not done with you," he rasps, his voice a low, scorched growl against your ear. "Not even close." Zuko doesn't give you a moment to recover. Before the aftershocks of your release can even fade, he’s moving again. He stays hovering over you, but he shifts his weight, pinning your wrists above your head with just one of his hands. His grip is firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it very clear that he isn't letting you go anywhere.
"You think that’s it?" he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. He slides his free hand back down, his palm flat against your stomach, before his fingers find that slick, sensitive heat between your thighs again. You let out a broken sound, half-gasp and half-sob. "Zuko, I can't... I’m already-"
"You can," he interrupts, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative register. He leans down, his bare, sweating chest finally making full contact with yours, the friction of skin-on-skin sending a fresh jolt through your nerves. He shifts, his heavy, muscular thigh prying yours wider, his hands sliding down from your wrists to cup the back of your head, grounding you against the pillow. He doesn't look away, he stares straight into your eyes, his gold irises blown wide with a raw, terrifying intensity.
He positions himself, the broad, rigid heat of him pressing firmly against your entrance. He pauses for a single, agonizing heartbeat, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he fights for one last second of control. "Y/n," he rasps, his voice breaking on your name. "Tell me you're sure. Because if I start, I’m not going to be able to stop."
You don't give him a verbal answer, you simply arch your hips, seeking the friction, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. That’s all the permission he needs. With a low, guttural sound that’s a half-growl and half-sob, he surges forward. He slides in with a slow, heavy thrust that fills you completely. The sheer, staggering stretch of him making your breath catch in a silent scream.
Zuko stills for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle jump. He looks like he’s in pain from the sheer pleasure of it. "You're so..." He chokes on the word, his hands trembling as he grips your waist, anchoring you so deeply against him that you can feel the frantic thud of his heart against your own ribs.
Then, he begins to move. It’s not the graceful, measured movement of a Fire Lord, it’s the desperate, rhythmic drive of a man who has been starving and has finally found exactly what he needs. Each thrust is deep, his bare body slapping against yours with a wet, heavy sound that echoes in the quiet room. He’s pining you down with his weight, claiming you.
The pace quickens, Zuko’s movements turning sharp and demanding. He’s no longer just moving with you, he’s driving into you, his breath coming in hot, ragged moans against your ear. His grip on your waist is bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go for even a second. "Zuko... look at me," you gasp, voice breaking.
When he looks at you, he completely looses it. His golden eyes are blown wide and shimmering with the heat of his inner fire. The friction between your bodies is building toward an unbearable pleasure.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and the sudden, tighter fit sends him over the edge. Zuko lets out a raw, unrestrained growl. A sound of pure, violent surrender. His body stiffens, his back arching as he pours himself into you with one final thrust. At the same moment, the world shatters for you. The waves of your climax crash over you, drowning out the sound of the wind outside and the pounding of your own heart. You cling to his sweat-slicked shoulders, your nails leaving marks in the muscle, as the room fades into a blur of heat and gold.
Zuko collapses against you, his heavy weight a grounding comfort as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He’s shaking, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch the breath he lost. For a long time, neither of you moves, the only sound the frantic, synchronized thudding of two hearts slowing down in the dark.
He doesn't pull away. He stays right there, anchored to you, his lips pressing a single, lingering kiss to the pulse point at your throat. Eventually, he shifts, rolling onto his side but refusing to break the contact. He pulls you with him, tucking your back against his chest so that you are curled together like two halves of a whole.
"Sleep," he whispers, his voice thick and drowsy, the rough edge of his voice replaced by softness. He drapes a heavy arm over your waist, his large hand resting flat against your stomach, pulling you even closer until there isn't a single draft of cold air between you. As you settle into the curve of his body, you feel his chin rest atop your head. His breathing slows into a deep, rhythmic hum that vibrates through your spine, acting as a lullaby.
Morning comes quietly in Republic City, the kind of soft, indirect light that filters through paper screens and turns everything into muted gold. For a brief moment, the room is still enough that it almost feels separate from the rest of the world entirely, no voices in the hallway, no movement outside, just the distant hum of a city already awake somewhere far below.
You wake slowly, before you fully remember where you are, only aware of warmth first. The second thing you register is closeness. It takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the fact that Zuko is there, and that at some point during the night the distance between you two seems to have stopped mattering at all.
He is still asleep. For a few seconds, you don’t move. The blanket is tangled loosely around both of you, pulled up high enough that the room beyond it doesn’t exist in any meaningful way, only the warmth inside does. Zuko shifts slightly, exhaling softly, and that alone is enough to remind you that reality still exists outside this moment. His hand adjusts unconsciously, still around your waist.
Then suddently the door slides open.
“GOOD MORNI-” Sokka stops so abruptly it is almost physical. There is a moment of absolute silence. Then Katara’s voice echoes from behind him: “Sokka, you can’t just do that.” Aang and Toph step into view, Aang’s cheerful expression fading in real time. “Oh.”
There is a second silence. Heavier now.
From the bed, neither you nor Zuko move immediately. Not because you are unaware of what has happened, but because reacting suddenly feels like it would only make the situation worse in ways neither of you has the energy for. Sokka slowly raises a hand, pointing at the bed. “I leave you alone for ONE night.”
Katara immediately grabs the back of his shirt. “This was literally your plan.”
The group looks deeply apologetic. “We should have knocked.” Toph snorts. “Should’ve, yeah.” Zuko exhales slowly, still half-asleep, voice low and very tired. “Get. Out.”
There is immediate movement, a door sliding shut far too quickly, and Sokka’s muffled protests continuing as he is physically removed from the hallway. The room falls silent again.Then, after a long pause, you feel Zuko shift slightly, leaving a kiss on your forehead.
“…Good morning,” you mutter.
The palace had never been this quiet. Paper lanterns hung in long rows across the courtyard, their light soft and amber against the dark wood of the palace architecture. Red silk banners moved gently with the night wind, embroidered with the symbol of fire. You stood in the inner preparation chamber with your hands folded loosely in front of you, dressed in layered ceremonial robes that felt heavier than anything you had ever worn before. Not uncomfortable, but significant in a way that pressed softly against your awareness with every small movement. The fabric shifted with quiet weight when you breathed, embroidered patterns catching faint light when you turned your head slightly. Someone had adjusted your sleeves twice already. Someone else had told you to stop fidgeting with your fingers. You had stopped, eventually, but only because it felt easier than arguing. Somewhere deeper in the structure, Zuko was doing the same thing.
The thought sat with you longer than expected.
A soft knock came at the sliding door before it opened just enough for Rin to appear, half inside, half still clearly overwhelmed by the entire concept of existing in proximity to imperial ceremony. She looked you up and down once, then exhaled sharply as if she had been holding her breath for the past month.
“I still think this is insane,” she said immediately.
“That is not helpful,” another attendant muttered from behind her.
That, at least, made her pause. Then she softened, just a fraction, her usual chaos dimming into something more grounded. “Okay,” she said after a beat. “But like… insane in a good way.” You almost smiled at that, but the door opened again before the moment could settle properly, and the attendants moved in with renewed focus. It was time.
The walk to the courtyard was not long, but it felt extended in a way that made each step havier than the last. The palace corridors had been transformed for the ceremony. Every sound seemed softened, absorbed by the weight of what was happening. You stepped through the threshold, and the outer courtyard spilled out before you
Zuko stood at the far end beneath the central archway, dressed in formal imperial robes, deep red and black layered in structured folds. Half of his hair was tied back, the Fire Lord’s headpiece resting in place, but he was not looking at the crowd. Not yet.
The courtyard was full, but it didn’t phase him anymore. Advisors, nobles, members of court, even the Gaang arranged somewhere to the side became invisible, because Zuko’s attention did not move. It stayed on you.
You took your place at the end of the walkway, and for a moment neither of you moved forward. Zuko exhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly, as if grounding himself before speaking.
The court remained silent in anticipation, but neither of you acknowledged it directly. When Zuko stopped in front of you, there was a brief pause, so small it would have gone unnoticed by anyone not looking for it.
The ceremony continued around you when it needed to, words spoken by attendants in formal cadence, rituals observed with practiced precision. But the part that felt real was not any of that. It was the way Zuko’s gaze stayed on you even when tradition required otherwise. The way his expression softened in increments so small they were almost unnoticeable unless you already knew how tightly he usually held himself together.
When the final declaration was made, it did not feel like a beginning of something grand in the way the court likely intended. It felt quieter than that. More personal.
And when it was done, when the last formal words had settled into the night air and the courtyard finally exhaled as one, Zuko turned slightly toward you. “You still think this was a bad idea?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.
The pause that followed was brief. Then you shook your head once.
“No, I don’t,” you said. “This is perfect.”
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