The Monster’s Gone, He’s on the Run, and Your Daddy's Here
SYNOPSIS: For so long, Zuko was afraid of taking after his father—they were from the same blood after all. But when Izumi came to your lives, he realized that he was nothing like the man who barely raised him—he was so much better than that.
CONTENTS: Fem!reader, Established relationship (married), every character is of age (except for the baby/Izumi), fluff, hint of angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of Oz*i | art credits: @/polariae
WARNINGS: MDNI Mature content, smut | No beta, we die like Gojo
To Zuko, fatherhood was not a gift—it was a shadow forged in fire and wrong values.
It was a title synonymous with the man who had scarred his face and broken his spirit.
In the quiet, vulnerable hours of the night, when the heavy crown of the Fire Lord was set aside and Zuko was just the man who held you in the dark, he had confessed his deepest terror a few months before your marriage.
“I don't want to be a father. Not yet… I hope you understand, my love.” He had whispered it into the crook of your neck, his voice thick with a vulnerability he hid from the rest of the world.
You held Zuko tighter that particular night, hoping that whatever fears that he was running from, you can shield him from it.
The mere thought of passing on his bloodline, of carrying the volatile, destructive legacy of Ozai, terrified him to his core. He was so afraid that the cruelty of his lineage was an illness sleeping in his veins, waiting to infect the next generation.
The next princess or prince of the Fire Nation—your hypothetical child.
You knew his fears, but you also knew him.
You knew the fierce, gentle soul he had fought so hard to protect. You knew that if you told him, he would hold you, he would try his absolute best, and he would never, ever let his trauma hurt you or your child. Zuko would understand. He loved you too much not to.
And yet, knowing he would try didn't stop the cold knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. Because you also knew the agonizing internal war it would trigger inside him.
What if Zuko does not act as you expect him to?
What if Zuko does not smile when you tell him about the news?
What if Zuko is more heartbroken when you tell him about—
You were simply lost within the countless worries in your head, it was heavy and suffocating.
You were barely four months into your marriage after years of being in a relationship with each other, and the very future Zuko had been desperately trying to outrun had arrived early. That tiny life was no longer a vague, distant possibility—a hypothetical child existing only in whispered conversations—but a budding reality growing beneath your heart.
"A blessing from Agni himself, Your Highness!" the royal physician suddenly beamed, his usual clinical sternness melting away into a wide, joyous smile. Behind him, his attendants whispered excitedly among themselves, their faces lit up with pure reverence. "The Fire Nation has been blessed with an heir. This is momentous news."
While the room buzzed with their quiet celebration, you remained frozen. You sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed, the weight of the realization settling deep in your bones. Your hands drifted downward, trembling as your palms flattened instinctively over your abdomen, shielding the secret.
"Physician...." you said, your voice quiet but carrying a sharp gravity that instantly silenced the room. "You, and everyone in this room, must keep this from Zuko."
The physician blinked, his joyful expression faltering into confusion. "Forgive me, Your Highness? The Fire Lord must be informed immediately. A royal pregnancy requires strict protocols, and His Majesty has a right to share in this with you—"
"No." You interrupted, your tone leaving no room for debate. You couldn't tell them why. You couldn't explain that the man they served was a man terrified of his own shadow. "You will not speak a word of this to him. Not a whisper. You must keep it quiet."
The physician opened his mouth to protest, but the sheer, desperate intensity in your eyes stopped him. Recognizing the unspoken command for what it was, he bowed his head. "As you wish, Your Highness. I will prepare a mild herbal tea to help soothe your early sickness. Please, ensure you rest."
After setting down the steaming cup of tea, the physician and his attendants backed out, the heavy, ornate doors clicking shut with a finality that left you breathless.
You stared at the tea, your chest aching. You knew Zuko would eventually try to love this child with every fiber of his being, but you couldn't bear to be the one to shatter the peace he had only just begun to build.
Your hands kept steady on your abdomen, your thumb occasionally smoothing the surface. You weren't sure what your husband's reaction will be once you finally tell him but you were certain of one thing.
No matter what the outcome will be, you will love your child with all your heart.
A smile forms on your face as you lay back down the bed. You didn't notice the time that was passing as you kept on daydreaming about what your child will look like.
A little while later, the heavy brass rings of the chamber doors rattled.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as Zuko stepped inside. He looked exhausted, the weight of the crown pulling at the corners of his eyes, but his gaze softened the moment it found you—it always did.
He hadn't seen you all day, and the worry had pulled him straight from the council chambers to your side.
Without a word, Zuko unclasped his heavy outer robes, letting the crimson-gold fabric pool on a chair. Stripped to his soft inner tunic, he looked less like a fearsome leader and entirely like the man you loved.
He moved to the bed, sliding down beside you and pulling you flush against his chest. He held you with a fierce, quiet intensity, tucking his chin into the crook of your neck as if you were the only solid thing in his world.
"You didn't come out today..." Zuko murmured, his voice thick with concern as his hand rested against your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles. "The servants said you weren't feeling well. What's wrong? You can tell me anything."
You closed your eyes, leaning into him, the secret pressing against your ribs like a stone. "I'm fine, Zuko." Your answer did so little to make him believe that you were really fine.
The vibration of his confused hum also traveled to you. The way that you did not make eye-contact with him was enough to let your husband know that you were not telling the truth.
"It's not something bad, is it?" He couldn't help but ask out of curiosity. Zuko was afraid that it concerns your health or generally, anything involving your well-being, so whether you liked it or not, he wanted to know right away.
Shaking your head "no" as you buried your face in his chest, Zuko did not miss the way your lips curved up to a small smile. "Quite the opposite actually... It depends on how you look at it," you answer, and that brings relief to him. "But for me... it's something good."
Now Zuko was just ultimately curious and very oblivious.
Despite your confirmation, he still felt the tremor in your frame. Zuko held you tighter, pressing a lingering kiss to your skin. "Whatever it is... I'm right here, my love. You can tell me whenever you wish to."
The sheer, unconditional devotion in his voice washed over you, melting the ice around your heart. He didn't know yet—but hearing him say those words, you finally dared to believe that when the truth came out, you wouldn't just be okay... you would be a family.
"Although... I would very much like to know now in exchange for something that is also good." Sly was the word to describe how Zuko was luring you to temptation.
It was finally your turn to look up to him and be curious. "What would that be?" you tried to play his game even if you definitely won't be breaking the news today.
Zuko’s fingers traced slow circles along your spine, pulling you closer as his lips brushed tenderly against your neck. “You know that already, my love.” He murmured softly, voice warm with affection.
You hummed in response that also allowed him to understand your consent.
His hands wandered gently over your body, from your lower waist traveling up your ribs and cupping your breasts with care while he kissed you deeply, slowly losing himself in the taste of you.
Clothes slipped away between soft sighs and lingering touches until there was nothing between you. He made love to you with slow, deep thrusts, whispering your name like a vow.
“Whatever you need to tell me…” he whispered, voice full of love and patience. “I’m right here. Take all the time you need, my love. I’m not going anywhere.”
Your answer died between a whimper and a moan of his name as Zuko continued to be so gentle with his thrusts.
Zuko held you so dearly as he started to pant heavily. The bed underneath you was starting to rock along with his movements. He did not miss to plant kisses on your chest, your neck, and your temple.
When he pulled back to take a look at your face, he expected to see your face full of pleasure, instead he was startled to see your face with tears on either sides of your cheeks.
He immediately stops his movement thinking that he had hurt you, before he can ask you what was wrong, you stretch out your arms on his neck, letting it rest there.
“Did I hurt you?” Zuko couldn’t help but ask as he wipes your beads of tears away. Although he already knew the answer, he still wanted to ask.
Laughing through your blurry vision, you shake your head as you pull Zuko down, kissing his lips swiftly. “No… I just—“ you halted for a moment, not knowing if you can even say how he’d be such a gentle and loving father.
“I just… I love you so much,” you breathed, voice trembling. “More than I can even say right now.”
Zuko’s expression melted into pure adoration. He didn’t push for more. Instead, he kissed you slowly and deeply, pouring all his love into the kiss as he began moving inside you again with gentle, rolling thrusts.
He held you like you were the most precious thing in the world, whispering sweet praises between each kiss while the bed rocked softly beneath you. Whatever secret you carried, he would wait patiently.
For now, he was content simply loving you — completely unaware that he had already become a father.
You knew you had to tell Zuko about your pregnancy sooner.
You could not keep hiding your morning sickness from him anymore as it progressively gets worse each morning—sometimes not only at mornings but your nausea lasts the whole day.
The sweet, heavy scent of the palace incense made your head spin, the rich spices of the royal dinners made your throat tighten before the plates even touched the table. You were running out of excuses, running out of breath, and running out of places to hide.
To cope with the mounting anxiety, you had spent the better part of the afternoon walking around the palace.
Your feet traced the endless stone corridors, your mind spinning in circles because you simply didn't know what to say to Zuko, how to say it, or where the right place could possibly be to deliver news that would change his world forever.
Eventually, your aimless wandering brought you here.
The secluded grass beside the royal courtyard pond.
It was Zuko’s favorite place in the entire palace—not because of the turtle-ducks, but because it was the exact spot where the two of you had first met when you were just children.
Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of fatigue and dizziness, you let yourself sit directly onto the grass, tucking your heavy silk robes around yourself.
"Your Highness!" one of your ladies-in-waiting gasped softly, rushing forward with a look of mild horror. "Please, you cannot sit just like that on the grass. Let us fetch a proper silk mat, or perhaps we should return to your chambers since the weather is—"
"No," you interrupted softly, lifting a hand to cut her off. "I am fine. Sitting here helps me think. I just... I want to be alone right now."
The handmaidens exchanged worried, helpless glances. Over the past few weeks, you had been so incredibly secretive, spending hours alone, and had become so sensitive to the smallest scents and changes in the palace. But recognizing the quiet authority in your voice, they stepped back.
They don't even dare ask to carry whatever you had been holding ever since you walked out of your chambers.
Before they could leave entirely, you took a deep, steadying breath and looked up. "Actually... please send word to the council chambers. Fetch Zuko. Tell him I'm waiting for him here."
With a synchronized bow, the ladies-in-waiting retreated into the palace, leaving you in absolute silence.
Once you were entirely alone, your hands trembled as you pulled them out from the deep folds of your garments. Clutching them tightly to your chest, you looked down at the items you had spent the last hour hiding.
It was a tiny, incredibly soft baby robe, dyed in the rich crimson of the Fire Nation, and sitting perfectly on top of it was a small, delicate gold Fire Nation insignia hair crown—meant for a child’s topknot.
Your thumbs anxiously rubbed the soft edge of the crimson fabric, the tiny gold crown feeling heavy and sharp against your palm. With the handmaidens gone, the vast silence of the courtyard seemed to amplify the frantic thumping of your heart.
Your mind immediately went into overdrive, spiraling into a dozen different worst-case scenarios.
How would he look at you when you told him?
You knew Zuko loved you—he loved you fiercely, with a gentleness he showed no one else. But love didn’t magically erase a lifetime of trauma.
You could already picture the exact trajectory of his reaction. First, the utter shock. Then, the heavy, devastating wave of guilt and panic flooding his amber eyes. He would try so hard to hide it for your sake. He would force a reassuring smile, hold your hand, and tell you it was okay—but you knew him too well.
You would see right through it.
You would see the phantom of Ozai looming over him, the sudden, agonizing internal war as he braced himself to face the one legacy he never wanted to inherit. The thought of causing him that kind of pain made your stomach twist more than the morning sickness ever could.
To quiet the rising panic, you looked down at the still water of the pond, trying to anchor yourself to something beautiful. Your hand drifted beneath your loose sleeve, pressing flat over your stomach.
You smiled at your belly, though the peace did not last long.
As suddenly, the distant sound of heavy, hurried footsteps echoing against the stone walkway made your heart leap straight into your throat.
Panic flared in your chest. Instinctively, you tucked your hands back into the loose, big sleeves of your royal robes, completely concealing the tiny garments from view.
Your breathing grew shallow, your palms pressing the baby clothes flat against your stomach under the fabric.
You looked up just as the courtyard bushes parted, and Zuko stepped into the clearing, his amber eyes wide with immediate, breathless concern.
Zuko didn't wait to close the distance between you. The moment his eyes caught your form sitting directly on the grass, his pace quickened, his boots clicking sharply against the stone until he was dropping to his knees right beside you.
"What's wrong?" Zuko asked, his voice breathless and laced with immediate, unedited concern. He reached out, his large, warm hands hovering over your shoulders as if he wanted to pull you into him but feared you might break.
"The handmaidens said you refused to stay in bed, that you were sick all morning and then just vanished into the gardens. Look at me... are you hurt? What's happening?"
You opened your mouth to answer, desperately trying to summon the words you had spent the entire afternoon rehearsing. Zuko, I have something to tell you. Zuko, we're having a baby. But the air caught in your throat. Your chest tightened, and the words simply refused to come. You felt entirely paralyzed under the intense, worried weight of his amber gaze.
Sensing your sudden breathlessness, Zuko shifted closer, his knees pressing against the fabric of your robes. One of his hands slid down to wrap gently around your wrist, his thumb tracing a soothing line over your skin.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, his voice softening into that quiet, tender register he only ever used when you were alone. "Breathe, my love.” Zuko reminds as you were not moving at all. “You’re not breathing properly and you’re shaking. Just tell me what it is. You can tell me anything, remember?"
The sheer gentleness in his eyes made the guilt of your secret completely unbearable. You couldn't keep hiding it. You couldn't let him torture himself thinking you were suffering from some horrific illness.
Realizing your voice had completely abandoned you, you let out a trembling breath and slowly moved your big, loose sleeves away from your chest.
With shaking fingers, you unclasped your arms and laid out the items you had been shielding against your stomach.
Right there on the grass between you, you carefully unfolded the tiny, incredibly small crimson robe, setting the miniature gold Fire Nation insignia crown perfectly on top of the soft fabric.
The moment the items were exposed, you instantly tore your gaze away from him. Terror invaded your chest, then panic made your vision blur.
You stared fixedly at a patch of grass near his knee, too terrified to look at his face, too frightened to see the exact moment the shock would turn into the dreaded ghosts of his past.
For a long, agonizing beat, the courtyard fell into a suffocating silence. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the pond water against the stone and the quacks of the turtle-ducks.
Then, Zuko abruptly looked away.
"I—I don't..." he stammered, his voice suddenly thick, fracturing in a way you had never heard before. He let go of your wrist, his hands falling limply to his lap as he stared blankly at the water, his chest heaving with a sudden, erratic breath.
A cold wave of dread washed over you.
No… Your heart completely breaking in two as your worst fears seemed to materialize right before your eyes. That he was upset that was why he pulled away.
The internal war you had spent all afternoon overthinking was happening, and you had been the one to trigger it.
You were just about to apologize, to reach out and tell him that it was going to be okay, when Zuko slowly turned his head back to face you.
The breath caught in your throat.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't disgusted. His eyes were wide, completely glassy, and overflowing with hot, silent tears that spilled over his scarred cheek. He looked entirely struck, his jaw trembling as he looked from the tiny gold crown back up to your face.
"Are you..." Zuko whispered, his voice cracking completely as a choked, breathless sob escaped his throat. He reached out, his hands trembling violently as he hovered them over the tiny robe, not even daring to touch it. "Are you pregnant? Are... are we going to become parents?"
You couldn't speak past the massive lump in your throat. All you could do was nod, a single, tearful nod, still entirely frozen because you couldn't fully decipher the raw emotion vibrating through his entire frame.
But Zuko didn't leave you wondering for long.
With a low, emotional cry, he reached forward and softly took hold of your arms, pulling you toward him with an unimaginable gentleness.
In an instant, his strong arms wrapped completely around you, burying his face directly into the crook of your neck. He held you with a fierce, desperate intensity, his entire body shaking against yours as he wept openly.
"Thank you." Zuko sobbed into your skin, his hands clutching the back of your robes as if anchoring himself to the reality of this moment. He pressed wet, desperate kisses against your neck, his voice cracking over and over again. "Thank you... thank you, my love. I’m going to be a father... we’re going to have a family."
As his warm tears soaked into your shoulder, the remaining fragments of your anxiety completely shattered, replaced by the breathtaking realization that the ghosts of his past had finally lost their power.
You outcried Zuko the second that he welcomed you and your pregnancy.
All your worries were down the drain as he kept whispering sweet promises into your ear on how he was willing to be the best father ever for your little child.
The anxiety was still there.
You knew that it would not disappear so easily at the acknowledgment of your pregnancy, but despite Zuko still worrying about the shadows of his own father, he was already declaring how he will never be as close to what a father of Ozai was to him and Azula.
“I’m sorry you had to hide it from me.” Zuko hugs you tighter.
You could feel the guilt in his voice, the realization that all of those morning sickness was because of your pregnancy.
“I promise….” he starts off, pulling away from the hug to wipe the tears that were rapidly falling down your face. “I promise that I will be there for you throughout everything, my love.”
You nod while sniffling. You let Zuko caress your face while he smiles and leans down to kiss your stomach.
“And of course… her, too.”
That made you stop crying for a bit. “Her?” you asked.
Zuko nods and wipes your tears once more. “It’s a hunch, my love.”
Little did you know that everything that Zuko had promised you that special day…
Throughout your entire pregnancy, Zuko has been the most attentive husband and father ever.
The months of your pregnancy unfolded like a soft, golden blur.
You were a landscape of shifting moods, one moment weeping over the sight of a wilting flower and the next laughing until your sides ached at a minor joke of Zuko’s that you never found that hysterically funny when you weren’t pregnant yet.
Through every erratic shift of your emotions, Zuko was your anchor.
Whether it was the middle of the night when the only thing that could settle your nausea was a specific bowl of jasmine-infused congee, or the early dawn hours when you just needed the steady warmth of his presence, he was always there.
He didn't just fulfill your requests, he anticipated them with a quiet, diligent devotion that didn't go unnoticed by the palace.
The staff whispered in the corridors about the Fire Lord’s transformation, but it was Uncle Iroh who voiced what everyone saw.
Watching Zuko carefully adjust a pillow behind your back or shield you from the wind, Iroh would offer a knowing, gentle smile. "My nephew deeply cares for you and my future grandchild…" he told you once, his eyes twinkling. "He is already the father he feared he could never be."
You were so confident that Zuko’s fears were slowly dissipating.
One quiet evening on the last week of your second trimester, as you sat in your chambers with your hand resting on the swell of your stomach, the topic of names finally surfaced.
"If it’s a boy…" you whispered, tracing patterns on your robes, "I want to name him Zen."
Zuko, who had been kneeling beside you, looked up with a soft, lopsided grin. "Zen. I like that." He paused, his expression turning thoughtful. "But what if it's a girl?"
You tilted your head, a playful spark in your eyes. "And what makes you so sure it will be?" you questioned.
You noticed how ever since you told him you were pregnant, Zuko had been referring to your child as her—as if he were sure that you were going to have a daughter.
Zuko chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your knee. "I told you, it’s intuition, my love." He reached out, his calloused fingertips ghosting over your stomach. "If it's a girl, I want to name her Izumi."
You frowned slightly, charmed but curious. "Izumi? It’s a beautiful name, Zuko, but... why that specifically?"
His amber eyes softened, carrying a depth of memory that made your breath hitch. "It means 'fountain' or 'spring,'" he said quietly. "I met you by the pond near the fountain in the courtyard during that spring when your family came to visit the palace. I want Izumi to resemble what I feel for you."
A smile bloomed on your face, radiant and genuine, and you felt his hand squeeze yours, sealing the promise.
The birth was a harrowing, beautiful tempest, but when the moment finally came, the relief was total.
Zuko had never left your side as the hours had painfully stretched when you were going into labor. He was glued to your side.
Izumi was here—tiny, perfect, and breathing softly in the cradle.
At first, everything was a bliss.
Your family rushed in to check in on you and your daughter and several nannies were already assigned to help you and Zuko with Izumi.
But as the days turned into weeks, the atmosphere in your chambers shifted.
You noticed it in the subtle ways Zuko moved.
He was never absent—he was always nearby, ensuring the room was warm enough, checking the supplies, and checking on you with a feverish intensity.
But when it came to the small, swaddled bundle in the crib, he kept a careful, rigid distance.
He would watch her from the doorway, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. When you asked him to hold her, he would always find an excuse—he had paperwork to finish, he had just come from a council meeting and was "too dusty" or he needed to check the perimeter.
You bit your tongue every time he refused, but you couldn’t deny how each refusal struck something in your heart.
He was present, he was dutiful, and he was undeniably attentive to your needs as well as your daughter’s, but his arms remained stubbornly empty.
The closer Izumi got to him, the further he retreated into the shadows of his own mind, his terror of "the bloodline" finally paralyzing the man who had just started to be eager to become a father.
You watched him from across the room, your heart aching as you realized that the fear he had confessed to you months ago had simply changed shape, waiting for the moment he felt the most vulnerable—the moment he had to hold his own daughter.
"My lady, the medicinal bath is at the perfect temperature. It's needed for your recovery."
Looking at your husband and to your daughter, you answer as quiet as you can so that Izumi does not wake up from her slumber.
"Yes. I'll be out in a second." Zuko helps you on standing up. The delivery was not easy for you, thus having several herbs and body therapies to bring your health back to normal.
"Zuko," you murmured, leaning into his solid frame as he carefully helped you steady your feet on the floor. "I need to go with the healers for the body therapy and the medicinal bath. Can you watch over Izumi while I'm gone?"
Zuko froze, his hand lingering on your arm a second too long as he stammered, "I—yes. Yes, of course."
His eyes immediately darted past you, trailing toward the heavy doors of the chamber where several royal nannies and handmaidens stood at the ready outside.
He knew they were within shouting distance, a safety net just a few paces away. Even with that reassurance, his posture remained incredibly rigid. "Go," he whispered, offering you a tense but encouraging nod. "Take all the time you need to recover."
You gave his hand a gentle, knowing squeeze before slipping into the adjacent room, the heavy door clicking shut behind you.
Left entirely alone in the quiet room, Zuko stood motionless for a long moment, listening to the rhythmic, tiny breaths coming from the carved wooden cradle.
Moving as silently as a shadow, he pulled up a heavy wooden chair, placing it beside the crib. He sat down, finally daring to be near a sleeping Izumi.
It was always like this—him just looking at his daughter as if his touch would break her, and if Zuko does touch her, it was only for a fleeting moment before he lays her down again or passes her to you.
This time be dared to lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locking onto his daughter with a profound mix of overwhelming love and paralyzing fear.
He couldn't help but stare at her. He saw himself in the slight curve of her nose, in the tufts of dark, unruly hair that already crowned her tiny head.
But her eyes—the few times she had opened them to look at him—carried your exact shape, your exact light. She was a perfect, fragile bridge between his scarred past and the beautiful future you had given him. Yet, looking at his own calloused hands, he kept them clamped tightly between his knees, terrified that just touching her would somehow tarnish her innocence.
For several minutes, Zuko just looks at his daughter. He adored every time her tiny hands opened and closed, every click of her mouth, every sleepy gurgle—Zuko could watch and just adore his daughter for hours.
Some courage slipped out from him and he slowly let his fingers hold her tiny little hands.
Everything was going well until all of a sudden, the quiet of the room shattered.
Izumi stirred, her tiny chest heaving as she let out a sharp, sudden cry.
Zuko instantly bolted upright, his chair scraping loudly against the floorboards. His heart leaped into his throat, a cold sweat breaking out across his neck.
What did I do? he thought frantically, panic instantly seizing his mind. Was the chair too loud? Did my breathing wake her? Is it my fault?
"Shh, shh, Izumi, please…" he whispered, his voice trembling as he hovered over the cradle, his arms shaking, still too terrified to actually reach in and pick her up.
Because if he did, he was so sure that she would just cry more.
But his hushed words did nothing to soothe her. Izumi’s face turned a bright, flushed pink as her crying grew louder, her tiny fists flailing in the air.
Feeling entirely helpless and suffocated by his own fear, Zuko practically threw open the chamber doors, his voice tight with desperation. "Can you help? Izumi’s crying…”
The royal nannies rushed into the room, instantly crowding around the cradle to check the swaddling. But no matter how they rocked the crib or patted her blanket, Izumi’s wails only grew more piercing.
Zuko checked his fingers, he was convinced that it was his fault—that it was his sudden touch that disturbed the stillness of her slumber.
"Your Majesty," the head nanny said, looking up with a worried expression. "We should fetch Her Highness from the treatment room. The princess likely needs milk."
"No, that can't be it," Zuko argued, his brow furrowed as he watched his daughter squirm. "She just nursed from my wife barely an hour ago. She shouldn't be hungry yet." His response came after he suppressed down his own worries.
"Well, the princess won't stop crying, my lord, so she must be hungry," the nanny insisted gently, bowing her head. "Cluster feeding is common at this stage. Shall we send a handmaiden to interrupt the healer's therapy?"
Zuko looked toward the connecting door, knowing how exhausting the delivery had been for you and how badly your body needed the uninterrupted herbal recovery. He couldn't let them disturb you.
"No, let her finish her therapy," Zuko commanded, his voice tight. "Just— just fetch me some clean cloth and a fresh change of clothes for her, please.”
Sure Zuko had his fears of carrying his daughter hut that did not stop him from reading several scrolls on how to raise a baby and how to take care of them.
The nannies quickly bowed and hurried out of the room to fulfill the order, leaving Zuko alone with his screaming daughter once more.
"Shh... shh, please, Izumi," Zuko pleaded, pacing beside the cradle. He felt entirely useless, a failure of a father, completely paralyzed by the phantom fear that he was too toxic, too volatile to comfort his own flesh and blood.
But Izumi’s cries were turning into desperate, breathless gasps, her tiny body trembling with the force of her tears. She needed to be held. She didn't want the cradle, she didn't want the nannies—she wanted comfort.
Zuko knew it but that cowardly voice inside if him refused to believe it.
Seeing her in so much distress finally broke the dam inside Zuko’s heart. The fierce, protective instinct of a father completely overrode the terrifying shadows of Ozai.
At the moment, Zuko knew that him carrying her will make Izumi stop crying or the opposite—an outcome that he never wishes to happen. Either way, he still reached out to his daughter.
"I've got you, I've got you…” Zuko choked out.
Stepping forward, he slid his large, trembling hands beneath her tiny frame, carefully supporting her neck and lower back. With a sharp inhale, he scooped her up, lifting her out of the wooden cradle and pulling her flush against his chest. He cradled her close, tucking her tiny head right under his chin, his large hand gently wrapping around her back to hold her secure against his heartbeat.
"Shhh, it's okay, Papa’s here," he whispered, his voice cracking as he rocked his weight from side to side. "I'm right here, Izumi. Shhh..."
The moment her small, fragile body felt the solid, radiating warmth of his chest, a miracle happened.
Izumi’s sharp cries instantly dissolved into a soft, hitching whimpers. She nuzzled her face directly into the soft linen of his tunic, inhaling his scent, before settling into a quiet, peaceful silence.
Her tiny hand reached up, her miniature fingers blindly curling around the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to him.
Zuko froze, his breath catching in his throat as the absolute silence of the room washed over him. She had stopped. She was safe in his arms. She wasn't burned by his touch—she was comforted by it.
Whatever false thoughts he had made up in his mind earlier sounded so ridiculous now.
The realization hit him like a physical wave, completely shattering the heavy, suffocating armor of fear he had worn for weeks.
Silent tears suddenly blurred his vision, spilling over his eyes and tracking down his scarred cheek. He buried his face into her soft, dark hair, a choked sob escaping his throat as he held her a little tighter, a little closer.
"Papa’s sorry, Izumi," he wept softly into the quiet room, his chest heaving as he cradled his daughter against his heart. "I'm so sorry I made you wait. I'm right here... I'm never letting you go."
With your therapy ending earlier than intended, you were just in time to see Zuko near the balcony window finally carrying your daughter in his arms, and he held her with so much love and tenderness that you can feel it radiate from where you were standing.
Zuko need not to say any words when he looks at you with tears in his eyes.
Taking careful steps to your husband and daughter, you closed the gap by hugging Zuko and looking down at the small, peaceful miracle nestled safely between you.
Izumi was not crying anymore but was wide awake now, her tiny face was staring straight at her own father. When the royal attendants arrived with the cloth and change of clothes, they all retreated back—respecting the royal family's privacy.
Your child did not need your milk or any change of clothes at the moment. All she needed was her father's presence.
Zuko let out a shaky, uneven breath as you wrapped your arms around him. He didn’t loosen his grip on his daughter, but he leaned his forehead heavily against yours, his chest heaving with a profound, overwhelming relief.
The heavy, generational shadows that had haunted him for months had finally melted away, destroyed by the simple, trusting weight of the baby in his arms.
You lifted a hand, your fingers gently brushing away the damp tears tracing down his scarred cheek, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. You didn't need words to tell him how proud you were.
And although Izumi was only several weeks old, her vision still not as clear, she reached up her hand to Zuko's scar and patting it lightly, finally being able to touch the face of someone so familiar to her who only looked at her before.
Zuko closed his eyes, leaning into Izumi's touch as he tucked you both closer against his heart. He looked back down at Izumi, his thumb gently ghosting over her dark, soft hair with a fierce, protective tenderness that belonged entirely to him.
"Thank you for being so patient with me, my love." Zuko murmured into the quiet room, his voice steady, warm, and thick with emotion.
As he whispered the words into the space between you, he wasn't even entirely sure who they were meant for—whether they were for the sweet, fragile daughter who had waited so long for him to find his courage, or for the devoted wife who had stood by him through all of his silence.
In his heart, he knew they belonged deeply to both of you and Izumi.
To say that Zuko loves Izumi was an understatement at this point.
As the months melted into years, the heavy silence of the palace was permanently replaced by the bright, chaotic rhythm of a child growing up.
And Fire Lord Zuko was the enabler of spoiling his daughter to the fullest.
From taking little steps when Izumi was 3-months old, Zuko started to cradle her at night. He sang lullabies to her (when you’re not there, because you caught him one time and laughed—not knowing it was an innocent and genuine laugh, but he still thinks you laughed because he sounded so off-key).
To refusing on putting Izumi down by carrying her every damn time he can, Zuko just grew accustomed to being attached to his daughter.
And Izumi? Obviously clung to her papa too.
The first monument of those passing months arrived during a formal gathering of the high council. Izumi, barely eight months old, had been permitted to sit upon her father's lap to quiet her restlessness while the ministers debated tedious trade routes.
In the middle of a dense report on tariffs, the young princess dropped her wooden toy, pointed a chubby hand at Zuko’s face, and let out a loud, wet pop of her lips. “A-ba, Aaaaaa-pa.”
The second Zuko heard the possible pronunciation, his whole attention was on her.
Zuko clears his throat and whispers encouragement to her ears so only Izumi can hear. It was no different from the nights where you caught him guiding Izumi to say her first words.
The grand council chamber plummeted into an instant, stunned silence. Zuko froze mid-whisper.
You, who had just entered the council to fetch your daughter so that your husband can properly do his duties as a Fire Lord was shocked to hear Izumi’s first word as well.
"Did you hear that?" Zuko breathed, completely ignoring the clearing throats of his advisors as he lifted Izumi slightly into the air. "She said Papa."
"Umm— My lord, regarding the Western tariffs—" a minister attempted to redirect.
"The tariffs can wait until tomorrow." Zuko interrupted smoothly, his eyes never leaving his daughter's face. "Say it again, princess. Say Papa."
Needless to say, the council was moved the next day. You and Zuko were both savoring the milestone that Izumi had blessed you both.
By the time Izumi reached her first year, the palace gates opened to welcome a far more boisterous crowd.
Your friends finally arrived to meet the new princess, turning the pristine royal courtyard into a landscape of affectionate chaos.
Aang floated effortlessly on an air scooter, weaving intricate loops that had Izumi squealing with delight from her blanket on the grass. Nearby, Toph leaned against a stone pillar, a rare smirking softness on her face. “She’s so tiny but she’s loud!" she shouted over the noise.
"Definitely your kid. Hopefully, she inherits less of the brooding." Toph does not miss to elbow Zuko.
Meanwhile, Sokka was actively engaged in a fierce debate with Katara, holding up a miniature, heavily padded wooden weapon. "I’m merely stating that as a future ruler, she must understand tactical defense. The boomerang is a weapon of precision!"
"Sokka, she’s a baby!" Katara remarked, motherly instincts kicking in, followed by a literal kick to her brother. “She can’t have weapons that are bigger than her!”
Suki wanted to scold her husband but decided not to since Katara was handling it very well.
Zuko wrapped a secure arm around your waist, drawing you flush against his side. "She isn't touching a boomerang until she’s at least thirty," he muttered under his breath, though the profound warmth in his eyes betrayed his immense gratitude for the unruly family surrounding him.
“Wow, you’re so protective over Izumi.” You laugh while Zuko keeps an eye out to your daughter to make sure that Aang doesn’t send a powerful blast on her way. “Just wait until she gets a boyfriend.”
Katara and Sokka had stopped bickering, Toph stopped poking Izumi’s chubby feet, Aang mounts down from his air scooter, Suki was already stifling a laughter at how Zuko was so horrified of your statement.
Zuko knew that that was something he did not want to experience yet.
As Izumi transitioned into her second year, it became Uncle Iroh’s personal mission is to ensure that the Fire Lord does not push his duties aside for trips to the pond, picnics, and even tea parties.
It did not matter if the council demanded his presence, if Zuko had promised to his daughter that he will play with her, he will.
"Zuko, the ministers are assembling in the grand hall," Iroh announced one afternoon, casually strolling into the royal study. Yet, his gaze completely bypassed his nephew, locking onto the small form giggling beneath the mahogany desk.
Several dolls were also near Zuko’s shoes that were also adorned with colorful drawings.
"I will be down in five minutes, Uncle…" Zuko couldn’t even mask his smile from the tone of his voice. Iroh took a few steps forward to look at what his nephew smiled to, but instead of black ink and approving laws—
Uncle Iroh saw Zuko drawing stick figures with rainbows and flowers to show his daughter.
The one who commissioned the artwork stands up and climbs on her father’s lap. She grinned like there’s no tomorrow, clearly happy from what she was seeing.
“Goo ja (good job), papa!” Izumi praises him with a kiss—something that she learned from you and Zuko before she waddles over to her Grampa Iroh since it was already his turn to spend the afternoon with his granddaughter.
And much to Zuko’s dismay, he now had to attend a council meeting without the presence of his little princess.
By her third year, Izumi had developed a distinct habit of seeking sanctuary in the royal bedchambers whenever a sudden thunderstorm rolled over the nation.
You awoke in the dim, lavender light of dawn to find a small, radiating pocket of warmth wedged directly between yourself and your husband. Izumi was fast asleep, her dark, unruly hair splayed wildly across the silk pillows, one hand gripping the fabric of your nightgown while her small feet were planted firmly against Zuko’s abdomen.
Zuko was already awake, propped up quietly on his elbow, watching the two of you with an expression of serene peace. He reached across the small space, his large, calloused fingers gently smoothing down the stray hairs that tickled his daughter's nose.
"She kicks in her sleep, my love." Zuko whispered, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest as his eyes shifted to meet yours. "I believe she inherits that particular stubbornness from you."
"Absolutely not," you countered softly, shifting closer to him over the sleeping form of your daughter. "That is entirely an imperial trait."
Zuko smiled, leaning over the small barrier to press a tender, lingering kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. "Thank you," he murmured, his hand shifting downward to cover yours where it rested on Izumi’s back, his voice thick with a quiet, lasting reverence. "Thank you for all of this."
Before you could even say he was welcome, Izumi tosses on her sleep again and kicks Zuko’s stomach this time then sleeps on her side with her left leg slightly bent up—exactly how you sleep.
“See?” Zuko shakes his head while trying to laugh as quiet as he can to his scowling wife. “She really got that from you, my love.”
It has been four years since Zuko was blessed with a beautiful, loving daughter, and up until this day, he was still the best father that he once feared that he can never become.
The spring breeze carried the scent of blooming fire lilies across the grand royal courtyard, rustling the leaves of the bushes right by the pond near the fountain.
It was the exact spot where your life with Zuko had truly begun years ago, and today, it had been transformed into a colorful kingdom of toys. A massive stuffed bear sat regally on a stone bench, flanked by a dozen dolls that had been meticulously arranged in a semi-circle around the blanket on the grass.
For the past three years, you and Zuko had celebrated the occasion quietly, as Izumi had been too small to truly understand what the day means.
This year, at four years old, she was entirely aware, and she had taken complete control of the itinerary.
Technically, today was supposed to be an incredibly busy day for the Fire Lord. A stack of foreign dignitaries had arrived at the palace, demanding hours of exhausting diplomacy. But you had secretly coordinated with the palace maids to prepare a feast of treats, cakes, and fruit teas, and the moment Zuko tried to head toward the throne room, Izumi had physically dragged him by his robes toward the gardens. You had willingly stepped into his place, taking over the grueling meetings so your daughter and her papa could have their long-awaited date.
"More tea, Lord Bear?" Izumi piped up, lifting a tiny porcelain teapot with absolute seriousness.
Zuko sat directly on the grass, his long legs folded uncomfortably beneath his formal crimson robes as he held a teacup that looked hilariously small in his large, calloused hand. "Yes, Princess Izumi." Despite the awkwardness of the setup, the sheer contentment on his face was radiating.
Izumi then proceeds to teach her papa, rather Lord Bear on how to drink tea and how it shall be taught in his palace of bears and dragons.
Zuko followed so meticulously that he was praised by his daughter and that he must be rewarded something.
"Papa, look at me." Izumi commanded, abandoning her teapot and scrambling over to her small silk pouch.
Settling the teacup down, Zuko was willing to continue their adorable role-play. "'Papa?' I thought I was Lord Bear?" he smiles, leaning to his daughter.
"No, papa. I want to give you something, but you can share it with Lord Bear." With an expression of pure pride, she held out a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. "This is for you, I made it!"
Zuko carefully took the parchment from her tiny fingers. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried with everything in him not to cry. He had promised himself he wouldn't weep this year, but looking at the colorful, erratic scrawls on the page made his chest ache with an overwhelming warmth.
It was a beautiful drawing with a simple greeting, and to be entirely honest, it wasn't very readable. A few of the letters were completely flipped backward, and the spelling was a chaotic guess at best, accompanied by a giant, messy drawing of three stick figures holding hands near a pond of turtle-ducks under a very lopsided sun.
"Happy Father's Day, Papa!" Izumi cheered, leaning over his knee to point at the parchment. "See? That's you. I drew your fire-mark on the wrong side first—" she then pats her papa's scar that made him smile, "but then I fixed it!"
"It's... it's perfect, Izumi." Zuko managed to choke out, a breathless, watery laugh escaping his throat as his thumb gently traced the messily written letters of his name and he appreciated every single crooked stroke. "Thank you, my love. Can you tell papa how you made this?"
For the next half hour, the courtyard was filled with the soft, steady rumble of Zuko's voice and the bright, descriptive explanations of a four-year-old artist.
They ate the sweet pastries the maids had brought, laughing together as Izumi accidentally got white frosting all over her chin, which Zuko gently wiped away with the corner of his expensive sleeve without a second thought.
Eventually, the excitement calmed into a peaceful, quiet afternoon rhythm. Izumi sat comfortably between her father's knees while she combs her doll's hair, and with Zuko combing through Izumi's hair. His hands worked with incredible gentleness, carefully separating her dark, unruly hair into neat sections to weave them into a perfect, tight braid.
"Papa?" Izumi asked suddenly, not looking up from her doll.
"Shouldn't I have a gift today, too?"
Zuko’s hands paused mid-braid. He blinked, completely caught off guard. "A gift? Sure, my love. What do you want?" He doesn't even ask what for, Zuko will give her a present with or without an occasion.
Izumi turned her head around, looking up at him with total, flawless child logic. "Yes, but think about it, Papa. Without me, you wouldn't even be a papa. So, really, it's my day too."
A beat of stunned silence passed before Zuko burst into a loud, tummy-aching laughter—a rare sound that echoed across the stone walkways. From the shadows of the corridor corridors, the nannies and ladies-in-waiting who were watching from afar couldn't help but giggle behind their silk sleeves.
Zuko shook his head, a massive, affectionate smile gracing his features as he finished the end of her braid. "I suppose you have a point. You're very wise. So tell me, what does my princess want?"
"What's happening out here?"
The sound of your voice made both of them look up instantly. Having finally escaped the grueling council meetings, you walked out into the sunlit courtyard, a tired but deeply happy smile on your face as you took in the chaotic tea party.
"Mama!" Izumi scrambled to her feet, running over to wrap her arms around your knees.
Zuko stood up, brushing the grass from his robes as he walked over to join you, his amber eyes shining with a deep, silent gratitude for taking over his duties. "Our daughter is a mastermind." Zuko teased, wrapping a warm arm around your waist to pull you close. "She just explained to me that since she made me a father, she deserves a gift on Father's Day."
You laughed, leaning into his solid frame. "Is that so? Well, what do you want, Izumi? Your Papa is very weak against you, he'll get you anything."
Zuko was already entirely prepared to fulfill whatever ridiculous request she made.
In his mind, he was already listing the possibilities — another elaborate set of porcelain dolls, a massive wooden dollhouse crafted by the finest artisans, another family of real turtle-ducks to live in the pond, or perhaps an even bigger stuffed bear to guard her bed. He was willing to order the palace staff to fetch it before sundown.
Izumi tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes darting between you and Zuko before she beamed a brilliant, missing-tooth grin.
"I want a brother!" she announced loudly.
The courtyard fell into an absolute, dead silence.
Zuko completely froze, his arm tensing around your waist as his brain scrambled to process the words. You stopped mid-laugh, your jaw dropping slightly as you slowly turned your head to look at your husband.
Zuko stared back at you, his eyes wide with absolute, comical panic, his cheeks rapidly flushing into a vibrant, deep crimson that matched his royal robes perfectly.
Izumi, entirely oblivious to the sudden, hilarious crisis she had just caused between her parents, simply turned back to her dolls, happily humming a tuneless song as she went back to her tea party.
A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you looked at the sheer shock frozen on the Fire Lord’s face. The man who could face an entire army of rebellious benders without flinching was entirely defeated by a four-year-old’s wish.
Reaching up, you gently patted his chest, leaning in to whisper against his ear. "Well, Fire Lord Zuko... it seems your daughter has made her decree."
Zuko let out a defeated, breathless laugh, the tension melting into a soft, glowing warmth as he tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you into a quiet, soft kiss.
The shadows and monsters of the past that haunted Zuko were entirely gone, replaced by a beautiful, unpredictable future that granted him Izumi and you.
"So... should we fulfill Izumi's wish tonight?"
p.s no ai is was used on my story AND on the picture if you’re wondering. i drew izumi’s drawing on an ipad notes app and warped it on canva. 🫰🏼
also i know i promised this a few days ago but i was stressing over VNL and some of my stories needed some updates too.
i hope the cute drawing made up for the late submission ^^
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