20's / she-her / personal writing; atla mainly! / english is not my first language™ / occasional updates, college is tough ouch.
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⏾⋆.˚ masterlist?? . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁
── ; Jealous type .✦ ݁˖ / FireLord!Zuko x FireLady!Reader
── ; A matter of rules .✦ ݁˖ / FireLord!Zuko x FireLady!Reader
── ; Zuko's the type of husband to...
⤷ 1; rehearse compliments for you and fail at it anyway.
⤷ 2; let you practice hairstyles for your daughter on his hair.
"...let you practice hairstyles for your daughter on his long hair without complaining (much)."
── ⟡ FireLord!Zuko x FireLady!Reader.
── ⟡ Word count: 2.0k
Yes, I'm writing the second part of A Matter of Rules. Yes, I'm waiting to finish it after my exam season is done, I promise. Also, this was also supposed to be a short story and I ended up with 2k somehow, again 🥀. There may be slight ooc behaviour bcs i haven't seen the show in a while! I'm rewatching it so i might edit it later to fit better. Any correction on that or grammar is well received, english is not my first language blah blah. want a writing commission or leave a tip? here's my kofi✧˖°.
Years ago, when Zuko had decided to let his hair grow long, it had been a matter of honour. Something that carried meaning.
A choice that separated him from his old self: the boy who had cut his hair near a river after becoming a fugitive. A choice that represented, with time, that he was worthy of carrying the image of the royal family. That he had finally grown comfortable in the role of a respected Fire Lord, without depending on someone else’s approval.
He had not accounted for how useful it would be for you to practice how to braid your daughter’s hair.
Days ago, you had been trying to style Izumi’s hair into two neat braids, after refusing to let attendants take care of such a small task when it came to your daughter. You wanted to be present for her even in things as ordinary as this.
You had not expected it to be so difficult.
So, while you tried to handle a bored Izumi (who was at an age where sitting still for more than five minutes was as tragic as not being told a story at night before bed. Unthinkable.), trying to untangle her soft hair and manage it into something decent, you had unconsciously murmured ‘I’ll need more practice for this…’
Which, five seconds later, resulted in your daughter letting out a cheerful “Papa has long hair like me!”. The phrase was uttered with all the excitement of someone who had noticed the fact in that very moment, while looking at Zuko, who sat a few metres away, reading scrolls at a nearby low table.
All he had done was look up to where you were, catch the already pleading look of your expression, and he had already realised the grave mistake he had made by existing near you in that moment.
Still, the very next morning, when you had caught his wrist before he could fix his hair himself, and you looked at him with the most excited eyes you could muster, he couldn’t bring himself to say no.
Which had brought him to this very moment, sitting down on the stool of the vanity of your room, posture straight, even as you stood behind him brushing his hair with the delicacy of someone who knows he’ll try to leave the second he feels his hair being pulled. A scroll resting on his lap like reading reform drafts would outweigh the absurdity of the Fire Lord being used as a doll by his wife.
“It’s unfair, you know.” You mumble almost absentmindedly as you continue your task with the brush.
“What is it?”
“Your hair is so…soft. And very shiny. What do you even do to make it look this nice?”
“I shower.”
“Precisely.” You nod, almost offended at the silk-like feeling of the strands as you try to separate his hair into two even segments. “You simply exist, and it looks this pretty even when it’s so long. It’s unfair.” You repeat your earlier comment, even if there’s no genuine malice in your tone.
“You were the one who insisted on letting it grow this much.” He recalled casually, remembering how a few months before, he had thought of cutting it to his shoulders. He had received a very calm, very polite ‘do it and I divorce you’ in reply from you, which he kindly took as a suggestion to leave it long.
“Because you look handsome.”
Zuko’s gaze leaves the scroll he had been trying to read since he sat in front of the vanity, almost curiously looking up to the mirror to see himself. He then promptly shrugs when looking at his appearance, his eyes drifting towards you through the mirror, seeing you frown lightly in concentration as you try to braid the right side of his hair.
“You know, most Fire Lords probably never had this done to them.” He commented lightly, referring to how his predecessors valued formality over the wishes of their wives
“The Fire Lords before you started a war and kept it going for a hundred years. Your point?” You let out without flinching, fighting with a strand that escaped your grasp as you tried to twist it into position.
“I suppose this is better for the nation.”
A rather comfortable silence formed, even as minutes passed and you worked on both sides of his hair. He sat unmoving, doing his best to concentrate on the scroll in his hands without doing any action that might ruin your work.
After a few seconds in which he felt your hands abandon his head, he looked up. Two braids were now holding his long hair, with a few strands left out to frame his face. He analysed them thoroughly, almost picturing how such a style would look when done on Izumi instead of him.
Then he notices you open one of the drawers of the vanity, which is enough to make him squint lightly.
“Are those ribbons?” Zuko asks, almost stoic as your hands retreat from the drawer with two little bows.
“I have to see if they look good. These are Izumi’s favourites.”
He remains silent for a few seconds, considering at which point in his life he allowed himself to be the kind of man that’s about to be decorated with his daughter’s favourite hair accessories.
Then, he utters something that he knows will save him from this.
“They’re crooked.”
“What?”
“The braids. They’re uneven.” He clarifies, taking the one on his left side between his fingers. “This one has less hair than the other.”
“No, they don’t-” The bows are left over the vanity as your hands busy themselves examining the braids that, merely a few seconds ago, looked exactly the same to you. Which may have been the daze of the moment, as you notice he’s right. One is wider than the other. And the partition of his hair is more a zigzag than a straight line. And you tied the right one higher than the left one.
With a tired sigh, your hands move once again to untie both braids, suddenly more interested in managing to make them perfect before bothering with the ribbons.
“This has no business being so difficult.” You utter under your breath, reaching once again for the comb to brush his hair and try to make the partition once again, hopefully less crooked now.
“You could always let the attendants handle it.” He offers kindly.
“I’m more than capable of braiding our daughter’s hair, Zuko.” You let out almost offended, even more as he glances at you through the mirror. No words are spoken, but his brow raises faintly, almost as if asking ‘Are you?’ with his expression. You huff as you start working once again on the right side of his hair. “I will be more than capable once I practice. I can’t let others take care of things constantly. I want Izumi to grow up knowing she’s loved by us, even if we’re busy sometimes.”
His expression softens immediately at your words, leaning slightly back to be closer to you, almost reassuring.
“She knows she’s loved.” He mutters gently, eyes closing as he lets himself be taken care of by you as your hands continue their work. “She’s already growing up so differently from me…” Zuko sighs, but you can hear the relief in his tone.
“I know.” You end up nodding. “But sometimes I get tired of hearing the new things she has learned from attendants instead of seeing it myself.”
Zuko senses the heaviness of your voice and, deciding you probably wouldn’t want to discuss delicate matters at such an early hour, tries to shift the tone into something lighter.
“I haven’t asked much lately, given the work for the reforms of the eastern ports. What have they told recently?”
“That she got into the throne room yesterday, while you were out handling the meeting with the minister.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah, she managed to sneak in and sit on the throne.” You continue, as you pick one hair tie to secure the side you just finished fixing. “When her attendants tried to convince her to get up, she said she was 'learning to be like her Papa Lord'.”
“…she still calls me that?” Zuko frowns even if his eyes remain closed. Izumi had stopped calling him that to his face weeks ago, so he figured she was over it. Apparently, she had kept the name when getting out of scolding.
“All the time.” You confirm, hands moving into the strands left unattended on the right side of his hair. “To the guards and maids, mostly. She also started pacing around when she has to make a choice.” You add lightly. “One of her main attendants, Hana, told me that yesterday she asked Izumi if she wanted fruit or a pastry as dessert, and she paced the garden for five minutes with her hands behind her back.”
“Isn’t that normal?” He asked, puzzled, considering he sometimes carried the habit of doing the same.
“For a Fire Lord, maybe. Not for a four-year-old.” You laugh lightly, faintly amused as you reach for another tie to finish the hairstyle you had been quietly working on. “She tripped while pacing, ruined her robes, and her dessert had to wait until she was put in clean clothes.”
“That’s why she was pouty later at dinner, then.”
“Exactly.” You nod simply. Then Zuko feels your hands no longer working on his hair, which makes him open his good eye, catching a glimpse of your hand once again silently reaching for the bows.
“Did you finish the new braids already-?”
…
His words die instantly once his gaze turns toward the mirror. What he found in the image is quite clear. You, behind him, looking pleased with yourself. Him, staring back at himself, somewhere between stunned and reluctantly entertained. And in his hair-
Two pigtails.
Two (surprisingly even) styled pigtails holding his long hair in a hairstyle he clearly would have never allowed willingly, given the rather absurd look they give him in contrast to the formal robes hugging his broad shoulders and the definition of his face given by the maturity of his years.
“…you like it?” You ask, still smiling at him through the vanity mirror.
…
“…I’ve got to attend council in less than thirty minutes.” He ends up answering after a long sigh.
“But do you like it?”
He remains silent as if he was, mentally, recalling every decision that had led him to this precise moment. Then, he leaned towards the mirror hesitantly, before analysing the form and look of the hairstyle with a meticulous demeanour that seemed too serious for the moment.
“…they look better than the braids.” Zuko murmurs after a few seconds of consideration.
“High praise from the Fire Lord himself.” You laugh once again, resting your head against his shoulder. Which only lasted a few seconds before he caught your hand and tugged you in front of him, promptly pulling you onto his lap despite his still faintly grumpy expression, scroll forgotten on the vanity.
“You’ll fix it right now.” He utters as he presses you more comfortably against him, his features softening even if he tries to remain serious.
“But I worked so hard on them…” You let out with mocking sadness, letting your head fall against his shoulder once again, but this time in supposed sorrow.
Zuko stares at you for about five seconds, laughing under his breath unconsciously at your little act. Then, his hand rises once again to guide your face away from his neck and into a position that allows him to press a gentle kiss to your lips.
“Fine, you can fix it in ten minutes.”
He pulls you closer against him, his gaze briefly returning to the mirror. He sees how comfortable you look in his arms, how content he seems just to have you close, even after you attempted to ruin his reputation with a single hairstyle.
When Zuko was a kid, he looked at his father’s long hair and he couldn’t wait for the day he could look like him.
Now, he looks at himself in the mirror and realises his happiness comes from the fact that he’ll never be like him, no matter his appearance.
So I wanted to know if you do part 2s because I just finished reading the Zuko fanfic about having to keep to his rules, and I literally screamed when I saw it ended. I can’t move on. I need to know what happens next. Please spare me and do a continuation 😭😭😭😭😭
yeaaah, i had an ask requesting a second part so i started writing it recently! i'll finish after I'm done with my exam season bcs i wanted to write something longer 🕺🕺 but i'ts on the way yupyup
“english is not my first lang—“ ahhhh, ik im reading good tonight boyzzzzzzz
a classic one 🚬🚬
it also comes with my recent search being full of synonyms and grammar corrections but some sacrifices have to be made for the second language ig haha 🧚🧚
"...rehearse compliments for you like he’s preparing for diplomatic negotiations and somehow embarrass himself anyway."
── ⟡ FireLord!Zuko x FireLady!Reader.
── ⟡ Word count: 1.9k
Every time I want to write something short I end up with five pages instead 🥀. Anyways this will lowkey become a series because I have a lot of ideas of Zuko as a husband hehe. There may be slight ooc behaviour bcs i haven't seen the show in a while! I'm rewatching it so i might edit it later to fit better. Any correction on that or grammar is well received, english is not my first language blah blah.
want a writing commission or leave a tip? here's my kofi✧˖°.
There’s something oddly honest in the way Zuko’s expression works.
In the way one could glance at his face and know if he was deep in thought, mildly stressed or sometimes just annoyed at the Grand Chamberlain interrupting the time he had already scheduled to spend with his family.
There’s also something deeply humiliating in the way his reflection is staring at him right now.
A brow furrowed, his own gaze directed at himself with more irritation than he had directed at anyone in days, lips pressed together like he’s judging them for not cooperating with him. His features showed a scowl far too serious for the situation.
He had thought this would be easier.
This morning, he had promised himself he’d find a way to be more honest with you. To stop relying on words let out after long days when his filter was gone, or compliments so small he considered insufficient for you. For how deep his feelings for you were.
No, he wanted to actually tell you something good. Something that could manage to fluster you. To let you know how genuinely he loved you despite not saying it so openly at every possible hour, to give you a fraction of the wide portion of his thoughts you occupied by merely existing.
So now there he was, in front of the mirror of your shared chambers. Formal attire already properly framing his broad body, hair gathered into a bun with only a few strands framing his face, looking every inch of the Fire Lord that was supposed to attend a diplomatic dinner with Earth Kingdom representatives in a few minutes.
He should be rehearsing his speech.
Instead, he’s planning how to tell his wife that she looks pretty.
“You look beautiful tonight- would that imply she doesn’t look beautiful other days? Would she be offended?” He corrects himself for what now feels like the hundredth time. “Your presence is exceptionally comforting.” He blurts out, then pauses to evaluate it. “…exceptionally? Am I writing a trade agreement?”
He raises his arm, intending to run his hand through his hair. A gesture he usually does when he’s stressed or handling diplomatic matters; then sighs in defeat when he immediately remembers it’s tightly held on by the hairstyle you had done on him a while ago. Instead, he settles for fixing his bangs with a resigned sigh.
“Your smile is- no, she’ll smile and I’ll forget the rest.” He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them to stare at himself with renewed determination, expression earnest like he’s deciding the fate of his nation rather than him failing at being smooth. “You bring unity to this place, encourage everyone to be better, to learn from mistakes and move forward towards a new…” He shuts himself instantly when he notices he’s reciting his speech for the dinner instead of handling the task at hand.
Zuko sighs once again, moving from the mirror to pace slightly around, continuing to speak despite being alone, as if getting used to doing it aloud might make it easier.
“I think I fall in love with you more every day- that sounds rehearsed…it is rehearsed. You make hard days better with your…your- existence…?” He groans into his hands. “I’m her husband. I see her every day. This shouldn’t be this difficult.”
He returns in front of the mirror, his reflection almost staring back at himself with pity, which soon is replaced by consideration.
“What would someone good at this do? What would…?” Zuko considers his options. His uncle? No, he’s not about to recite poetry. Aang? He’d probably die of embarrassment at such honesty. So the remaining person was- “…what would Sokka do?”
His expression changes slightly, relaxed and smug in the way he recalled seeing Sokka’s expression turn into when he spoke to Suki. He cleared his throat once, tone more playful, as he leaned against a nearby piece of furniture.
“If being so beautiful was a crime, you’d be-”
He interrupts himself immediately, hand dropping from where it was leaning, coughing once more into his fist to erase the image of himself seconds ago, choosing to not even question himself.
Then he allows the embarrassment to sink in for about two seconds before letting out a frustrated groan, determined to say at least one proper thing before he’s called to his duties. His gaze is piercing as he stares at himself, trying to envision you as he tries to pour every thought he’s had about you, the peace your love has brought him and how grateful he was to have you.
“…you make this place feel like home.” He ends up muttering, voice raw on its honesty and how he deeply means it when he thinks of you. Then he realises how utterly vulnerable his gaze seems at the mere idea of saying it to your face, and immediately feels his ears warm up due to embarrassment, his hand raising to cover his face with sudden shyness at his own intensity.
Before he can complain to himself about his inability to talk like a normal person, a sound interrupts his most irritated (at himself) thoughts, making him immediately step back from the mirror, unconsciously straightening his posture.
Even more as you enter the room, pace calm and collected, already dressed for the event. You stand now in front of him in your formal robes, light makeup already on and enhancing your features, making your eyes rival the brightness of the jewellery decorating your wrists and neck.
His brain is quick to shut down completely.
There’s silence for a few seconds. You stare at him curiously, given his unusually startled expression. For a second, you think he’s about to say something that seems to mean a great deal to him.
Instead, he mutters:
“You’re here.”
“…clearly.” You nod, not unkindly, already used to his answers. The ones that might be considered underwhelming coming from him by anyone else who didn’t know his manner of speaking. You walk towards him, hands moving to settle his collar in place, which was slightly rumpled. “The guests arrived already. You’re ready to go to the dining hall?”
He considers telling you how breathtaking you look under the light of the room.
He decides to save that possible mortification for after the political matters are handled, because he refuses to stay the entire dinner blushing like a teenager at his (most likely) awkward execution of the words.
“I am.” He confirms, offering you his arm to walk with him towards the door, his other hand unconsciously covering yours once it settles over the fabric of his robes.
Speaking, quite clearly, was a far more delicate topic than letting his actions take over.
Nights at the palace aren’t as cold as they should be. Sometimes you wonder if it has something to do with being in a place full of firebenders, or if the warmth comes naturally when you’re with your husband.
Still, as you both walk around the palace gardens after the diplomatic dinner, he seems to be warmer than usual beneath your palm. You can feel it from where it’s pressing lightly over his arm, as he guides you around the grounds despite the fact that you already know the place after years of living there.
“You seemed distracted during dinner.” You break the silence after a moment of consideration. “Something on your mind?”
“No, I just…had my thoughts elsewhere, I guess.”
“Want to talk about it?” You offer gently, which makes him gaze at you. The memory of him a few hours ago practising in front of the mirror comes back right away, making him clear his throat and look forward once again.
“…no.” He lets out, voice stern, even if you can feel him stiffen slightly. And then, before he can think more of it, he continues. “I enjoyed the dinner.”
“Did you?” You question immediately in a voice that suggests amusement rather than confusion, considering how he always seemed he’d rather be elsewhere during political meetings of any sort.
“I like them more when you’re there with me.”
“I’m always there.”
“…yeah.”
“That’s cute.” You laugh slightly under your breath, noticing that he seems particularly attentive to your reaction. He lets out a tired sigh when he realises that, despite being amused, you’re not flustered. Even so, as you continue the conversation on another topic. “Still, what did you think of the trade reforms the minister suggested? He said by the next meeting with the Earth Kingdom ambassadors, we should focus on-”
“You look beautiful.” He utters suddenly, despite having discarded the compliment hours ago.
“What?”
“I probably should have said it later.” A sigh escapes his lips, refusing to look at you properly.
“Are you trying to compliment me?” You catch his intention, tone edging on barely concealed entertainment.
“Yes. Since this morning, really.”
“Well…do it.” You stop in your tracks, letting go of his arm to stand directly in front of him, your gaze fixed on his to let him room to speak.
Zuko clears his throat, recalling every single thing he rehearsed before the dinner, and every time he had managed to fluster you on previous occasions (all unplanned, as that seemed to be his strong suit rather than put himself through the misery of practicing lines that didn’t follow his usual kind of affection), focusing only on the way your eyes shine beneath the moonlight, honest in a way that eases partially his hesitation.
“Everything feels easier when you’re here. The dinners, the meetings, the responsibilities. It gets lighter when you’re with me.” His hand raises to cup your cheek, which he feels warming slightly under his touch. A sign that the sincerity of his voice reached you completely, making you slightly shy beneath his devoted gaze
Your eyes look away from his in embarrassment, more at the genuine love in his voice than the words themselves. Still, you lean against his touch, mumbling something in response to ease the intensity of the air between you two. “Everything but giving compliments without rehearsing, apparently…” You answer, getting closer until you hide your face in the crook of his neck, your arms now around his waist. You feel him tense slightly against you.
“…you knew I was rehearsing?”
“I stood for five minutes outside our room before walking in, earlier.” You chuckle lightly, heat still faintly on your cheeks. “Please never use Sokka as a romance reference, please.”
Despite the embarrassment he should feel, he also laughs along with you, relaxing now that he has accomplished his goal. His arms surround you gently as he lets himself enjoy the feeling of you against him. Content, loving, relaxed, even in the middle of the palace gardens at an hour when both should be already asleep.
“Alright, my love.” He ends up replying, pressing a light kiss against your temple. Then, after a few seconds, still carrying the lightness of his laugh, he adds- “…maybe Aang, then, next time?”
“Zuko.”
“Fine. Let’s go to bed.”
Bonus scene:
Hours later, the palace is quieter. The faintest noises from the hallways can be heard from inside your shared chambers. It all seems to become background noise when he has you in his arms, warm under the covers as you lie fully half on top of him. He can almost picture your relaxed face despite the fact that all the room's lights were turned off hours ago.
Almost unconsciously, his hold on you deepens to feel you closer, the words escaping before he can think about them.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
hiii! i looked on your page for rules for requests but i haven’t been able to find it so idk if this is something you’d right, but i have an idea I’ve been dying for someone to write. a love triangle between azula x fem!nonbending!reader x zuko. just lmk if this would be something you’d be interesting in writing and I’ll tell you my idea for it. thank you!
I was today years old when i noticed i really didn't make rules for requesting omgg, i'll do it someday i swear 🫡
I also love the concept, I've never tried to write Azula but it might be fun! If u want you can leave another ask or tell me ur idea over message 🕺🕺
"There was only one rule in your marriage with Zuko: only having one child, to avoid the same mistakes his father made. Unfortunately, the Fire Lord himself seems to be struggling to respect it, especially when it comes to keeping his hands to himself.”
── ⟡ FireLord!Zuko x FireLady!Reader.
── ⟡ Word count: 4.3k
── ⟡ Content: Mention of Zuko and reader already having a kid. Fully sfw except for like one or two jokes that are suggestive.
This was supposed to be a small story and then i went a bit overboard with the length and him suffering lol. There may be slight ooc behaviour bcs i haven't seen the show in a while! I'm rewatching it so i might edit it later to fit better. Either way, any correction on that or grammar is well received, english is not my first language blah blah. want a personalised writing commission or leave a tip? here's my kofi✧˖°.
It’s rare for Zuko to be still asleep when you wake.
Sleeping late isn’t a luxury the Fire Lord gets often, and today it’s not an exception; you’re the one waking earlier than usual. For once, your duties of the day outweigh his: paperwork, organisation of next week’s reception for Earth Kingdom dignitaries, afternoon tea with local directors of healing centres to discuss improvements they need. And on top of that, trying to spend as much as possible with your daughter.
‘Well, things aren’t going to be done magically’, you think as you move, carefully removing Zuko’s arm from your waist, where it had rested protectively even in sleep, quietly getting up from the bed of your shared chambers to reach for the formal daily robes that had been laid out by your attendants while you were resting.
“Don’t do that.” You hear the voice of your husband behind you, clearly raspy from sleep but with a certain edge underneath it, one you’ve grown familiar with over the past days.
“Good morning to you, too.” You don’t turn around as you speak, keeping your motion to remove your sleeping robes to change into the required ones for the day. “Don’t do what? Get ready for my day?”
“Look like that in front of me.”
His voice now sounds muffled, which lets you know he has turned into the pillow, probably hoping it’d spare him from his early frustration at himself. By the faint huff that he lets out a few seconds later, you assume it didn’t help.
After all, these past days had been… particular, to say the least.
Though it all started a few years ago, before you two even got married.
Back then, you two had settled on establishing boundaries before committing to each other, in every aspect that was relevant. One of them, clearly, was the matter of children.
Which, even if a bit scared due to his own childhood, he did want it (‘if it’s with you, I do’ he had said back then on an outburst of honesty). With just one particular condition, one you understood perfectly:
One child.
Just one kid you could raise with all the care and love you could both offer. No siblings that could cause rivalry, no comparisons of who’d be a better heir, nothing that he could accidentally turn into a pressure for anyone else.
Which, over the years, resulted in your daughter Izumi. Now four years old, and the highlight of both your lives, even if he pretends not to melt every time she hugs him or calls him ‘papa lord’ in her sweet little voice, trying to mimic the formality of the people around him when addressing the Fire Lord.
And things had been peaceful enough until two weeks ago, when, for a few days, you believed you might be pregnant once more. Something completely against the plans that the two of you had previously agreed on. Luckily, it had only been a scare, but it made him aware of how easily something so important to him could revive his own fears about fatherhood.
So, he found his resolve on…restraint. On moderating your nights together. On disciplining himself into being a devoted husband in more ways than settling his hands over you or letting his kisses wander in the privacy of your room.
He had lasted exactly two days before his own decisions made him go into the most ridiculous type of spiralling.
“You were the one saying you didn’t want to touch me, a few days ago.” You remind, undoing the ties of your sleeping robes despite his earlier words, letting it pool at your feet. Then, moving to reach for the elegant silks that had been your daily wardrobe for years now.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” He corrects in a voice too stern for the topic, voice a bit clearer, which lets you know he had the courage to gaze at you briefly. “I said it’d be better if I didn’t. We can’t risk another scare. Or worse, for it not to be a scare. This is the responsible option.” He adds, his tone firm despite the expression of longing he directs at you, as if you weren’t only a few steps away.
“That’s very honourable of you.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not. You have your reasons. I respect them fully.” You answer genuinely, back still turned to him as you fix the ties of your formal clothes, smoothing the fabric into place. Only then do you turn around to look at him; propped on his elbows now, long hair cascading over his shoulders, sleeping robes slightly open at the neck to let you a small glimpse of his collarbone and chest. And an expression that shows, quite easily, that he’d rather for you to not be so clothed right now. “I suppose you’re thinking about respecting your own wishes, aren’t you?” You add, almost entertained.
“…I am.” He lets out abruptly, gaze averting from you to get up from the bed with more effort than he probably intended. “I made that rule for a reason.”
“You did.”
“And it was a good reason.”
“It was.” You reply easily, but the faintest amusement can be perceived in your words.
“And I don’t regret it.” Zuko adds almost defensively, noticing your tone and stance as you walk through the room to reach the doors of your shared chambers, already halfway out.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, it’s alright, love.”
Zuko is a disciplined man.
That’s what he believes. What he has proven to himself over the years; ever since his teenage years while chasing the Avatar (even if later his goals changed), even while becoming Fire Lord at such a young age, even while upholding the title for the following years, while helping restructure a nation buried under years of violent mentality.
…and apparently, it’s still not enough for him to actually commit to keeping his hands away from his wife. Not without a (internal) fight, at least.
Not even while being in the middle of his personal study, with one of his advisors standing next to him while reciting recent trading issues that have to be solved with utmost priority, stating the benefits and risks of each, while Zuko is, supposedly, attentively listening to his words.
The illusion of it is given by the very well-paced ‘hm’ or ‘indeed’ he apparently has a good sense to utter despite being lost in the conversation, more focused on you sitting in one of the divans of the room, completely absorbed in reading a scroll related to the latest initiatives you have to oversee for the next few weeks.
You’re not even aware of his gaze on you, and if you are, you’re good at pretending the opposite. That makes it worse for him; how utterly unaware you seem to be of the effect you have on him, even in broad daylight, while wearing your usual formal robes, not even showing an inch of skin that could provoke the thoughts he’s harbouring. Just you, existing, in your…maddening, beautiful way of being.
“Your Majesty.” The advisor then clears his throat, gaze focused on him as Zuko pretends not to be startled at the call of his title.
“Yes?” He answers without hesitation, with all the composure and confidence of someone who had been listening intently; something he clearly wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to let it show.
“You seem rather…absorbed in your thoughts.” The man speaks carefully, tone polite either way. “Perhaps you’d rather discuss these matters at another moment?”
“I was merely thinking about the trade agreement of the eastern port, I assure you. That one is rather…demanding, even if very appealing.” He says instead, his eyes daring to gaze at his wife for a brief second, like his words weren’t precisely about diplomatic treaties. “...Appealing given the terms that were offered, of course.” He continues with a cough, as if to bring himself back into the matter at hand.
“Precisely the reason why the council wants to solve it as swiftly as possible, Your Majesty. Do you have any preference regarding the matter?”
“I do.” He nods, hands reaching for one of the scrolls of his desk like he’s searching for a particular term of the treaty, eyes searching even if they don’t know what for. “But I’d rather consider it more carefully. We’ll continue after this afternoon’s council session. You’re dismissed.” The advisor bows politely at him, walking towards the door, not before bowing slightly to the Fire Lady on the close divan, before he actually leaves the room.
Silence reigns over the space, which makes him believe the universe has finally mercifully allowed him a moment of peace.
“You didn’t hear a single word he said in the last few minutes, did you?”
Zuko sighs at your amused tone, very briefly considering the possibility of deflecting the question. But his instinct tells him you already know the answer, and anything else he may utter might be senseless attempts to ignore a fact.
“I didn’t hear anything since he arrived.” He ends up saying, his resigned tone letting you know this was a deliberate bruise to his pride. One that would’ve hurt more if he hadn’t been honest with you.
“Poor little Fire Lord.” You reply with a mocking, pitying sigh. “Too distracted by his wife to focus on his work. She must have you quite neglected if she occupies your thoughts this much.”
“You aren’t the one at fault here, and you know it well.” He exhales heavily once again, hands let go of the scroll he had been pretending to read a few seconds ago. “I made the rule; you just accepted my wishes.”
“Mhm, I know. Which means you can just ignore it, you know?”
“Not possible.” His hand finds his quill, determined to actually get work done and to commit to his own principles. “I won’t risk another scare.” He adds, like it’s enough to finish the conversation. And given that you add no answer, it seems to have been effective.
It stays quiet for a few minutes. The peace is barely interrupted by the occasional sound of his quill against paper, and the movement of the scroll you’re reading, or the faint sound of movements outside the room, a reminder of the structure of the life you both have.
But even if it makes no sound, you can almost feel the recurring flex of his free hand against the side of his desk where it’s resting, like he’s anchoring himself to avoid acting on certain thoughts.
“…do you want to come sit next to me?” You end up offering after a while, avoiding any mocking tone that might make his pride flare up, sensing his inner turmoil.
“My desk is fine.” The excuse doesn’t answer your question, but it does provide an answer at all, which to him is enough.
“You won’t get me pregnant by sitting next to me, Zuko. You know it doesn’t work like that.”
He pauses at the slight patient edge of your tone, like you know he’s craving to feel your presence in at least some way. It should irritate him that you know him so well. Instead, he complies.
“…That’s a fair point.” He nods, already standing to continue his work along you, posture regal as if walking towards a formal event instead of towards his very beautiful, very tempting wife.
“Do you want to lean against my shoulder?”
“Yes, please.”
Zuko was a man used to rational thinking.
To consider all the possible variables to reach the most beneficial decisions, to make himself as neutral as he could to avoid his judgment being clouded, to deal with the constant pressure that, if he didn’t, there’d be consequences. One cannot lead a nation without that ability.
And for all the discipline he had in theory, he realised during the past few days, it wouldn’t be enough. Not this time.
Not with you waking up in his arms every morning. Or holding him after long days. Or with how much you enjoyed running your fingers through his hair late at night when the weight of the world outside the doors of your shared room seemed to ease.
Not with him being so infuriatingly in love with you.
That much he decided one bright morning, when, for once, he had no urgent matters for a while. Which made you suggest that you both could spar in the open hall of the palace, for old times’ sake.
And he had agreed, because who was he to deny you, really?
It had been easy at first. Letting the sparring match guide him and ease his thoughts, to focus on the way you lit up every time you managed to catch him off guard or make him stumble.
Or even more so, to notice with endearing precision how you were one of the few people who could match him in a fight; not because you were stronger than him, but because you knew him so well that you could predict his forms with almost clinical accuracy.
That, of course, until he managed to sweep you off your feet, his body naturally moving to pin you against the floor of the hall with an unconscious reflex.
By the time his mind caught up to his actions, he was braced above you, one of his hands holding your wrists over your head. Face close enough that your breaths mingled like they have done multiple times in far more private settings.
And before he could even begin to make himself aware of the press of you against him, the expression of your eyes as you gazed up at him with a shaken demeanour or the way you exhaled shakily due to exhaustion, before he could bask in it…he let go of your wrists, promptly standing up. And then, immediately offered you his hand to stand up, because he might be forcing himself to control his emotions, but he’d rather die than let such a thing get in the way of your comfort.
“Well, at least you aren’t going easy on me.” You comment with a light laugh as he helps you up. Right away, you're already moving into a fighting stance, intending to continue the sparring. If you noticed his internal agitation, you made no comment on it.
And in that precise moment, Zuko decided, he would make use of his rational thinking to find alternatives to end his suffering without risking his principles. And once he decided something needed solving, he didn’t let it go.
Zuko is a resourceful man.
Years into the role had taught him to look for options where there seemed to be none, to twist his proposals until the council accepted them without losing their main goal, to be aware of how, even when things seemed complicated, there were always ways out.
Surely, he could apply such ability to his current predicament.
“Something on your mind, Fire Lord?” He lets go of his quill as soon as he hears your voice as you enter his private study, the scrolls on his desk (ones this time he had actually been working on) almost judgmental of his newly distracted demeanour.
“…trade agreements.” He replies simply, even as you walk closer, a small tray of warm tea in your hands, which you place delicately on the free space of the table that isn’t buried in paperwork. Despite his stern tone, his hand still finds your wrist, moving towards your now free hand, almost unconsciously lacing your fingers with his. “You didn’t have to bring the tea yourself.”
“I wanted to do it. Can't I give myself the pleasure of seeing my husband work so diligently?”
“…You can.” His grip on your hand tightens for a brief moment, sensing the warmth of your skin before reluctantly letting go. “Just don’t expect me to stay focused.”
“You needed a break, either way.”
“Maybe.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Not the empty kind, but rather the one that grows between two people comfortable enough in each other’s presence to not need to fill it with small talk.
You lean slightly against the desk, your eyes briefly scanning the room until you realise you’ve left the door slightly ajar while entering with your hands full with the tray. You’re about to walk towards it to close it fully when his voice interrupts the quiet.
“I’ve been thinking.” He begins, hand reaching for one of the cups of tea, tone stoic as if he was about to, in fact, discuss trade agreements. “About our rule.”
“I assume you aren’t going to suddenly ask for another kid, are you?”
“I’m not.” He denies calmly, taking a sip of the warm liquid. “But I’ve been thinking of alternatives.” That catches your attention.
“…alternatives?” You mutter, tilting your head slightly, already curious given how, by his attitude, one would assume he’s discussing a crucial political agreement instead of…your private life as a couple.
“Yes, ways we could avoid…distance.” Zuko phrases it carefully despite the slight confidence in his voice. “While still keeping our decision.”
You laugh lightly, already entertained by how serious this seems to be for him. “Do tell.”
“We don’t have to avoid it completely. There are…other ways we could-” He sighs against his cup of tea. “Physical closeness can be done in more than one way. And you’re…good with your hands. So am I.”
“…are you saying that, for now, we should only-?”
“It’s a safer alternative.” He interrupts. “It’s not inherently a risk, depending on how we approach it”
You stare at him for a few seconds. At the slight furrow of his brow, at his too serious expression and slight frustrated edge beneath it.
“You know if we do only that kind of thing, you probably still will get carried away in the moment and we’ll end up having sex either way, right?”
“…I’ve considered that.” Zuko sips once again from his cup of tea, as if it’d shield him from the slight embarrassment of his tone. “But if we’re mindful, there are ways to reduce the risk.”
“…reduce how?”
“If I’m careful of the timing.” He begins, still with a light frown. “It might still be avoidable.”
“Zuko.” You call, already sensing where his words are going and determined to save him from that kind of mortification. Even more as his tone seems a bit more frustrated now. And if you have learned anything through the years, it is that when he runs out of options, he tends to get blunt in a way that later haunts him at night.
“I mean, the chances would be lower if I didn’t-”
“Zuko.”
“If I don't-” He pauses, searching for a better choice of words. He doesn’t find them. “If I don’t finish inside.”
…
There it is.
You sigh, already opening your mouth to answer, when-
“Ahem.”
You both freeze immediately. Then, almost at the same time, you both slowly turn your gaze toward the door.
The same door where the Grand Chamberlain (who clearly had been waiting for the right moment to announce himself without interrupting, which didn’t arrive in the most graceful way) stood with a stack of papers in his hands, things that surely needed immediate attention from the Fire Lord.
It didn’t help that he didn’t look awkward; his face just showed the exhaustion of someone who had clearly heard too much, but that wasn’t about to make a show out of it in front of the most powerful man of the Fire Nation.
The same man who, for a few seconds, looked like he’d rather fight his sister again rather than deal with this.
That, clearly, until he masked his face with the same expression he used for every formal event and council sessions, leaving his cup of tea back on his desk with such calm precision that it seemed to belong to someone who wasn’t discussing how to not get his wife pregnant again a moment ago.
“Grand Chamberlain.” His voice is firm. “The door was closed for a reason.”
“It was not closed, Your Majesty.” He replies in the same polite tone he always directed at him. This makes Zuko gaze at you, almost silently looking for an answer. You shrug slightly, letting him know that, in fact, you hadn’t closed the door.
“…Is there something you need?” Zuko speaks again despite the obvious flush of red on the tip of his ears.
The chamberlain clears his throat again, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “I brought the new reforms you need to approve for the afternoon.”
“Of course, give them to me.” He asks, despite how clearly he was avoiding eye contact now from anyone who wasn’t the scroll of his desk, which suddenly seemed incredibly interesting. Not even after the Chamberlain left the documents on his desk and left the room with a small bow (and a very respectful ‘I’ll close the door on my way out’) did he take his gaze away from the paper.
“Now that we’re alone again.” You begin once more, tone clearly entertained even if you also felt completely mortified. “Do you want to…finish your earlier thought?” You add, tone amused.
“…I was finished.”
“Were you?” You continue with a small laugh, which makes him catch the intention of your previous joke, the flush of red now extending to his face.
“Please leave my office.”
Zuko was a defeated man.
He had faced the council during his early years, where traditionalists wanted nothing to do with him as the new Fire Lord, had spent years reforming a nation to erase the brutal motivations set by his father, and had spent the rest working himself to the bone to ensure peace.
And this was his defeat.
“This is ridiculous.” He sighs, a small flame escaping from his lips along it, frustration represented by the most unconscious use of his firebending.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed of your shared chambers, duties already done for the day, which should have left him to change into his sleeping robes. That, if it weren’t for his predicament and the still lingering mortification of the earlier unfortunate moment with the Grand Chamberlain.
“You seemed troubled.” You enter the room, your tone without any mocking, even after you (very mindfully) close the door of your room, returning from putting your daughter to sleep after she had been fussy and wanting to hear more stories than usual before settling in her own room.
“You know well why.”
“I do.” You nod, walking closer until you make room for yourself, settling to sit on his lap, arms wrapping around his neck for both support and closeness. “Talk to me.”
He sighs once again, leaning into you despite his frustrated state. “It’s just that…I love you.”
“Oh.” You get startled at his sudden words, then recover your composure. “And that’s a problem because…?”
“It’s not a problem. I am.” He clarifies right away, leaning against you so his face rests on the crook of your neck. “Because I want to love you properly. Not just physically. I want to…be close to you. Show you my care. Let you know how much you mean to me.” He nuzzles deeper. “But I can’t let that get in the way of keeping the rule, and I refuse to have the slight chance to make the same mistakes my father did with Azula and me.”
“You would never be the same as him.”
“You don’t know that.” He counters back, not unkindly. “I’m trying to be better, but…if we had more than one child, I might end up favouring one without knowing, or passing them the pressure of being the better heir. I’d never do that to Izumi.” He adds, honest in a way he only allows himself when he’s too tired for his usual filter. “I’d never forgive myself if I did it without even noticing.”
You stare at him for a few seconds, endeared by his worry towards your daughter, by the genuine worry of wanting to be better, of balancing his love for you with the sense of duty that had guided him his whole life.
So you take his face between your hands, away from your neck, fingers delicate against the warmth of his skin as you lightly caress the space beneath his eyes, mindful of the scarred segment of his features. And then, without much thought, you lean to kiss him, hoping it would reach him easier than any word might do right away.
He leans immediately into it, his own arms circling your waist to press you closer with almost a gentle touch. His lips move against yours like this had been what he had needed all day, and his shoulders relax enough to confirm it to you.
And after a few seconds, he separates slightly, with an almost reluctant demeanour but caring more to let you room to breathe properly, even if he remains close enough that both your breaths still mingle.
“You already are the best father she can have just by caring this much about her.” You speak then, fingers still lightly caressing his face to reassure him. “And if you don’t want more children, I’ll continue to respect your wishes. But don’t force yourself to hold back with me.” You continue, voice soft. “You don’t have to choose between loving me and staying true to your beliefs.”
“But the risk-”
“Will get worse if you force yourself to stay away from me in any way.” You interrupt gently. “Let’s just be careful, not turn this into something extreme just to keep you restricted.”
“…Alright.” He exhales, getting more relaxed at the idea of not keeping himself on such a tight leash, given how devoted he had always been when it came to loving you. And when you notice he seems less troubled, you continue, tone almost amused.
“Maybe we can even go with your suggestion. The one earlier at your study.”
He perks up slightly, gazes towards you like he wonders if he heard correctly.
JUST CAME TO SAY THAT I REALLY LIKE YOUR ZUKO 😭😭 I LOVED THE FIC SO MUCH!!!
omgggg, thank u so much!! <3
i was strugglingggg while writing him bcs i was trying my best not to mischaracterise him, so i'm glad u liked it 🕺🕺
also very glad u liked the fic, i'll make sure to keep them coming yay
"With a hot husband, comes great responsibility (and the bothersome burden of other women talking to him)"
── ⟡ FireLord!Zuko x FireLady!Reader.
── ⟡ Word count: 2.4k
This was fully motivated by the edits of adult Zuko so there may be slight ooc behaviour bcs i haven't seen the show in a while! I'm rewatching it tho so i might edit it later to fit better. Either way, any correction on that or grammar is well received, english is not my first language blah blah. want a personalised writing commission or leave a tip? here's my kofi✧˖°.
The room is too warm. You notice after one hour of festivities and polite talk.
Well, this is the Fire Nation, after all. It’s to be expected. Even more during a diplomatic reception such as the current one; splendid ambient, elegant decoration, perfect temperature. You ensured it yourself days ago when the organisation of the event was delegated to you.
So, either the staff didn’t follow your orders…or the rush of emotions of the evening had made your temperature rise higher than usual.
Surely, your husband -your very hot, very much married husband-, currently surrounded by noblewomen (if they had anything noble in them, seeing how shamelessly they seemed to want to earn the Fire Lord’s favour) might have influenced it.
It was fine, at first.
As Fire Lady, it wasn’t precisely a relaxed celebration. Nothing ever really is. So, even if the event was smaller than others hosted in the halls of the palace, your role still required small talk and a display of regal attitude towards all guests. So did Zuko’s; you had learned this a long time ago.
However, after a long talk with a particularly chatty Earth Kingdom ambassador, you had realized you hadn’t seen your husband in a while. So what a surprise it was to look for him and find him positively surrounded by people who, clearly, weren’t his wife.
This had happened before. Of course it had.
One couldn’t expect to marry someone who looked…like that, and expect him not to draw attention. Someone in such relevant position. Someone who had (even if earned through the years) a poised presence that could catch the eye even without relying on such good looks and formidable title. It would be foolish to do so.
But seeing him so…comfortable at it? Not seeing him even flinch as one of the women (the daughter of one of the older council members, if you recall correctly) gets closer to mumble something to him, while he has the audacity to smile while he replies? Unheard of. Disgraceful. Absolutely maddening.
And the reason you’re overheating with jealousy, clearly.
It’d be less awful if he didn’t look so pleased with engaging in the conversation, you think to yourself, turning towards one of the closest refreshment tables to pick one glass of whatever was being served. Something just to put your hands to use, to maintain the decorum expected of the Fire Lady instead of the dramatic behaviour of a possessive wife.
How you wished to at least know what those women were saying to have him so content…
The evening had been delightful. That much was clear for Zuko. Shades of gold and red decorating every space of the room, from the fresh flower arrangement to the silk banners on the walls, to the display of the tables and carefully curated menu. A festivity more than worthy of being hosted by the palace.
After all, it had been carefully overseen by his wife, so there wasn’t any other way for it to be.
“Fire Lord Zuko.” Another noble woman called for his attention, as had been common in the last few minutes, even while he had made sure to dismiss them swiftly to finally have a moment to look for his beloved. “The evening has been wonderful. The palace is brighter than ever tonight… one might wonder if it’s your presence that makes it so radiant.”
…a moment he believes gets further away from his grasp, with every new conversation.
Still, he takes a moment to think of the words, mentally considering the best answer for someone of his position. Even years into the title, he still sometimes has to pause to consider the best course of action, even for something as small as chatter in the middle of a diplomatic reception.
Which is why, after a few seconds, and in the voice of a man who now knows how to command a room, but apparently, not catch second intentions, he utters:
“I haven’t made any changes to the lighting.” He clarifies as if it were needed. Then, feeling like he should add something more, he continues. “But it was my wife who organised the decorations. She has a good eye for that.”
The noblewoman’s smile doesn’t falter but almost threatens to do so, until she remembers who she’s talking to.
“That’s…wonderful, Your Majesty.” She ends up replying, laughing softly as if to ease the one-sided tension. “But I imagine it must be difficult to balance such responsibilities. Do you ever find time to enjoy evenings like this by yourself?”
“There’s usually work to finish all the time.”
This time, he doesn’t add more to his words, almost pleased with himself on his diplomatic ways.
“As it’d be expected of such a demanding position.” The woman continues either way, set on gaining the favour of the Fire Lord in at least some way. She had seen women speak to him half the night without any of them succeeding, so either they had been terrible at it, or this man was the most challenging one in the entire Fire Nation. “I’m sure many would gladly assist you, if you ever required… lighter company.”
“That wouldn’t be necessary. The council handles most of the matters, and my wife manages the rest.”
The woman almost sighs, but decides to try one last direct approach.
“Even so, if you ever find yourself looking for another kind of presence…I’d be honoured to spend more time in your company, Your Majesty. Perhaps in a less crowded space.” She continues, using her fan as if to highlight the expression of her face or the subtle pigment adorning her lips.
“Ah, yes.” He ends up replying, with such a casual tone that almost makes the woman hopeful that her tactics seem to have been successful…until he opens his mouth again. “If you’re looking for a position, you could talk to the members of the council.”
…
“Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
“My Lady, are you feeling unwell?” Your thoughts are interrupted by your personal attendant, who has discreetly gotten closer to you after sensing your internal turmoil even from the other side of the room.
“Not at all.” You compose yourself quickly, taking your eyes off the woman speaking to your husband, stopping your assumptions for a few seconds. “Everything is perfect.”
“Would you want to step outside for a moment?”
“That would be lovely, yes.” You agree quickly, clearly preferring to gaze at the sky to clear your mind. At least the sky didn’t have women on their left and right looking for the smallest opportunity to make a man pay attention to them despite being publicly married.
Even so, as the cold air of the night hits your face as you step into the closest balcony, your thoughts don’t ease even for a moment. After all, the image of someone else getting that close to the man you love (and the fact that it has become a recurring occurrence) isn’t something easy to shake off.
‘No, he isn’t like that. But he usually stays close to me in these events, why didn’t he today? But he’s Fire Lord, it wouldn’t be good if I stick to him all the time; he has to talk to people. But he seemed so entertained while talking to them, what if..?’
“You left.”
A voice can be heard behind you. An unmistakably familiar, and very annoying for the thoughts you were having kind of voice.
And surely, a few seconds later, the man himself appears next to you. Fire Lord Zuko, in full formal attire, hair half up in a bun you fixed yourself before the event, and expression unexpectedly soft for anyone else that wasn’t you.
And apparently, the man who had a radar on noticing the immediate moment you abandoned the main hall.
“…yeah.” You end up simply nodding, almost embarrassed of the thoughts you were having mere seconds ago. “It was, uhm, quite…crowded inside.” You add as excuse.
“Did something happen?” He asks, sensing it might not be the full truth. Which might have made you cave in to him if it wasn’t for the expression he made as he spoke, the same one he did minutes ago with another woman. The memory is enough to make the previous jealousy rise again.
“Nothing at all. You can come back inside if you want. I wouldn’t want to take much of your time when you have plenty of company waiting for you.”
That makes him pause.
If these years of marriage have taught him anything at all, that tone of hers didn’t exactly want him to come back inside. And he had probably made a mistake he should apologise for. So, with the subtlety of a glass being smashed into the pavement, he simply asks:
“What do you mean?”
Which makes her sigh as she finally looks at him.
“I don’t know, Zuko. Maybe I don’t like seeing you surrounded by women who seem to be waiting at the inevitable moment I make a mistake so they can get closer to you.” A hint of sarcasm can be heard in your tone, more exhaustion than real anger toward him.
His expression inevitably shifts at your words. After years of knowing him, you can almost read them like an open book. First confusion, then consideration of them, a mix of something quieter as he seems to realise the meaning of what you just said.
“What kind of mistake-?” Realisation hits his features as his thoughts form fully. “Oh.”
“…'oh'?” You repeat, almost offended.
“That’s what this was about.” He ends up muttering, almost to himself. “You believe I’ve been talking to other women because I’ve wanted to?”
“You seemed quite content.”
“I wasn’t- “He stops himself like he knows his words will need to be more exact than that. “I’ve been trying to end those conversations as soon as possible to come look for you. But more of them kept appearing before I could. And when I was alone, you left the hall.” He speaks, tone even but no less firm, like it always has been when it comes to reassure you, in his own way.
Still, as you don’t seem fully convinced, he continues.
“They were speaking to me. I answered.” He clears his throat. “That was all.”
You stop to look at him for a second, his tone and words making you almost ashamed of the fact that you thought he could be entertaining other kind of thought. But even so, stubborn as usual, all you can manage is:
“Didn’t look like that to me.” Which would’ve been more intimidating if it wasn’t for the faint flush of embarrassment on your face.
“Sorry, I just thought you’d be…glad. Of me following your advice.”
“…what advice?”
“What you said to me last week.” He recalls, tone sincere. “That I should speak to dignitaries myself instead of glueing myself to you.”
…ah, that advice.
“I mean- yeah, I did say that. But referring to- I don’t know! Ministers, ambassadors, representatives, not other women.” You continue despite the growing mortification on your face.
“Were you jealous?”
“…no.” You mutter despite how utterly unconvincing your tone is given the situation.
But instead of mocking you or teasing you into it, he glances for a second towards the hall he left minutes ago. The distant sound of chatter and probably political nonsense you both technically should come back to. Then takes your hand in his, with the same gentle touch he always has with you, like the way he touches you matters more than anything his title might ask of him.
“Would you rather we leave early?”
“What?”
“Leave already. We were noticed enough; I think it’s normal for me to want time with my wife instead of nobles and ambassadors.” He repeats, then adds. “And for what’s worth, I’d have rather spent all evening with you instead of talking to other people about lighting.”
That finally makes you squeeze his hand as a gesture of relief, moving closer into him until your forehead rests against his shoulder, feeling the warmth he radiates even in the middle of the night chill.
“…I should’ve figured that myself. Sorry that I didn’t.”
“It’s fine. If something is wrong, I want you to tell me.”
“Alright.” You end muttering, surrounded by his words. As the calm settles over your thoughts and posture, you move even closer, allowing yourself to press a soft kiss to his lips that he quickly answers, his free hand moving to settle over your waist with the familiarity of someone who had been waiting for that precise moment all night. “We’re leaving, then?” You whisper against his lips.
“To wherever you want to, my love.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Bonus scene:
Later, you both walk hand in hand towards your shared chambers. The lights of this side of the palace are dimmer, more private even as the palace guards gaze at you slightly. Almost curious about what the Fire Lord and Fire Lady are doing there despite how the event is still ongoing.
And then, almost as an afterthought, you finally recall some of his earlier words.
“What did you say before?” You gaze slightly towards him as he walks next to you. “That someone was talking to you about…lighting?”
“Yeah, something about how the evening was…brighter, I think she said.”
“Brighter how?”
“With me.” The reply was casual, but his faintly puzzled tone showed his previous confusion even now. “I don’t even handle those aspects of the palace, but I figured she was complimenting your decorations.”
That makes you pause, as you process his words, a smile forming immediately.
“Did she… say something else?”
“That she wished to assist me with company, something about lighter presence. So, I advised her to ask the council for a position.”
That’s what finally makes you laugh freely, supporting yourself lightly onto him for balance.
“Zuko, that woman was trying to get into your bed, not getting a council position.”
That makes him pause, making him furrow his brow, until he continues, voice fully honest like he can’t even fathom such a possibility.
“Why would she? You’re my wife, you’re the only one I share my bed with. You’re the only one I want.”
