#last airbender

[zayzaycomics]

link, zelda, and ganon: reincarnates with noticeable differences

beedle:

[nolsdoods]

concept art zukka doodle they scratch my brain. specially sokka

[cl0udyhaz3]

I AM SO FUCKING WET

I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick I need that dick

I already read 3 fanfics of him… it’s not enough

[aaaaa4art]

Azula’s two faces

[lanarey01]

Husband!Zuko x Wife!F!Reader smut

Oral!M! Receiving

Zuko had been staring at you all day, his amber eyes dragging down your back all day, through every long, sleep inducing meeting. You had sat and listened through approximately 4 meetings today hearing about the trade routes, tax negotiations and Zuko’s plans to go traveling to ember island. It was all incredibly boring.

It was around 7pm now, with a low dawn brushing over the palace walls, with some of the night servants scuffling around outside the great hall. Zuko had requested you there to support him claiming that “the council favors you, your opinions stand strong with the new members” and here you were, head nodding with your eyes fluttering shut.

“My lady? What are your thoughts on the matter at hand?” One of the council members had asked, voice tinged with anger shooting a side eye at the king.

“I’ll give it some thought, you will receive a letter in around three weeks.” you gave him an airy wave as the council quieted, exchanging whispers and horrified glances. From what you could hear behind muffled sounds, this would be a very important decision, but you would read the transcript of the meeting later, currently too tired to care. One of the representatives had stood up, his hands slapped the table harshly, staring defiantly at Zuko. some water lined the long table previously spat out my shocked chamber men. Zuko was worst of all, rubbing his temples, heat radiating of his body putting you further to sleep. “No. We don’t agree” attempting to quickly gather his composure. “If we agree to this, it could cause an uprising in the Earth kingdom! We cannot risk that. We’ve finally achieved peace, we can grow our own grains instead of taxing it off them, we will still have a food supply for our nation, even in lesser amounts.” Zuko had said snidely, with a hard stare forming on the sharp lines of his face.

“The prices will all raise in the Fire nation my lord… the residents in lower tax brackets are at risk of starvation, they will not be able to afford even grains of rice! We must think of what’s best for your people…”

“I am thinking what’s best for my people, how dare you undermine my intentions? What’s best for my people is avoiding conflict with Ba sing se. having our trade routes cut off, the ports shut, fishing land reduced” his temper began to flare, something you were lucky enough to never have witnessed, he had kept it hidden from you, locked away tight inside him, punching walls and boxing bags behind the slammed doors of the training room fearing you’d think less of him. He craved control, not over you but himself! Something he had longed for over the years, taking precautions and great care to not fill this need by seizing control over his nation, desperately trying to not become his father after barley rebuilding his damaged reputation his honor.

However of course, your brain had decided in the middle of one of the most pain staking meetings for Zuko, it was a perfect time to take a power nap as your head lolled from side to side, up and down. Darkness consumed your vision and that was that, you were asleep -not for long though- Zuko’s curled fists had hit the table, sending a rippling vibration down the table, water shaking in its glass. “This meeting is postponed” his eyes were low now, his mind was somewhere else but you couldn’t place where with a small sense of dread building beneath you. What was his proposal? You were so half asleep you hadn’t been listening! You were so focused on staying awake!

The members of the council began standing, popping up on each side of the parallel table bowing deeply then exchanging panicked whispers, as the heavy doors clunked behind them, leaving only you two in the room. You and a very wound up Zuko.

“How dare he question my intentions, my effort, my loyalty to my county” another finalizing slam echoed through the solid room, you were certainly awake now. “Did you hear that? I should have him banished from the court, no the country at that” you stared blankly whiting out the noise of Zuko’s absent minded rambling.

“Zuko?” He wasn’t listening, his hands flying up in a compressed rage “Zuko!” You clasped your hands around his fist, a gentle urge to calm him down a touch, a curiosity painted his face and the muscles of his (one) eyebrow relaxed. “You need to chill Zuko, you’re loosing your temper” you ditched the formal speaking and let go of his hand, signaling he could to. “I’m very chill thank you very much” he tutted back, sliding into one of the askew chairs. “Is there anything I could do to um… help?” He glanced at you over his shoulder folding his arms on the table. “Anything at all?”

You didn’t see it but a fire sparked in his golden eyes, a small smirk forming. “Anything?” He turned his full body now looking you up and down, his mind began to race to places not meant for a formal meeting hall. The way he looked at you like he was searching for your figure underneath your heavy robes, you looked like you were swimming in them. He stood tall, swamping you placing his hands low on your hips

“I think i know how you could help me…”

Now here you were on your knees in front of the fire lord his length hitting your throat.

“I couldn’t think of a better way to, calm down” his breath caught in his throat betraying him as he pushed your head down with a fist full of hair, controlling your movements “you like that huh? Choking on me. You can’t even breathe and you’re still trying to take me”

And he was right. You valued Zuko more than air your lips vibrated around his thick cock making a small “mph” sound, drawing a sharp breath from Zuko. There was a lewd mixture of spit and precum running down from your chin to your neck, and your eyes were wide, glazed over looking at him as he fisted all your hair into a tight high ponytail pulling your head all the way up. “Look at you” a smug grin grew on his handsome features, his grip was tight in your hair “you just look so prefect on your knees for me, I bet my cum will just look so pretty all over your face. Yeah you want that?” . He slipped his dick from your throat, earning a whine of dissatisfaction and a few coughs from you, stroking it slowly right in front of your face, it was huge, bigger even from your angle. “Well where do you want it?” He asked, Zuko’s voice was dripping with honey now while you were still star struck.

“I want it, um” your voice trailed off into a small whisper, a hot pink blush coating your cheeks up to your ears, meanwhile he was fully composed after years of practice. “Don’t get shy now y/n” he smiled wider, slapping his big tip on your cheek. “I want it in my mouth…” you squeezed your eyes tight shut, not believing you were playing into his game, initially when he had questioned you on your question, you thought he’d ask for a hot cup of chamomile tea or maybe a steaming bath or even a walk in the garden to feed the turtle ducks. Instead here you were, sweaty and out of breath, with the imprint of him deep inside your mouth, the sweet and salty taste still lingering on your taste buds, but you couldn’t think of anything better. If he’d decided to play this far into the begging game oh then well you’d play.

“Do you want it in my mouth? Or how about my throat?” You said, bolder now, trying to regain some confidence and control. You wiped your chin, climbing up to your lip with your thumb sucking slowly, then opened your mouth sticking your tongue out slightly. And just like that he plunged his full length in, and just like that he had taken back all the control.

“How about your throat love” he chuckled lowly, as he felt your throat struggle and fail to adjust to his magnificent size. “You’re taking me so well, being such a good girl for me yeah?” You had no time to register what he said before he began thrusting in and out of your mouth. All that left you was a string of loud gagging, your toes curling. “God mmm you’re so good at this, who taught you to take cock like this then…”

His hips bucked into your throat. “Was it that loser you used to go out with?” You were nearly choking now as spit began to pool at the top of your throat, you tried to swallow it but you were met with Zuko’s dick instead, walls clamping around it.

“Nghh… bet his dick wasn’t as big as mine. I can feel you choking with me this deep inside of you”

He pushed your head down further, taking truly all of him, your face smushed down into his pelvis. All you could do was breathe in his scent and grind your thighs in desperation.

“Your loving this aren’t you” he pulled you off again, you yearned for that feeling. Suffocating and stuffed. “Cum for me?” You batted your eyelashes giving his throbbing dick small kitten licks.

“If that’s what you want then of course I can” he said brightly. “Open wide” you opened your mouth obediently, sucking softly, his calloused hands stroking your head ready to take back control at a moments notice. “Just a little longer m’g-gonna cum” his body betrayed him, hips stuttering. Thick white spurts of cum shot down your throat as you swallowed hungrily, small droplets dribbling down your chin.

“Sorry baby you just felt too good for me”

You lifted your thumb and slowly started cleaning his cum from your lips, sucking sweetly. “Did I really? Or is your ego too high?” You smiled at him as your hand eagerly reached to his pulsing member pumping fast. “Or maybe you’re just too needy, hm? Or sensitive? Which one” another round of pearly white cum sprayed on your face as you stuck your tongue out fast.

“Oh god… I was right you do look perfect with my cum on your face” two of your fingers raised to your face wiping the sticky cum off your skin dipping to your mouth as you rose to your feet as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“Y’know you need to swallow all of that before we can leave” his own two fingers mimicked yours, wiping all of his load into your mouth as you swallowed happily. “I want to see you later. In my chambers, naked, waiting. Yes?” You were startled, lost for words. “Yes? I can repay this little favor”

“I’m your wife Zuko you were gonna repay this favor anyway, and anyway I see fit” you guided his hand down your loosened robes and into your panties.

“You’re so… wet, and it’s all for me” he quickly tried to push one cummy finger inside you. “Ah ah ah, Zuko you said it yourself later”

He stood there, dumbfounded as he watched you adjust your robes. You placed a small peck on his cheek “I’ll be waiting.” He was the one lost for words now, a few minutes ago he had his cock down your throat and now he was watching the way your ass moved as you walked away.

You were going to be the death of him.

[nectarbloodburgeon]

The comics trying to force in a "Zuko might not actually be the son of Ozai" fake out. Like

Girl don't waste my fucking time

[poisionedkissez]

𝐆𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐦𝐞! ✶ 𝙕𝙪𝙠𝙤 MASTERLIST

───── 𝗓𝗎𝗄𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽-𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾, 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 — 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒, 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 !

───── canon era! fire lord!zuko x gender neutral reader 2.4𝑘 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗒, 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖾, 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽

inspired by “lovefool” — the cardigans

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

BEING THE FIRE PRINCE, as it turns out, means you are never, under any circumstances, alone.

there are guards outside your door when you wake up. guards trailing four paces behind you at breakfast, close enough that zuko has taken to lowering his voice to a near-whisper whenever he wants to tell you something even mildly personal, which, given how private he is by nature, means most of your actual conversations happen in hushed half-sentences with someone in full armor standing a polite distance away, pretending very hard not to listen.

there are guards outside the bathhouse, which he has complained about extensively and at length, mostly to you, mostly at midnight, in the particular exhausted voice of a man who has not had one single unwitnessed moment since his coronation.

there are guards, he once told you, bitterly, even outside the door when he cries, which had made you laugh so hard you'd had to apologize, and which had made him laugh too, eventually, because it was, objectively, a very stupid thing to be upset about, and also the exact kind of stupid thing that wears a person down over months and months of never once being unseen.

so when he shows up at your chambers on a rare free evening with a look of fierce determination on his face and something bundled under his arm, you know, instantly, that he’s planning something reckless.

“i want to take you somewhere,” he announces, setting his shoulders like he's bracing for an argument. “just us. no guards. no council. no anybody.”

“zuko, the council would have a collective aneurysm.”

“the council doesn’t need to know.” he sets the bundle down on your table with the triumphant air of a man revealing a masterstroke of strategy several years in the making. “which is why i’ve prepared a disguise.”

you look at the bundle. then at him. “a disguise.”

“a disguise.”

“you've prepared a disguise.”

“i have been planning this,” he says, with the wounded dignity of someone who feels his effort is already being undervalued, “for two weeks.”

“two weeks.”

“give or take.”

he unwraps the bundle with real ceremony, like he’s presenting the crown jewels to a foreign dignitary, and lays out, piece by piece: a wide straw hat, brim slightly bent from what you can only assume was overly enthusiastic transport. a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses that look suspiciously like they were lifted off some elderly council member's writing desk, possibly mid-meeting. and, most alarmingly, a small dark strip of what you can only assume is meant to be a mustache — clearly hand-cut, clearly by someone with absolutely no prior mustache-crafting experience, and clearly assembled, based on the slightly matted texture, from something that used to belong to an animal.

“zuko.”

“yes.”

“what is that.”

“it's a mustache.”

“is it made of yak fur?”

“…it might be partially from appa.”

“partially.”

“there was also some horsehair involved. from a cushion. i didn't ask whose.”

you stare at him. he stares back, entirely unbothered, as though he has just handed you a perfectly reasonable, sensible object and cannot understand your hesitation.

“you made a mustache,” you say slowly, “out of a stolen cushion and appa's sheddings, in secret, over the course of two weeks, so that we could get noodles.”

“when you say it like that it sounds excessive.”

“it is excessive, zuko, i haven't said it any particular way, that's just what happened.”

“it's not that excessive.” he pauses. “i also made a backup mustache. in case the first one didn't hold.”

you put your face in your hands.

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

twenty minutes later, you are standing in the courtyard, staring at your husband-to-be, fire lord of the nation, scarred and unmistakable and instantly recognizable to literally anyone who has ever seen a single fire nation coin in the last three years — now wearing a hat pulled low, glasses perched crookedly on his nose, and a mustache stuck slightly askew above his upper lip, already beginning to peel at one corner in the evening humidity.

you stare at him for several long seconds.

“do you genuinely think nobody will recognize you?” you ask, finally, faintly.

he looks, somehow, offended. “it worked on you.”

“i was being nice.”

“what?”

“zuko. i recognized you from the doorway. i recognized you before you finished unwrapping the mustache. i think i would recognize you underwater, at night, from a hundred feet away, wearing a full suit of armor.”

“that's different, you know what i actually look like.”

“everyone knows what you actually look like! you're on the money!”

he pulls the glasses down his nose slightly, peering at you over the top of them with the specific wounded dignity of a man whose master plan is unraveling in real time. “my face is mosstly covered by the hat brim.”

“it is not covered by the hat brim. i can see it right now. i am looking directly at it.”

“the mustache is a good distraction.”

“the mustache looks like a small dead animal fell asleep on your face, zu.”

“it's artisanal.”

“it's made of appa's fur that you personally admitted to cutting yourself with, i'm assuming, a knife meant for something else entirely.”

“a ceremonial letter opener. that's not important right now.”

“a ceremonial — ”

“the point is,” he says, raising his voice slightly over your disbelief, “the hat, the glasses, and the mustache together create an entirely different silhouette. i read about this. disguises are about silhouette.”

“you read about this.”

“there was a very old book in the archive about fire nation spies during the hundred year war. it had a whole chapter.”

“and did the chapter mention that spies usually don't have a very famous face?”

he opens his mouth. closes it again. “the book didn't cover every scenario.”

“clearly.”

he sighs, long and put-upon, and reaches up to adjust the hat, which promptly slides even further down his forehead, tipping precariously toward his nose. you watch him battle it back into place with the same grim determination he probably brought to actual firebending duels, and you press your lips together, trying — and largely failing — to hold back a laugh.

“okay,” you manage, wiping at your eyes. “okay. let's say, hypothetically, we go through with this. where exactly were you planning to take your extremely convincing disguised self.”

his whole face brightens instantly, offense forgotten, replaced by something much softer and more eager. “there's a noodle stall by the harbor. the one you liked, from when we went with sokka. i wanted—” he pauses, and some of the bravado slips, leaving something a little more honest underneath it. “i wanted one night where nobody's watching us. where i'm not the fire lord and you're not, you know. having to be so careful all the time. i just wanted us to be normal, for an evening. i thought if i looked different enough, no one would bother us, and we could just—” he shrugs, a little helpless. “be regular people. eating noodles. i don't know. it sounded better in my head.”

and — well. that, you don't have the heart to argue with, mustache or no mustache.

“okay,” you say, softer now, taking his hand. “okay, let's go be regular people.”

“really?”

“really. i reserve the right to laugh at you the entire time, though.”

“that seems fair,” he admits. “i would probably laugh at me too.”

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

the disguise, unsurprisingly, does not survive contact with the general public.

it starts unraveling almost immediately — the mustache peels a little further with every gust of harbor wind, until it's hanging on by what appears to be sheer stubbornness, flapping faintly whenever zuko speaks. you decide, out of either mercy or morbid curiosity, not to mention it.

he adopts, somewhere around the palace gates, a low, gravelly voice that he seems to believe is disguising him further, and which fools absolutely no one, least of all you.

“evening,” he says to a passing fruit vendor, in this new voice, nodding gravely.

the vendor blinks, startled, bows immediately and deeply. “fire prince.”

“i'm not — ” zuko clears his throat, drops the voice entirely, looking mildly betrayed. “how did you know?”

“your highness, you're standing under a lantern.”

“that shouldn't matter.”

“it illuminates your face, sir.”

zuko turns to you with the expression of a man personally wronged by basic physics. you say nothing, biting your lip so hard it nearly hurts, and let him pull his hat down lower and march determinedly onward, undeterred, already formulating — you can practically see it happening behind his eyes — some kind of revised strategy for the next encounter.

the mustache finally gives up entirely two streets later, victim to a particularly stiff gust off the water, drifting down onto the cobblestones behind you like a small, defeated leaf. zuko doesn't notice for a full five minutes, continuing to mutter in his gravelly disguise-voice at a bewildered street performer, while you decide, out of pure love, to let him have this.

“your mustache,” you finally tell him, gently, once you've composed yourself, “has left us.”

he reaches up, feels his bare upper lip, and goes through several stages of grief in the span of about four seconds. “when.”

“a while ago. i didn't want to interrupt you. you seemed very committed to the bit with the juggler.”

“he wasn't even a juggler. he was selling fish.”

“but you told him your regards to his ‘circus.’ ? ”

“…i had thought that was a metaphor.”

“it was not.”

he presses both hands briefly to his face, and you hear, muffled between his fingers, a small, disbelieving laugh — the good kind, the kind that means he's finally starting to find it funny too, rather than merely tragic.

“i had a backup,” he reminds you, weakly, digging in his robes.

“zu, no.”

he produces the second mustache anyway, slightly more lopsided than the first, and holds it up between two fingers like a tiny, sad trophy.

“put that away.”

“i worked very hard on this one.”

“put it away, zu, i can see three separate palace staff pretending not to recognize you from across the street, we do not need a second act.”

“fine,” he grumbles, tucking it back into his sleeve with real reluctance, as if he might still find an opportunity for it later in the evening, which, knowing him, he genuinely might.

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✦

by the time you actually reach the noodle stall, the hat is the only piece of the disguise still technically intact, sitting crooked over hair that's gone thoroughly windswept, and the glasses have long since been abandoned in his pocket after he complained, three separate times, that he couldn't see properly through them.

the noodle vendor recognizes him immediately anyway — bows so low he nearly topples his own cart — and zuko sighs, defeated, and finally pulls the hat off entirely, resigned.

“i genuinely don't understand how,” he mutters, setting it on the bench beside him like a small casualty. “i had the glasses and everything.”

“my fire prince,” the vendor says, delighted, entirely unbothered by protocol, already ladling out two bowls without needing to be asked, clearly remembering your last visit. “you're on the coin i use to pay my rent.”

“that's what i said,” you tell him, patting zuko's arm consolingly.

he sighs again, long-suffering, but when you slide onto the bench beside him and steal a noodle straight off his plate without asking, some of the disappointment melts clean off his face, replaced by that soft, helpless look he only ever seems to have around you — scarred and recognized and thoroughly under-disguised, but here anyway, sitting on a rickety bench by the harbor with the salt air in his hair and you laughing at him over a shared bowl of noodles.

“this isn't exactly the anonymous evening i had planned,” he admits, watching the last of the sunset bleed orange across the water.

“no,” you agree. “but everyone's being very polite about not staring, which i think is the best you're going to get, all things considered.”

“small victories.”

“very small. your mustache is currently somewhere on the palace road being investigated by a turtle-duck, i'd imagine.”

“don't remind me.”

“for what it's worth,” you add, quieter now, bumping your shoulder gently against his, “the effort was extremely cute. genuinely. terrible plan, execution, and mustache, but a beautiful heart behind all of it.”

“i'm keeping the second one,” he says, with the stubborn conviction of a man who has learned absolutely nothing from tonight. “for next time.”

“there's going to be a next time?”

“obviously.” he says it like it's the most natural thing in the world, already reaching for your hand under the table, thumb brushing slow against your knuckles. “i haven't perfected the technique yet. i think the silhouette theory was sound. i just need — a better hat, maybe. a more convincing voice.”

“zu, i love you, but please, for both our sakes, let the mustache dream die.”

“i'll make a better one. no yak this time.”

“oh, no.”

“something more durable.”

“please tell me you're joking.”

“i'm the fire prince,” he says, with mock solemnity, entirely unable to keep the smile off his face now. “i don't joke about facial hair.”

he laughs — really laughs, head tipped back, the sound of it easy and unguarded in a way it so rarely gets to be anymore, especially not out here, in public, without a single guard in sight for the first time in longer than either of you can remember — and reaches over to lace his fingers properly with yours, tugging your hand up to press a warm kiss against your knuckles.

“next time,” he says, softer now, “i'll think of something better.”

“next time,” you agree, leaning your head against his shoulder, entirely unbothered by the occasional stare of the other harbor patrons, all of whom have clearly given up pretending not to recognize their own fire lord eating noodles in a bent hat, “maybe just tell the guards to take the night off. much simpler than the mustache.”

“…that would have worked, actually.”

“i know.”

“i'm still counting tonight as a win.”

“you would.”

“we got noodles. i got to hold your hand in public without someone clearing their throat about protocol. and,” he adds, with real, if slightly deranged, satisfaction, “i still have a spare mustache for round two.”

“that last part is not the victory you think it is.”

“agree to disagree.”

he presses a kiss to the top of your head, warm and easy, the hat abandoned entirely on the bench, the harbor breeze cool and salt-sweet around you both, and you decide, noodles cooling and disguise thoroughly destroyed by wind and physics and one very honest fruit vendor, that you wouldn't have traded the terrible mustache plan for a single second of it.

“for the record,” you murmur, some time later, once the bowls are empty and the sky has gone properly dark, stars starting to show over the water, “i'd let you drag me out here with a much worse disguise than that. you didn't need any of it. i'd have come anyway.”

zuko goes quiet for a moment, the way he does when something lands somewhere real, and presses another kiss, slower this time, to your temple.

“i know,” he admits. “i think i just wanted an excuse to try. to do something a little ridiculous, for you, instead of something official, for once.”

“well,” you say, smiling against his shoulder, “mission extremely accomplished, on the ridiculous part specifically.”

“i'll take it.”

and when the two of you finally head back toward the palace, hand in hand, hat swinging loosely from his other fingers, mustache still safely — regrettably — tucked in his robes for whatever future disaster he's already quietly planning, you find you genuinely, thoroughly wouldn't have wanted the evening to go any other way.

END