⋆｡˚ ｡⋆. ᢉ𐭩 ⋆˚ ࿔ ₊˚ ⊹ .⋆｡ ⋆˚｡ 1
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With a long sigh, your husband settles beside you on the soft bed. The covers dip as he shifts his weight, eventually settling to face you on his side.
The moment Zuko steps into your chambers, the weight he carries from the day begins to shift and it does not disappear entirely, but is made bearable. In court, surrounded by voices that are foreign to him, or laced with poison and dishonesty, his mind usually isn't there but here, in the stillness of this room, with you.
He sighs.
Candlelight flickers, shadows dance across the walls. His hand, slender and pale, reaches over and brushes a thick strand of hair away from your face.
"I haven't seen you all day, my love."
For a moment he thinks you may be asleep, but then you smile, content, and hum something that sounds a little like "my ever preoccupied lord".
Your eyes are still closed, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as they trace over your wispy lashes, the soft outline of your lips, and the gentle curve of your jaw.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
In the low light of the orange flame, the fire lord lets his gaze dip to the round swell of your stomach, draped in the thin silk of the sheets. You feel the warmth of him as he rests a steady hand against your bump.
"He has been kicking all day," you say tiredly. "Restless, just like his father."
For a second, Zuko is quiet, and then he chuckles softly. "I think he is a she."
"It's a boy."
Zuko scoffs, his thumb beginning to run circles over your skin. "It's definitely a girl– I saw it in a dream."
“You trust a dream over me?” you murmur, finally opening your eyes to look at him, lashes heavy with sleep. Your husband's hand leaves your stomach and rises slowly, as though reluctant to part from the warmth there, before coming to cradle the side of your head instead.
Zuko's agile fingers slip into your silky hair gently, combing through the strands repeatedly. A soft sigh escapes you.
“I trust my instincts,” says Zuko with quiet certainty. His gaze lingers on you, golden eyes soft in the candlelight. “And I think she’ll be strong...” A pause. The faintest smile. “Like her mother.”
Too tired to debate, you let your gaze linger on him.
Everything about his being is deeply unfair, you think to yourself; the way Zuko looks when he is alone in your chambers, completely stripped of armour, and his title and responsibility of the nation, and of everything that once made him seem untouchable the first time you laid eyes on him almost thirteen years ago.
He was just a child then, rough around the edges, and so determined to prove his worth.
Now here, Zuko is only yours. His hair has grown long, dark and loose, cascading over his shoulders and splayed against the sheets in dark inky waves. A few strands fall forward as he leans closer, framing his face, softening the sharp lines of his nose and mouth.
You reach up without thinking, fingers tracing his jaw to the tip of his nose.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur.
“Like what?” Zuko asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"This one isn't even born yet... and I'm already thinking about giving you more."
Zuko barks a short laugh, eyes glinting with amusement. "Is that so?"
His hand, still threaded in your hair, shifts to cup your cheek, a warm thumb brushing just beneath your eye slowly. You hear the faint hitch of his breathing when he leans in; soft lips press against yours unhurried, like he is savouring the taste of you. Lingering for just a moment longer, he shifts and presses another one to the corner of your mouth.
When Zuko pulls away reluctantly, eyes still half-lidded and gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, your fingers drift towards him and tuck behind his ear, a strand of his dark hair.
“Do you remember,” you say quietly, tease threading through your voice, “when you used to hate me?”
Zuko’s expression shifts. His dark brows knitting together in disbelief. He thinks back to the time you gave him concussion with Aang's airbender staff. You were angry with him, and if he closes his eyes, he can still feel the impact of the wood on the back of his head. It was not an accident. Zuko had called you weak. You decided to show him otherwise.
“I didn’t hate you,” he says, though it comes a little too quickly. "I admit– I wasn't very kind."
"And now I'm having your child." You hum, lips curving faintly. “Who would have thought?”
Zuko exhales through his nose, something between a scoff and a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes. You slip out of his grip when your turn away from him, yawning a quiet 'goodnight', that stupid smile still on your face.
His eyes trace the curve of your shoulder, the rise and fall of your breathing, and then finally the gentle swell beneath the silk sheets. Thirteen years, he thinks. An entire decade has passed, and somehow he had gone from a foolish, angry boy who didn’t know how to speak to you without cruelty to a man who can now call you his wife.
Another quiet exhale of disbelief leaves him, softer this time.
Careful not to wake you, Zuko shifts closer, draping an arm over your sleeping form, pulling you in and trapping the warmth of your body against his. He thinks that luck does not even begin to cover it – somehow, impossibly, you had chosen him.
And somewhere between deep sleep and consciousness, with the amber glow flickering in the corner of the room and the rest of the world reduced to the soft huff of your breathing, he hopes once again sleep will be kind to him: That it will give him you again.
And his daughter, tiny and bright, with your stubbornness and his fire, reaching for him with tiny hands.
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♡ looking for more of my work? here you go!
♡ my non jjk writing is linked here
