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Oh great heavens

Edit I finally found the artist: eriimyon

a tender love ⋆ৡ ⋆˚࿔

𑣲⋆ pairing: zuko x fem! reader ✮⋆˙ summary: raising a child was harder than you thought it would be, but lucky for you, zuko is an understanding husband 𖹭.ᐟ warning(s): a bit of angst near the end but theres comfort by urs truly, fluff time

12 hours.

you haven't been asleep for 12 hours.

your duty as the fire lady is hectic by itself, but to balance it as a mother now has got you heavily sleep deprived.

izumi lay asleep in your arms after countless attempts to put her to sleep, and you stood to place her back in her crib.

#atla #atla x reader #atla x you #atla zuko #avatar the last airbender #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #x reader #zuko #zuko avatar #zuko x reader #avatar movie #avatar #the last airbender #avatar fandom

"At night" short comic

commission for @ceefeewee 🦭🤍 thank you

i heard we are shipping zuko and toph

Eyes of the Girl I Won't Forget

PAIRING: Aang x Firebender!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Aang visits the Fire Nation after some time off wandering around the remaining Air Temples, and the first one that welcomes him are tiny hands, loud energetic voice, and a familiar pair of eyes that are etched on his head.

CONTENTS: Endearments (Reader being called “Darling”), Aang tossing your kid 🫠

WARNINGS: None. No beta, we die like Gojo

The second that Aang mounts down from Appa on the vast courtyard where a humble residence was waiting for him at the Fire Nation—a courtesy from the Fire Lord, his best friend, Zuko—a strong gush of warm wind flows through him.

And a loud energetic voice too.

“Papa Aang!”

Your daughter races after you to greet Aang with a hug tighter than you could ever give.

“Umi!” Aang was quick to accept the little girl’s embrace, then lifted her up to the air just like how she loves being carried when she was a baby.

The little girl giggled as Aang tosses her high up in the air, and even if Aang will never ever let anything happen to your daughter, you can’t help but shake your head and smile as you walk closer towards them.

“What did I say about air tosses again, Umi?” you remind as the little girl gets settled down on the ground but immediately hides behind her Papa Aang.

Umi fidgets with Aang’s yellow robe as she peeks only her head to be visible to you. “That it’s dangerous and that Papa Aang might be tired or injured…” she murmurs.

Instantly and naturally, Aang lifts up Umi and takes her side, defending the kid. “—and! Papa Aang is not injured! Right, Umi!?” he asks to which your daughter nods frantically too.

Both of them displaying an almost identical puppy-eyes-with-pout combo that your daughter definitely got from Aang.

You could only sigh and fight the grin that was inevitably forming on your lips.

These two together just manages to hook you easily.

“Welcome back, Aang.” It was finally your turn to hug him.

The kid that Zuko introduced you to.

The kid that you grew up with.

The teenager that you explored the world with.

The teenager that helped you escape your responsibilities, even if it was just for a little while.

But mostly, the man that loved you more than he could love himself or anyone.

He melted onto the hug—the way you put your arms on his back, the way you wrapped your arms tightly around him, and the way your daughter was in between the both of you and Aang—it was perfect.

“I missed you…” Aang murmurs so that only you could hear. (Umi is a jealous little girl. Not that she was aware of…)

Before you could say it back, Umi grabs Aang’s face with her tiny hands, forcing him to look at her as she grins widely.

For an epiphany, Umi’s eyes that held the same color as yours was all Aang could see.

Pair of eyes that are identical to the woman he loves.

Aang swears the little girl had your entire soul tucked behind those eyes—warm like your laugh and bright like the gentle look in your eyes whenever you smiled at him.

He was pulled out of the trance when the 4 year old taps her small hands onto Aang’s face again.

“Papa Aang, I need to show you something!” Umi hurriedly wiggles her body so that Aang can lower her down the courtyard.

You took a few steps to stand beside Aang and watched as your daughter snuggles with Appa before standing in front of the two of you.

“She’s not gonna do that thing where she imitates a tigerdillo and cry when she doesn’t let out a successful roar, right?” Aang crosses his arms, making sure to whisper his question.

He remembers clearly when your daughter cried in his arms and complained how Auntie Toph and Aunty Katara both found her cute instead of terrifying.

Yeah… Aang had a hard time shushing her, but he’d do it a million times anyway.

Stifling your laughter as you leaned your head sideways to whisper to him, Aang does the same as well. “No, Aang. Umi will show you something she’s been practicing for weeks.”

Aang smiles at that—to the thought of having Umi look forward to seeing Aang whenever he’s away from them.

And exceeding his expectations, little Umi does a few kicks and throws before finally being able to conjure a small fire from her palm.

“See, Mama? I can firebend very good like you and Papa Aang!” Umi shows a proud crooked smile, something that she definitely learned from Aang.

He was at lost for words. Most benders show the ability to bend their elements by the age of 5. However, little Umi was doing at the age of 4.

But what had Aang more speechless was how Umi seems to have her skills from him and you.

Which was true.

You were an exceptional firebender and… even if Aang is an airbender, he is also the avatar, meaning that he can also firebend—very well at that too.

Aang crouches down immediately once Umi creates another tiny spark from her palm, he corrected her stance, her movements, and even having Momo participate how to move to gain laughter from your daughter.

You made your way to the Olive tree and quietly sat down on the grass.

For several minutes, you watched your daughter look up at Aang with eager anticipation, carefully following every movement he demonstrated—not missing a single step no matter how small it was.

For the practice to remain safe, Aang used airbending as an example instead of fire. Gentle streams of wind curled around his arms as he moved across the courtyard with effortless grace.

Aang had always moved like the wind itself.

Weightless.

Free.

Beautiful in the most unfair way possible.

Even after all these years, watching him bend still leaves you breathless sometimes.

A tiny memory resurfaces before you could stop it—

Being teenagers again.

Watching Aang practice beneath the sunset while you sat beside Appa pretending not to stare too much.

Only for him to catch you every single time anyway.

“You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna mess up,” he had laughed back then.

And maybe he never realized how impossible that was.

Because Aang never stumbled when he moved.

He danced with the world instead.

Now your daughter was trying to follow those same movements, tiny feet shuffling against the grass while her arms copied his motions with adorable determination.

And for a second—

Umi looked less like a little firebender and more like a miniature reflection of Aang himself.

The way she spun.

The way she leaned into the movement instead of fighting it.

The way laughter escaped her so easily whenever the wind lifted around her.

Aang notices it too.

You can tell by the sudden softness in his expression as he crouches down to correct her stance gently.

“No, no.” Aang laughs quietly. “Relax your shoulders first. Air moves with you.” He teaches how an airbender moves, and pretty soon he’d be teaching her how a waterbender flows, and how an earthbender stands.

For Aang, it didn’t seem like he was teaching Umi to be a great firebender in the future—wanting to teach her the ways of bending the other elements to be a better bender rather seemed like a father-and-daughter bond to him.

Umi nods seriously before trying again.

And this time, the wind actually answers her.

A small gust of controlled ember circles around her ankles, lifting strands of her hair as she gasps in delight.

“That’s amazing, Umi!” he breathes out, genuine wonder coating his voice so easily that the little girl nearly combusts from excitement alone. “Do that again.”

“I can do it bigger!”

“Maybe not too big.” You quickly interfere, already knowing your daughter far too well and for being worried too.

“Yes, Mama…” Umi huffs before trying again anyway. Another stream of fire bursts from her hand—slightly larger this time before it fizzles away.

Aang laughs softly and reaches over to steady her stance by the shoulders. “You’re leaning too much on your left foot.”

“Like this?” Umi shakes a little.

Aang corrects her stance while grinning. “Nope. Now you look like your Uncle Sokka trying to dance.”

Umi gasps loudly while you laugh behind them. “That’s mean, Papa Aang! You sound like Aunty Toph!”

“It’s true, Umi.” You mumble to which your daughter widens her mouth at. In her little head, that was already permission to say that his Uncle Sokka dances funnily the next time he visits the Fire Nation.

But Aang was rather focused on something else.

He grins at the sound of your laughter. Spirits— he missed it.

The sound alone always made every exhausting trip around the world worth returning from.

Umi tries again with dramatic determination, sticking her tongue out slightly in concentration before another spark appears successfully. “There!” Umi cheers. “Did you see that, Mama?! Papa Aang!?” Her head whips between the two of you.

“Yes, Sweetheart. I did.” You admit as Umi goes to you, wanting you to kiss her forehead as a praise for doing so well, to which of course you obliged to before she turns to Aang next.

“I did too!” Aang answers instantly. “That one was perfect!”

“Thank you for teaching me, Papa Aang!” Umi’s familiar eyes squints automatically as she smiles from ear to ear.

And right after his praise, Umi was quick to do everything again while Aang makes his way to sit beside you on the grass under the shade of the Olive tree in his courtyard.

Then quietly, almost too quiet for even himself...

"She has your eyes..." Aang murmurs softly while watching Umi struggle to keep her flame steady.

"When I picked her up from the Royal Academy last month, she was surrounded by dozens of other kids and I still spotted her immediately." he laughs at the memory.

Your head turns toward him, heart skipping as Aang just absentmindedly has you and your daughter in his head. You let out a quiet laugh. "You make it sound easy."

Aang doesn't look away from Umi. "It is." He says softly.

His gaze lingers on Umi for another second before meeting yours.

"I could recognize your eyes anywhere."

The confession was genuine and nothing but the truth, and yet it held a meaning that Aang swore he will never bring up again.

Your lips part slightly, caught somewhere between flustered and speechless.

Aang notices how quiet you’ve gotten. Then, he says your name softly. “How have you been?” He asks, quiet enough that it blended too well with the wind.

“Busy. You know how it is, Aang…” You answer. It was a truncated answer, but it was not a total lie. You were indeed busy with all your duties and with also raising your daughter.

It’s just that if you had said more than that… maybe Aang would see your raw feelings that you fought so hard to keep strictly to yourself.

Aang stays quiet for a moment after your answer. Not because he didn’t know what to say... but because he knew you all too well.

Busy was never just busy with you.

His eyes drift toward your hands resting against the grass beside you before slowly lifting back to your face. “You’ve been sleeping enough at least… right?” he asks softly.

The question almost makes you laugh.

Even after all these years, Aang still worried about the smallest things when it came to you.

“Sometimes...” you answer honestly.

Aang's lips pursed. “That means no.”

“Aang.” You exhaled, tilting your head a little bit with an exhausted smile. You wanted Aang to drop the topic, but it seems like him worrying about you was already etched into his brain.

“What?” he smiles lightly. “Your eyebrows are a little flat and your eyes don't shine brightly enough whenever you lack sleep.” He had rambled on and was embarrassed to say that out loud before he could even stop himself.

Your chest tightens unexpectedly.

Because who else in the world would notice something so small and something that does not make any sense? but for Aang... it does.

The wind shifts around the both of you gently, carrying the faint scent of fire lilies from the gardens nearby while Umi continued trying to make controlled flames several feet away. She ditched her practices and was quick to play tag with Momo while hiding behind Appa.

Aang watches her for a second before speaking again.

“She’s happy here.”

The statement was simple and quiet, nearly blending together with the rustling leaves above the Olive tree and the distant giggles of your daughter along with Appa's grumbles and Momo's chirps.

Yet something about the way Aang said it made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

It didn’t sound like casual observation.

It sounded more like reassurance.

Like he needed to know—needed to hear from you—that the life you built here truly made you happy.

Your gaze softens instinctively as you watched your daughter laugh breathlessly while Momo circled around her head mischievously. The little lemur screeched triumphantly once Umi grew dizzy enough to stumble backward and collapse dramatically against Appa’s side.

Appa huffed fondly in response, large tail lazily flicking while the little girl dissolved into another fit of laughter.

“She is...” you answer softly.

And spirits, she really was.

Umi was happy here in the Fire Nation. Happy, especially in Aang's house. Happy running through the gardens and chasing turtleducks by the ponds and falling asleep in the arms of people who loved her endlessly (bonus points if she falls asleep on Appa while hugging Momo).

Aang hums quietly beside you, the sound thoughtful more than anything.

The late afternoon wind brushes gently past the both of you, carrying warmth from the setting sun as silence settles comfortably underneath the Olive tree, not awkward silence...

It was never awkward with Aang.

Just familiar.

The kind built from years of knowing each other too deeply.

“And you?” After a moment, Aang finally speaks again. His question lands softly.

Carefully.

Too carefully.

Like he was afraid the answer might break something in him if he heard it aloud.

Your breath catches almost immediately.

Not because the question was difficult—

But because it was Aang asking it.

Aang, who always looked at you like your happiness mattered personally to him.

Aang, who crossed entire oceans and nations carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet somehow still remembered the smallest things about you.

The way you rub your wrists when you’re overwhelmed.

The way you stop sleeping properly whenever stress consumes you.

The way your smile changes whenever it’s genuine versus when it’s forced for the sake of others.

You slowly turn toward him fully this time.

Only to realize Aang was already looking at you.

Not the palace behind you.

Not the gardens glowing gold beneath the sunset.

Not even Umi laughing loudly nearby.

Just you.

Gray eyes warm and unbearably soft beneath the fading sunlight.

And spirits… maybe that had always been your greatest weakness when it came to Aang.

The way he looked at you like you were still the first place his heart would search for after every journey.

Like you were something precious enough to return home to. Like he was willing to leave everything behind to spend an eternity here with you and Umi.

The breeze shifts again, gentle enough to move the loose strands of hair near your face. For a brief moment neither of you dare to speak. You only stare at each other while the world around you continues moving quietly in the background.

"I am, Aang." You finally admit. Your answer hung around the air for a little while. Relief settles into his features so naturally that it almost hurts to look at him. Then Aang smiles—the kind of smile that never belonged to the Avatar, the one who ended the Hundred Year War, the one who held so many responsibilities. The smile simply belonged only to you. Umi comes down from Appa's tail after treating it like a fluffy slide. An idea flashed her mind so she needed to invite you and Aang to it. "Mama! Can we ride Appa to go to the Royal Academy later? Other kids would love him!" As quick as it came, the moment between you and Aang swiftly dispersed into the air as your daughter sits between you and Aang. "You have to ask Papa Aang and Appa for that, Sweetheart." You poke Umi's nose tip. And Aang... he has never refused any of Umi's requests, so this one was no exception. "Of course, Umi." He ruffles her dark hair. "I'm sure Appa would love it too. Won't you, buddy?" They all turn to Appa who shifts his head as if nodding. At the approval from both of you, Umi's eyes twinkle with success, already standing as she couldn't contain the amount of happiness and ideas flowing through her. "I'll show Appa to my friends and we can play with him after studying! And then, we can slide on his tail! And braid his fur!" As Umi rambled on, you and Aang look at her softly. Both of you simply listened with matching smiles neither of you noticed forming. "Then we can go home and visit—" Umi stops talking and widens her eyes as if remembering something. "Papa!" Aang's whole attention automatically shifts as soon as Umi called him. The word had become far too familiar whenever it came from Umi. Familiar enough that his heart answered before his mind could think twice about it. Or at least... that was what he thought. Because the little girl wasn’t looking at Aang anymore. She was already scrambling onto her feet excitedly, tiny sandals pattering quickly against the grass, then the courtyard stones as she ran past the Olive tree, past Appa... past him. Umi ran towards the man standing near the courtyard stairs.

And when Aang finally turns fully—

Zuko stood there.

Izumi ran towards Zuko.

Zuko’s tired expression softened the second his daughter collided into his arms. “Whoa!” Zuko exhales with a quiet laugh as he catches her effortlessly. “What happened to greeting Papa properly, Izumi?” He asked. The greeting Zuko referred to was not one of those strict ones that referred to their royal status. What he referred to was the kisses that Izumi was supposed to give him.

The way Zuko called your daughter as “Izumi” and not her nickname, “Umi” brought Aang to the painful reality he so chose to ignore the moment you and your daughter greeted him.

Because with Zuko being here, everything was back to where it belonged.

Izumi being your child and Zuko’s.

And with you being Zuko’s wife.

That’s what it was, is, and would always be. Izumi grabs her papa's face, smothering him with kisses—one on the nose, two for each of his cheeks, and one on Zuko's scar, then came her hug for her papa. "We were discussing to take Appa on a ride, Papa!" "That's a good idea, Princess." Zuko returns the hug and carried Umi to go to you. "The Grand Chamberlain wouldn't like it, so it's a good idea." He whispered to his daughter to which she laughs at. You were already standing by the moment that Zuko reaches you. He bows to Aang to which Aang mirrors his movement. A smile forming on his face upon seeing one of his best friends again.

“I apologize for arriving late.” Zuko says first, adjusting Izumi comfortably on his arm while his gaze briefly flickers toward you and your daughter. “Seems like my wife and daughter managed to welcome you to the Fire Nation before I could.”

Something twists strangely inside Aang’s chest at the words.

My wife. My daughter.

Simple words.

Yet they settle with devastating ease around the courtyard like truths Aang was only now fully forcing himself to face.

Still, he smiles anyway. Warmly. Easily. Like the Avatar the world loved.

“It’s alright." Aang assures him. “Umi was too excited for us to notice you weren’t here yet.”

Izumi gasps dramatically from Zuko’s arms. “Papa Aang said my firebending was perfect! I'm stronger than Grandpa Iroh now!"

The two men laugh quietly at that before Aang speaks again. “Thanks for making time for this visit, by the way. I actually needed to discuss something with you later regarding the non-bender groups forming across the Earth Kingdom and in here.”

Zuko nods once. “Of course. We’ll talk after dinner.”

Then—

The Fire Lord’s attention shifts entirely the second his eyes land on you properly.

And spirits.

Aang notices the change immediately.

The way Zuko’s expression softens in an instant. How every trace of exhaustion lingering on his face disappears the moment he looks at you. Like whatever burdens he carried from the palace halls no longer mattered once you were in front of him.

“Hey, Darling...” Zuko murmurs softly.

Your entire face brightens so naturally that it nearly steals the air from Aang’s lungs.

Not forced. Not shy. Not hesitant.

Just instinctive warmth that only your husband can give.

Like loving Zuko had long since become second nature to you.

You move closer without even realizing it, one hand immediately brushing against his sleeve. “You’re later than usual today...” you murmur worriedly. “Did something happen?”

Zuko exhales through a tired smile. “Nothing serious. The Grand Chamberlain buried me in council work all morning.” He admits, letting his daughter mirror your movements—Umi was fidgeting around the intricate stitched patterns of his red sleeves.

Your brows pinch together instantly. “Do you want me to say something to him?”

A quiet laugh leaves Zuko’s lips at that. Soft and fond in a way that makes Izumi giggle too. “No, darling...” he says gently. “If you did, I’m pretty sure you’d terrify the entire council along with him.”

The sight settles strangely inside Aang’s chest.

Not painful in a sharp way.

Worse.

Because it was warm and real.

The kind of intimacy built over years of shared mornings, quiet conversations, exhaustion, affection, and love spoken so often it no longer needed to be said aloud.

And spirits… you looked happy.

Not pretending to be.

Not forcing smiles for the sake of the Fire Nation or your royal title.

Genuinely happy.

Aang notices it in the way your eyes soften whenever you look at Zuko. In the way your hand remains lightly against his sleeve like it belonged there. In the ease of your laughter beneath the Olive Tree while your daughter rested safely in her father’s arms.

This was your home.

Your family.

Your happiness.

A small part of Aang—the selfish, terribly human part of him—felt something dangerously close to grief at the realization.

Was it treacherous of him to wish, even for a fleeting second, that your answer earlier had been different?

That perhaps somewhere inside you still longed for him the same way he quietly longed for you?

The thought leaves almost as quickly as it came.

Because Aang could never truly wish unhappiness upon you. Never.

Not when he loved you enough to offer the world itself if it meant seeing you smile like this.

Even if that happiness no longer included him.

Zuko shifts Izumi higher against his arm before finally looking back toward Aang again. “I brought Fire Cracker Buns with me. They’re on the airship by the bay since I figured you’d want them before lunch and dinner later on.” He chuckles.

Aang blinks once before smiling softly. “Thanks, Flameo Hotman.” He called Zuko, making Izumi laugh. He then nods lightly before stepping back toward Appa. “I’ll get Appa and Momo settled first then.”

“Papa Aang!” Izumi suddenly calls out, leaning out of Zuko’s hold dramatically. “Hurry up, okay?”

Aang laughs softly despite himself. “I’ll be fast.”

“You said that last time too!” Izumi’s voice was still loud even if you and Zuko already started to walk down the courtyard’s stairs.

And for one fragile moment beneath the bright sunlight, the scene before Aang feels almost painfully beautiful.

“Hurry up, Aang. Or Izumi will finish all the Fire Cracker Buns.” You reminded him before looking back at your husband who was already looking at you.

Aang answers after seeing the warmth in your eyes.

The same eyes Aang knew he would recognize anywhere.

The same eyes he had once foolishly imagined looking at him forever.

Perhaps that was simply how life worked sometimes.

The world did not always give people the endings they dreamed of when they were younger.

And as Aang watches the three of you standing together beneath the daylight—your hand in Zuko’s, Izumi tucked safely in his arms, warmth softening your familiar eyes—something bittersweet settles quietly inside his chest.

Because the goodness in him was genuinely glad that you were happy here in the Fire Nation. Happy as the woman standing beside its ruler. Happy within the family you built far away from war and uncertainty.

Even if a small, terribly selfish part of him still wondered what it would have felt like if your happiness had once included him too.

But Aang says nothing of it. He only looks at your eyes one last time—the eyes he knows he would recognize anywhere—and quietly accepts that perhaps memories were the only part of you the world would still allow him to keep forever.

A/N: I wanna turn this into a series so BAD, but I know I will take too long to keep up with the updates. 🫠 I don't even know why but this kind of angst makes me write so productively LMFAO I have a kind of same-ish one shot with Gojo on my Wattpad account… 🥀

Part 2…? 👀

I would like to request a Lord Zuko x Reader story where the reader is his wife.

She is calm, intelligent, and empathetic, a noble chosen to be Zuko’s future bride. At first, they were not in love and were still getting to know each other. Zuko felt hesitant about the arranged marriage and questioned whether they would truly work out together.As time went on, they began to grow closer. Zuko started to notice his wife’s qualities—her patience, her understanding, her intelligence, and the gentle way she supported him. She helped him manage his temper, reduce his stress, and handle the heavy responsibilities of being Fire Lord.

cw: angst, eventual smut

part 2

The wedding ceremony had been beautiful—at least, that's what everyone said.

Zuko stood at the altar in his formal Fire Lord regalia, the flames dancing in both your ceremonial braziers casting flickering shadows across his scarred face. He watched as you, his bride approached, your silk robes the color of sunset, embroidered with golden phoenixes that seemed to take flight with each step. You were beautiful, he could acknowledge that much. Your face was composed, your dark eyes calm and intelligent as they met his.

But you weren’t Mai.

The thought came unbidden, unwelcome, and he pushed it down as he had been doing for weeks. Mai was gone. Their relationship had ended—again, finally—and he had duties now. Responsibilities. The Fire Nation needed stability, and that meant an heir. That meant a Fire Lady. His advisors had chosen well, he supposed. The woman before him came from an old, respected noble family. You were educated, poised, and from what little he'd observed during your brief, formal meetings, you seemed kind.

But he didn't love you.

You reached the altar, and he took your hands. They were soft, warm. Your expression remained calm, but he thought he detected something in your eyes—understanding, perhaps? Sympathy? He couldn't tell.

The Fire Sage began the ancient words, and Zuko recited his vows mechanically, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. You spoke yours with quiet grace, your voice melodic and sure. When the Sage pronounced you and zuko husband and wife, Zuko leaned in for the ceremonial kiss—brief, chaste, your lips barely touching.

The crowd erupted in applause, and it was done.

He was married.

The wedding feast stretched on for hours. Zuko sat beside his new wife at the head table, acutely aware of every inch of space between them. You ate delicately, spoke when spoken to, and smiled at the appropriate moments. You were perfect, really. A perfect Fire Lady.

And he felt nothing.

"You don't have to pretend," you said quietly, your voice barely audible over the music and conversation.

Zuko turned to you, startled. "What?"

"To be happy." your eyes met his, and there was no accusation in them, no hurt. Just that same calm understanding. "This isn't what either of us would have chosen. But we're here now, and we'll make the best of it."

Something in your words stung, though he couldn't say why. "I'm not pretending."

"Aren't you?" you took a sip of your wine, your gaze drifting to the dancers. "It's all right, Zuko. I understand duty as well as you do. Perhaps better." You glanced at him again, and this time there was the faintest hint of a smile. "I don't expect love. I expect respect, partnership, and honesty. Can you give me that much?"

He stared at you, this woman he'd married, this stranger who somehow seemed to see right through him. "Yes," he said finally. "I can give you that."

"Good." you set down your cup. "Then we'll be fine."

Their wedding night was awkward in its formality.

The servants had prepared the Fire Lord's chambers—your chambers now—with rose petals scattered across the bed and incense burning in the corners. It was romantic, traditional, and it made Zuko's stomach twist with anxiety.

You, being his wife, stood by the window, looking out at the palace gardens bathed in moonlight. You’d changed into a sleeping robe of deep crimson silk, your hair loose around your shoulders. You were beautiful, objectively, undeniably beautiful.

But when Zuko looked at you, all he could think about was Mai's sharp wit, her dry humor, the way she'd looked at him like she could see all his flaws and loved him anyway.

"We don't have to," you said softly, not turning around.

"What?"

"Consummate the marriage. Not tonight." You finally looked at him, your expression gentle. "You're not ready. I can see that."

Shame burned in his chest, mixing with relief and something else he couldn't name. "The advisors will expect—"

"The advisors can wait." you moved to the bed, pulling back the covers on one side. "We have time, Zuko. There's no rush."

He should have argued. Should have insisted on doing his duty. But instead, he found himself nodding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Thank you."

You slipped into the bed, staying carefully on your side. Zuko extinguished most of the candles with a wave of his hand, leaving just enough light to see by, and joined you. The bed was enormous, and they maintained a careful distance, an ocean of silk sheets between you.

"Goodnight, husband," you said quietly.

"Goodnight," he replied, unable to bring himself to say 'wife.'

He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Mai and wondering what he'd done.

The first weeks of marriage were strange.

You both fell into a routine quickly. Zuko rose early for his duties, and you were always awake before him, having tea prepared. You asked about his schedule, listened when he talked about the day's challenges, and offered insights that were surprisingly astute. You understood politics, understood people in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of his uncle.

You never pushed. Never demanded his attention or affection. You were simply... there. A steady, calm presence in the chaos of his life.

One evening, about three weeks into your marriage, Zuko returned to both your chambers in a foul mood. A trade negotiation with the Earth Kingdom had gone poorly, one of his generals had questioned his judgment in front of the entire war council, and he'd received a letter from Mai—brief, polite, wishing him well in his marriage—that had left him feeling hollow.

He slammed the door harder than he'd intended, and you looked up from the book you were reading. You didn't flinch, didn't scold. You simply marked your page and set the book aside.

"Bad day?" you asked.

"You could say that." He began pacing, unable to contain the restless energy. "General Shinu thinks I'm too soft on the Earth Kingdom. Half the council agrees with him. They want me to take a harder line, impose stricter terms, but that's exactly the kind of thinking that led to a hundred years of war—"

"Sit down," you said gently.

"I don't want to sit—"

"Zuko. Sit."

Something in your tone made him obey. He dropped into the chair across from you, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

You were quiet for a moment, studying him. Then you said, "Tell me about the negotiation. What were the specific points of contention?"

He did. And as he talked, you listened—really listened, asking clarifying questions, pointing out nuances he'd missed. By the time he'd finished explaining, some of his anger had dissipated, replaced by a clearer understanding of the situation.

"General Shinu is afraid," you said finally.

"Afraid?"

"Of change. Of peace. He's spent his entire life as a warrior. What is he without war?" You leaned forward slightly. "He's not questioning your judgment, Zuko. He's questioning his own relevance in this new world you're building."

Zuko stared at you. He'd never thought of it that way.

"Acknowledge his concerns," you continued. "Show him that there's honor in peace, that his skills are still needed—just in different ways. Make him part of the solution instead of the opposition."

It was brilliant. Simple and brilliant.

"How did you—" he started, then shook his head. "Thank you. That's... that's really helpful."

You smiled, and it transformed your face, made your eyes light up in a way he hadn't seen before. "You're welcome. That's what I'm here for."

As you returned to your book, Zuko found himself watching you, really looking at you for the first time since their wedding. You were patient. Intelligent. You’d just helped him solve a problem that had been eating at him all day, and you’d done it without making him feel inadequate or stupid.

Mai would have made a sarcastic comment about his temper. Would have rolled her eyes at his frustration.

But his wife... his wife had simply helped.

The thought felt disloyal, and he pushed it away. But it lingered.

Over the following weeks, Zuko began to notice things.

The way you always seemed to know when his stress was reaching a breaking point, appearing with tea or suggesting a walk in the gardens. The way you’d learned to read his moods, knowing when he needed to talk and when he needed silence. The way you handled the palace staff with kindness but firmness, earning their respect and loyalty.

The way you never complained about their still-unconsummated marriage, never made him feel guilty about the distance he maintained.

You were remarkable, he realized. Truly remarkable.

And he was starting to look forward to seeing you at the end of each day.

One night, about two months into their marriage, you and zuko were having dinner in your shared chambers—a habit you both fallen into, preferring privacy to the formal dining hall. You were telling him about a conversation you had with one of the palace scholars about Fire Nation history, your eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"Did you know that before the war, the Fire Nation had extensive cultural exchanges with the other nations? There were Water Tribe artists living in Caldera City, Earth Kingdom philosophers teaching at our universities. We weren't always isolated."

Zuko found himself smiling at your passion. "I didn't know that."

"It's fascinating. I've been thinking—what if we tried to revive some of those programs? It could help with rebuilding trust, showing the other nations that we're serious about change."

"That's a good idea," he said, and meant it. "You should put together a proposal. I'll present it to the council."

You beamed at him, and something warm unfurled in his chest.

Later that night, as you and Zuko lay in the separate sides of the bed, Zuko found himself thinking about Mai less and less. The ache was still there, but it was fading, like an old scar that only hurt when he pressed on it.

And in its place, something new was growing.

The breaking point came three months into his marriage.

Zuko had been dealing with a crisis in the colonies—protests, violence, calls for independence. He'd been working eighteen-hour days, barely sleeping, barely eating. You had tried to help, but he'd been short with you, snapping when you suggested he rest, dismissing your concerns.

He knew he was being unfair. Knew he was taking his stress out on the one person who didn't deserve it. But he couldn't seem to stop.

It all came crashing down one night when he received word that one of the protests had turned deadly. Fire Nation soldiers had fired on Earth Kingdom civilians. People were dead, and it was his responsibility, his failure.

He made it back to his chambers before the dam broke.

You were already there, preparing for bed. You took one look at his face and crossed to him immediately.

"Zuko, what happened?"

"People died." His voice cracked. "People died because I couldn't—because I didn't—"

His knees gave out, and suddenly he was on the floor, you were kneeling beside him, your arms around him as he shattered.

"I can't do this," he gasped out between sobs. "I'm not strong enough. I'm not good enough. My father would have—"

"Your father was a monster," you said firmly, your hands cupping his face, forcing him to look at you. "And you are nothing like him. Do you hear me? Nothing."

Zuko's breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaming down his face—both the scarred side and the unmarred. "People died because of my decisions—"

"People died because of violence and fear and a hundred years of hatred that you inherited," you interrupted, your voice gentle. "You didn't pull those triggers, Zuko. You're trying to heal wounds that your father and grandfather inflicted. That takes time. It takes patience. And yes, sometimes there will be setbacks and tragedies, but that doesn't mean you've failed."

You pulled him closer, and he collapsed against you, his face buried in your shoulder as sobs wracked his body. You held him tightly, one hand stroking his hair, the other rubbing circles on his back.

"The fact that you're here, breaking down over their deaths—that's what makes you different," You whispered. "Your father wouldn't have cared. He would have ordered more violence. But you? You carry every loss like a stone in your heart. That's not a weakness, Zuko. That's humanity. That's compassion. That's exactly what this nation needs."

He clung to you like a drowning man, and you let him. You didn't try to stop his tears or tell him to be strong. You just held him, murmuring reassurances, being the anchor he desperately needed.

"I'm so tired," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I know. I know you are." You pressed a kiss to his temple, the gesture so tender it made his chest ache. "But you don't have to carry this alone anymore. I'm here. Let me help you. Let me share this burden."

Something in your words broke through the fog of his despair. He pulled back slightly, looking at you through blurred vision. Your face was wet with tears too—his tears, he realized, and maybe some of your own.

"Why?" he asked. "Why do you care so much?"

Your expression softened, and you brushed the tears from his cheeks with your thumbs. "Because you're my husband. Because I see who you are—the real you, beneath the crown and the scar and the unrealistic expectations. And that person is good, Zuko. Flawed and struggling and so very human, but good."

You helped him to his feet, guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. You brought him water, made him drink. Then you sat beside him, your hand finding his, you and zuko’s fingers intertwining.

You sat in silence for a long time, and slowly, gradually, Zuko's breathing steadied. The panic receded. The crushing weight didn't disappear, but it became bearable again.

Because you were there. Because you understood. Because you saw him at his absolute worst and didn't turn away.

Zuko woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and your arm draped across his chest.

You both fallen asleep like that, fully clothed, you holding him as exhaustion finally claimed him. Now, in the clear light of morning, he felt raw and exposed—but also strangely lighter, as if crying had purged some poison from his system.

He turned his head to look at you. You were still asleep, your face peaceful, your hair spilled across the pillow. You’d stayed with him all night. Held him. Comforted him. Asked for nothing in return.

And suddenly, with a clarity that stole his breath, he realized the truth he'd been avoiding for months.

He was in love with you.

Not the tentative affection that had been growing. Not simple gratitude or respect. Real, deep, consuming love. The kind that made his chest tight and his heart race. The kind that made him want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of his life.

Mai had been his first love, and he'd thought that meant she'd always hold a piece of his heart. But this—what he felt for you—was different. Deeper. Built on understanding and partnership and a connection that went beyond attraction or shared history.

Mai had loved the boy he was. But you loved the man he was becoming.

The realization terrified him. And exhilarated him.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled sleepily when you saw him watching you. "Good morning."

"I need to tell you something," he said, his voice rough from sleep and emotion.

You shifted, propping yourself up on one elbow, concern flickering across your face. "What is it?"

He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to meet your eyes. "I've been unfair to you. From the beginning. I've been holding back, keeping you at a distance, because I was still... I was still holding onto Mai."

Pain flashed in your eyes, but you didn't look away. "I know."

"You deserve better than that. Better than a husband who's been comparing you to someone else, who's been too much of a coward to let himself feel—" He broke off, frustrated with his own inability to articulate what was in his heart. "Last night, when you held me, when you saw me at my worst and didn't flinch... I realized something."

"What?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"I love you." The words came out in a rush, clumsy and graceless, but utterly sincere. "Not because you're my wife or because it's my duty. I love you. The way you see through my walls. The way you challenge me and support me and make me want to be better. The way you're patient with my moods and brilliant with politics and kind to everyone around you. I love you, and I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. I'm sorry I made you wait."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you were smiling. "Zuko—"

"Mai is my past," he continued, needing to say it all. "She'll always be part of my history, but she's not my future. You are. If you'll have me. If I haven't ruined this completely."

You laughed, a watery, joyful sound, and cupped his scarred cheek with your hand. "You haven't ruined anything. I've been falling in love with you for months, you stubborn, complicated man. I was just waiting for you to catch up."

His breath caught. "You love me?"

"Yes, you idiot. I love you."

The last word was barely out of your mouth before he kissed you.

It wasn't like their wedding kiss—chaste and formal and empty. This was desperate, hungry, months of tension and longing finally unleashed. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you responded with equal fervor, your fingers gripping his shoulders.

You tasted like tea and something sweet, and Zuko couldn't get enough. He kissed you like a man starving, like you were air and he'd been drowning. When you made a small sound in the back of your throat, desire shot through him like lightning.

They broke apart, both breathing hard, and the look in your eyes—dark with want, soft with love—nearly undid him.

"I need you," he said hoarsely. "I need—is this okay? Are you—"

"Yes," you breathed, pulling him back to you. "Yes, Zuko. Please."

He kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands roamed your body, learning your curves through the silk of your sleeping robe. You arched into his touch, and he groaned against your mouth.

You both fumbled with each other's clothes, clumsy with urgency. He untied your robe with shaking fingers, pushing it off your shoulders to reveal smooth skin that seemed to glow in the morning light. You were beautiful—full breasts, soft curves, and he couldn't stop staring.

"You're staring," you said, but you were smiling, no shyness in your expression.

"You're perfect," he replied, and meant it.

You reached for his robe, undoing it, and your hands explored his chest, tracing old scars and new muscle. When your fingers brushed his nipple, he hissed in pleasure.

"Sensitive?" you murmured, doing it again.

"Apparently," he managed, then captured your mouth again before you could tease him further.

You and zuko fell back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. Zuko's hand slid down your body, over your stomach, lower. When he touched you between your legs, you were already wet, and the discovery made him dizzy with want.

"Oh," you gasped as his fingers explored your folds, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her hips buck. "Zuko—"

He stroked you carefully, watching your face, learning what made you moan, what made you grip the sheets. You were responsive, unashamed of your pleasure, and it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

"Oh fuck–I want you inside me," you said, your voice breathy and urgent. "Please, I need—"

He didn't need to be asked twice. He positioned himself between your thighs, his cock hard and aching. He'd removed his pants at some point—he couldn't remember when—and now there was nothing between the two of you.

"Are you sure?" he asked, even though his body was screaming at him to move.

"I'm sure," she said, pulling him down for a kiss. "I love you. I want this. I want you."

He pushed into you slowly, carefully, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. You were tight, so tight, and the sensation was overwhelming. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he froze.

"Don't stop," you urged. "Keep going."

He sank deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you. You both moaned at the sensation—the perfect fit, the intimacy of being joined like this.

"Okay?" he managed, his voice strained.

"More than okay," you breathed. "Move. Please move."

He did, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. You met him stroke for stroke, your hips rising to take him deeper. The pleasure was intense, almost too much, and he had to focus on not finishing too quickly.

He set a rhythm, deep and steady, and you matched him perfectly. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, and he couldn't resist leaning down to take one nipple in his mouth. You cried out, your inner walls clenching around him.

"Zuko, oh gods, Zuko—"

He could feel you getting close, your body tensing, your breathing becoming erratic. He reached between them, finding that sensitive spot again, rubbing in circles as he continued to thrust.

"Cum for me," he urged. "Let me feel you."

You shattered with a cry, your whole body convulsing, your pussy gripping him like a vice. The sensation pushed him over the edge, and he came with a groan, cumming deep inside you as pleasure crashed through him in waves.

You both collapsed together, sweaty and breathless and utterly satisfied. Zuko rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were draped across his chest. His softening cock slipped out of you, and he felt the combined release trickling down your thigh.

He should probably feel embarrassed or awkward, but all he felt was peace. Rightness. Like he'd finally found where he belonged.

---

You and Zuko lay tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. Breathing gradually slowed, heartbeats returning to normal.

"I love you," he said again, because he couldn't say it enough. "I love you so much."

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes shining. "I love you too. My Fire Lord. My husband."

"Just Zuko," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "When we're alone, I'm just Zuko."

"Just Zuko," you repeated, smiling. "The man I love."

He held you closer, breathing in your scent, feeling the warmth of your body against his. For the first time since becoming Fire Lord—maybe for the first time in his life—he felt truly at peace.

He had found his partner. His equal. His love.