NoIdontthinkso @uhmnoidontthinkso - Tumblr Blog

BETWEEN PLANS AND PROMISES

pairing: ঔঌ firelord! zuko x fem! fiancé! reader જ⁀➴ sypnosis: You forgot that you didn’t just say yes to Zuko—you said yes to the Firelord. Now you’re stuck in wedding planning chaos, palace politics, and expectations you never asked for, all while trying to hold onto the pieces of your old life before they slip away completely. mentions: established relationship, engagement, soft angst but pure fluff at the end part 2 –> here

He says it so simply you almost miss it.

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

Zuko doesn’t look away. He never does when it matters. There’s something steady in his expression—uncertain, maybe, but certain about this.

Your brain doesn’t catch up.

Your body does.

You step forward and throw your arms around him before you can even form a proper answer, gripping him tight like if you let go too soon the moment might disappear.

For half a second, he goes still in surprise.

Then his arms come up around you, slower, careful but firm.

“Was that—” he starts, slightly muffled against your shoulder, “—a yes?”

You let out something between a laugh and a breath.

“Yes!"

If you had known what it really meant to marry the Firelord, you might have taken a second longer before saying it.

“—the ceremonial procession must follow Fire Nation tradition precisely—”

“—and the guest list will require approval from multiple councils—”

“—you will, of course, need to be briefed on appropriate conduct as Fire Lady—”

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

There are too many voices.

Too many people telling you so many things at the same time.

Scrolls are spread across the table in front of you—thick, official, important. Every single one seems to carry expectations you didn’t realize you had agreed to.

You nod at something someone says.

You’re not sure what.

“—the symbolism of the ceremony is deeply tied to Fire Nation history—”

“Right,” you say automatically.

“—and your role will be observed not only domestically but internationally—”

“Of course,” you hear yourself respond.

“—as Firelady, you will represent—”

You stop listening. Not because you want to. Because suddenly, you can’t.

Firelady.

The words don’t sound like you. They something distant. Fixed. Something people look at.

Judge.

Expect things from.

“—and we will begin etiquette training immediately—”

You stare down at the scroll in front of you. At the neat, precise ink. At the life that’s already being written out for you in careful, deliberate strokes. Just a few months ago, it had been simple. Just him and you.

Now—

“—there are also expectations regarding public appearances—”

“—and your presence during council gatherings—”

“—and diplomatic responsibilities—”

You swallow. Smile. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet thought slips in— soft, but impossible to ignore.

You’re not just getting married. You’re becoming something else.

You keep nodding all along with what the advisors are telling you because what else are you supposed to do? Somewhere between saying yes and sitting in this room, the responsibility had… shifted. Not officially. No one had said it outright. But it was there.

Zuko was Firelord.

That meant council meetings, political disputes, rebuilding a nation that had spent a century at war. It meant decisions that couldn’t wait, problems that didn’t pause for something as small as a wedding.

So the wedding—

fell to you.

Not entirely. Not technically.

There were advisors. Planners. Servants. Entire groups of people whose job was to assist.

But every decision still circled back.

Every question still landed in front of you. Every expectation quietly settled on your shoulders like it had always been meant to.

“—the final approval will, of course, be yours.”

Of course it will. You force a small smile. “Right.” Because Zuko trusts you. And that should feel reassuring. It does feel reassuring.

…doesn’t it?

“—additionally, there are several traditions you will need to familiarize yourself with as Firelady—”

Firelady.

Again.

You inhale slowly.

Before you can respond, the doors to the chamber swing open with enough force to make half the room flinch.

“GOOD NEWS—!”

You don’t even have to turn around. Relief hits before you can stop it. “Sokka,” you say.

“—we got your letter!” he continues, striding in like he owns the place, waving a slightly crumpled scroll in the air. “Well—his letter, technically, but I’m counting it as yours because this is clearly a joint life decision—”

Katara is right behind him. “We came as soon as we could,” she says, breath a little rushed but smiling.

Aang follows, already beaming. “You’re getting married!”

Toph walks in last, hands in her pockets. “Took you long enough,” she says.

The tension doesn’t disappear, but it shifts, like someone opened a window and let actual air in.

The advisors look… concerned.

Confused.

One of them clears their throat. “This is a restricted—”

“They’re with me,” you cut in immediately.

And for the first time since this meeting started, that feels like something solid. Something yours.

Sokka makes it two steps into the room before stopping short, staring at the table. “…Why are there so many scrolls?”

You look at him. Then at the table. Then back at him. “Wedding planning,” you say flatly.

He narrows his eyes. Then, slowly, like he’s recognizing a battlefield layout: “…Oh no.”

Toph snorts.

Aang tilts his head. “It looks… organized?”

“It’s not,” you and Sokka say at the same time.

Katara steps closer, scanning the papers, her expression shifting as she takes in the details. “Oh,” she says quietly.

Not overwhelmed. Not confused. Understanding. And somehow that’s worse. Because now it’s real.

All of it.

You glance down at the scroll in front of you again. Then at your friends. And for a brief second, something tight in your chest loosens.

Just a little.

“…So,” Sokka says, rolling up his sleeves with way too much confidence, “where do we start?”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Honestly?” You gesture vaguely at everything. “I have no idea.”

“Alright,” Sokka says, clapping his hands together like he’s about to lead a war council. “New plan. We divide and conquer.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“No?” he repeats.

“No.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate because I already divided things,” he says, gesturing to the table. “Seating arrangements, ceremonial flow, decorative symbolism—”

“Why are you saying it like that,” Toph mutters.

“—and emergency backup scenarios,” Sokka finishes.

You blink. “Why would there be emergency backup scenarios for a wedding?”

Sokka gives you a look. “Have you met people?”

“…Fair.”

Katara steps in before he can escalate further. “Maybe we should start with something simple,” she suggests gently, picking up one of the scrolls. “Like the ceremony layout.”

“Great,” you say. “Simple. I like simple.”

One of the advisors immediately leans forward. “The layout must follow traditional Fire Nation alignment, of course—”

“Of course,” you echo weakly.

“—with the Fire Lord positioned at the eastern axis to symbolize renewal and—”

“Or,” Sokka cuts in, grabbing a brush, “we make a better system.”

He starts sketching something aggressively onto a blank sheet.

Toph tilts her head. “That looks stupid.”

“You can’t even see it!”

“Exactly,” she shoots back. “And I still know it’s stupid.”

Sokka gasps. “This is tactical brilliance!”

“Pretty sure you just invented a traffic problem,” Toph says.

Aang leans over the table, trying to follow along. “Maybe we can combine both ideas? Keep the tradition, but also make it… flow better?”

“That’s what I’m doing!” Sokka insists.

“That’s not what you’re doing,” Katara says, not even looking up.

Meanwhile, you’re staring at two different scrolls that both say completely different things about where you’re supposed to stand during the ceremony.

“Why are there three versions of this,” you ask no one in particular.

“Because the Fire Sage council hasn’t finalized their recommendation yet,” one advisor replies.

“Of course they haven’t,” you mumble.

Sokka suddenly grabs two fabric samples from the side of the table and holds them up.

“Okay, important question. Red or darker red?”

You stare at him. “Those are the same color.”

“They are not the same color,” he says, offended.

He turns to Toph. “Which one looks better?”

Toph doesn’t even hesitate. “I don’t know, Sokka. I’m blind.”

A beat.

Then—

“…Right,” Sokka says.

Toph smirks. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Aang lets out a small laugh before catching himself. “Okay—okay, let’s stay focused. This is supposed to be a happy thing.”

“IT IS A HAPPY THING,” Sokka says, still holding the fabrics. “It’s just also a complicated thing.”

Katara finally sets down the scroll she’s been reading and looks at you.

“Hey,” she says softly. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time, okay?”

You nod.

Because that’s the right response. Because she means it. Because you want to believe it.

Across the table, two advisors start quietly arguing about ceremonial timing.

Sokka is now somehow negotiating with them like this is a war council.

Toph has abandoned her spot and is leaning back in her chair, clearly entertained.

Aang is trying—really trying—to keep everyone calm.

Katara is reorganizing the scrolls into something that almost resembles order.

And you—

you’re still standing in the middle of it all.

Watching. Listening. Trying to keep up as the voices start overlapping again. “—the Fire Lord’s entrance must precede—”

“—no, the sequence requires—”

“—if we adjust the timing here—”

“—that disrupts the symbolism—”

“—what if we just move the chairs—”

“THE CHAIRS ARE SYMBOLIC—”

Something tight pulls in your chest.

You inhale. Then exhale.

Slowly.

It’s fine. It’s just planning. It’s just one day. Just a wedding.

…right?

Your gaze drifts down to the scroll in front of you again.

Firelady.

The words sit there, unmoving. Heavy. Permanent. And for the first time since everyone burst into the room, the noise doesn’t feel funny anymore.

You find Zuko in a corridor that definitely wasn’t meant for stopping and talking.

He’s mid-step when you call his name. He turns immediately anyway.

That alone does something to your chest that you don’t have time to examine.

“You’re busy,” you say, already knowing.

“I can be unbusy,” he replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

It makes you smile before you can stop it. You fall into step beside him. “No, you can’t.”

He glances at you. “I can.”

“You literally have three council meetings and whatever that thing is with the northern delegates.”

He pauses. “It’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” you say.

“…It’s a thing,” he admits.

You both walk for a few seconds in comfortable silence. Then you clear your throat.

“So,” you begin carefully, “about the ceremony—”

Zuko slows slightly. “What about it?”

You hesitate. Suddenly it feels stupid. Small. Like you’re interrupting something important—which, technically, you are.

But he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the hallway that matters, so you continue anyway.

“I was thinking… do you care about the seating order? Because Sokka is trying to redesign it like it’s a battle strategy and I don’t think the Fire Nation is ready for whatever he’s doing.”

A faint flicker of something like amusement crosses his face. “I trust you,” Zuko says simply. “Do what you think is best.”

That should feel like pressure. Instead, it feels like warmth. You exhale a little laugh. “That’s not helpful.”

“It’s honest.”

“I know,” you say softer.

He slows to a stop, just briefly, and looks at you more directly now. “If it’s too much,” he adds, voice quieter, “you don’t have to handle everything alone.”

For a second, the noise of the palace fades.

Just him. Just that steady tone like he’s trying to hold the world still for you, even for a moment.

“I know,” you repeat, but it comes out softer this time. And you almost lean into him properly.

Then—

“Your Majesty!”

Of course. A messenger appears at the end of the corridor like a curse given form.

Zuko straightens immediately. “Yes?”

“Council emergency meeting has been moved forward. They require your presence immediately.”

Zuko closes his eyes for half a second. Then he looks back at you. Something apologetic flickers there, but it doesn’t change the fact that he has to go. “I’ll come back,” he says.

“You always say that,” you mutter, but there’s no real bite in it.

“I always do,” he replies.

That earns you a small, helpless smile.

He reaches out briefly taking your hand just long enough to squeeze it once.

Then he lets go. And is gone. Just like that.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the empty space he left behind.

Somewhere far down the hallway, you hear another door open, another problem being born.

You inhale slowly.

“…I am going to hit someone,” you say quietly to no one.

Behind you, a voice calls out. “Who are we hitting?” Sokka asks eagerly.

You turn your head slightly. “…Everyone,” you answer.

Toph snorts somewhere off to the side.

Katara sighs. “Don’t encourage her.”

Aang, gently: “Maybe we should take a break?”

You close your eyes. Yeah.

A break sounds nice. Unfortunately, a royal wedding planning does not believe in breaks.

The room is quieter than it was earlier.

That’s the problem.

The chaos didn’t end—it just split into smaller conversations, softer voices, scribbling pens instead of shouting arguments.

And somehow that makes it worse. Because now there’s space to think. You sit at the edge of the table, staring at a stack of scrolls you didn’t ask to exist in your life.

Fire Nation etiquette. Royal protocols. Ceremony sequences. Diplomatic expectations.

You try to focus on Katara’s voice as she gently organizes something beside you.

“Okay,” she says carefully, “this part isn’t mandatory. It’s more traditional than required.”

“More traditional than required,” you repeat faintly.

“Yeah,” she nods. “So if it feels like too much, we can—”

“It’s all too much,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The room pauses. Not dramatically. Just… subtly. Like everyone heard you, even if they’re pretending they didn’t fully register it.

You force a breath in. Then out.

“It’s fine,” you add quickly. “I just—yeah. It’s fine.”

Katara watches you for a second longer than necessary, but she doesn’t push. That’s the thing about her. She understands without making it louder.

Sokka is arguing with an advisor about banner placement again. Toph has moved chairs around “for fun” and refuses to elaborate. Aang is trying to mediate a disagreement about ceremonial timing like it’s a philosophical debate about peace.

And you—

you’re suddenly not really there.

Because your eyes land on one of the scrolls again.

Firelady.

Not your name. Not really you. Just a role. A position.

Something you step into and never really step out of. You swallow. Hard. It hits you slowly at first, like a thought you almost don’t let finish forming.

This isn’t just a wedding. This is the point where everything changes and doesn’t go back.

No more just being part of Team Avatar. No more disappearing into the world without consequence. No more being just… you. You stand up so abruptly your chair scrapes back.

“Hey—” Katara starts.

But you’re already shaking your head. “I need—” Your voice catches. You clear your throat. “I need air.”

No one stops you. You don’t think they even realize how serious it is until you’re already halfway out the door.

You don’t go far.

Just far enough that the noise disappears. A balcony. Stone cold under your hands as you grip the railing, staring out at the palace gardens like they belong to someone else.

Because soon, they kind of will. Your reflection in the glass panel is faint, warped by lantern light. You look… the same. And not at all. “I’m not…” you start quietly. Then stop. Try again.

“I’m not ready for this.” The words feel ridiculous the moment they leave your mouth. Like you’re admitting something you’re supposed to have already accepted.

You don’t hear the door at first.

Or maybe you do—you just don’t react.

Because your hands are still on the railing, and your thoughts are still somewhere far too loud to compete with anything else.

Footsteps follow after a moment. Not rushed. Not loud. Careful in a way that already tells you who it is. Zuko doesn’t speak immediately.

He just stops a few steps behind you, like he’s trying to understand the shape of the silence before interrupting it.

Then, quietly: “They told me you came out here.”

Of course they did. Katara. Or Aang. Or both. You let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh but doesn’t quite make it. “Of course they did,” you repeat flatly.

A pause.

Then Zuko steps closer, just enough that you can feel him there without needing to look.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he says.

It’s not avoidance. That somehow makes your chest tighten more. You shake your head once. “I just… I thought I could do this.”

“You can,” he says immediately.

So simple. So certain. It almost hurts.

You finally turn your head slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

Zuko’s expression shifts—not confusion, exactly. Recognition. He understands more than he’s saying. He always does.

You swallow. “I’m becoming something else,” you say, quieter now. “And I don’t know how to do that without… losing everything I was before.”

That lands between you both. Still. Zuko doesn’t rush to fill it. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower. “You’re not losing it.”

You let out a small, humorless breath. “It feels like it.”

He steps closer again, slowly, like he’s giving you space even while moving in.

“I felt that too,” he says.

That makes you look at him properly now.He meets your gaze without hesitation.

“When I became Fire Lord,” he continues, “I thought I had to become someone completely different. Someone perfect. Someone who made up for everything that came before.” His jaw tightens slightly. “But that doesn’t work.”

You should respond. You should say something. Anything. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you say. Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

Zuko doesn’t interrupt. That alone almost undoes you more.

You let out a shaky breath, staring out at the gardens because looking at him feels too hard right now. “It’s not just a wedding,” you continue, words starting to spill now that they’ve finally found a way out. “It’s not just…just us. It’s everything. It’s being watched, and expected, and judged, and—”

Your throat tightens. You swallow hard, trying to push through it anyway. “I keep hearing it,” you say, quieter now. “Firelady. Firelady. Like it’s… like it’s already decided what I’m supposed to be.” Your fingers tighten on the railing. “And I keep thinking…what if I’m not good enough for that?” You laugh once, but it breaks halfway. “What if I’m just… wrong for it?” That’s when your voice finally wavers for real. Not planned. Just… gone.

“I’m trying,” you whisper, frustration creeping in now, sharp and exhausted all at once. “I’m really trying, but there’s so much and everyone just keeps talking like I already am this person and I’m not…I’m not there yet and I don’t know if I ever will be—”

Your breath stutters. You don’t even notice the tears until your vision blurs slightly. You blink. Hard. “…I can’t mess this up,” you say, quieter now, almost like you’re confessing it to yourself more than him. “I can’t. Not for a whole nation. Not for you. Not for—”

Your voice breaks. And you stop. Because suddenly it’s too much to keep talking. Too much to hold together. Your shoulders shake once, small and involuntary, like your body is reacting before your mind can catch up. You don’t even fully realize you’re crying. Not at first. It just feels like pressure finally finding a way out.

Zuko doesn’t say anything immediately.

Your fingers tighten against the railing like you’re trying to hold yourself together by force. “I just need a second—” you start, but your voice betrays you again, cracking right in the middle.

You don’t get to finish.

Zuko moves. No pause. No hesitation. One second there’s space between you— the next, his arms are around you.

Firm and certain. He pulls you in close, one hand coming up to the back of your head, pressing you gently against his shoulder before you can turn away, before you can hide, before you can pretend you’re fine.

“I’m fine,” you mumble into his shoulder, voice muffled, unconvincing even to yourself.

“Sure you are,” Zuko says. Flat. Dry. Blatantly sarcastic.

You let out a weak, offended sound against him. “I am—” Your voice wobbles again halfway through the sentence.

Zuko doesn’t even let you finish. “Mm,” he hums softly, like he’s acknowledging something that is absolutely not true, his tone gentler now despite the sarcasm. “Completely fine.”

You huff, trying to pull back just enough to argue with him, but his hand at the back of your head keeps you right where you are. Not forceful. “Zuko—”

“Stay,” he murmurs quietly. And something in the way he says it, soft, but certain, makes you stop resisting.

His other hand shifts slightly, coming up to your face. Careful. Slow.

Like he’s giving you time to react. His thumb brushes along your temple, just lightly at first, tracing small, absentminded circles against your skin. The motion is so gentle it almost distracts you from everything else.

Almost.

“You’re shaking,” he says under his breath.

You didn’t even notice that either. “I’m not,” you try again, weaker this time.

“Right,” he replies, that same faint, dry edge still there—but softened now, wrapped in something warmer. “That must be my imagination.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated sound, pressing your face further into his shoulder like that might hide the fact that he’s completely right.

Zuko’s thumb keeps moving, slow and steady against your temple. Grounding. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he adds, voice lower now. No sarcasm this time. Just honest.

You swallow, your grip on him tightening again despite yourself. “I’m not pretending,” you mutter.

Another pause.

Then, gently: “You are.” Not accusing though.

Your breath catches again. Because yeah. You are.

Zuko shifts slightly, just enough to tilt his head so his forehead rests lightly against yours when you finally look up, his hand still cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes just beneath your eye now, catching the dampness there. “…You’re crying again,” he says quietly.

You blink, like that’s news to you. “Oh,” you manage, a little dazed. “I—”

You don’t even finish.

Zuko’s expression softens further—if that’s even possible at this point. “There it is,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking you through it. “You don’t have to hold it back.”

“I’m not trying to—” you start, but your voice breaks again immediately, ruining the attempt. His thumb traces another slow line along your temple, then back again, unhurried, patient.

“I know,” he says softly. And he does. That’s the worst part. Or maybe the best. You let out a shaky breath, your forehead dropping forward until it rests against his again.

“I hate this,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I feel like I’m failing at something I haven’t even started yet.”

Zuko’s hand stills for a second. Then resumes, just as gentle as before. “You’re not failing,” he says quietly.

“It feels like it.”

“Yeah,” he admits. “It does.”

You glance at him, a little surprised by that.

He doesn’t look away. “But that doesn’t make it true,” he adds.

Your lip trembles again, and you look away this time.

Zuko doesn’t push. He just leans in slightly, pressing a soft, brief kiss to your temple—right where his thumb had been tracing circles moments before.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin.

Your eyes close without you meaning them to. Your shoulders finally drop, just a little. “…You’re annoyingly calm,” you mumble weakly.

Zuko huffs the faintest breath of a laugh. “I’m trying very hard,” he admits.

That pulls the smallest, broken smile out of you. And without thinking, you lean back into him again.

His arms settle around you like they were meant to be there, steady and warm, one hand still resting at your temple, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles like he’s memorized the motion already.

Then, softer now: “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs.

You don’t respond right away.

“I mean it,” he continues, a little more certain this time. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll… try to be there more. For the planning. Not just the important parts—the annoying parts too.”

A faint pause.

“I don’t want you doing all of this alone.”

That makes something in your chest shift again, less heavy this time.

“And…” he hesitates slightly, like he’s choosing his words more carefully now, “it’s not all bad.”

You huff quietly against him. “That’s a bold claim.”

Zuko’s thumb pauses for half a second, then resumes its slow tracing. “You’re not just gaining responsibilities,” he says. “You’re gaining… influence. A voice people will actually listen to. You can change things. Help people. Make things better.”

You go quiet, because that part, you hadn’t really let yourself think about.

Zuko shifts slightly, just enough to look at you properly again. “And you won’t lose everything you were before,” he adds. “You’re still you. Just… with more reach.”

There’s a small pause. "…At least I get to wear three outfits.” Zuko blinks. Once. "What?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, still sniffling a little, but there’s something lighter in your expression now. “The ceremony. There are, like, three outfit changes. That’s something.

Zuko stares at you. “Ah,” he says slowly. “Yes. Of course.”

You nod, very serious now. “It’s important.”

“Clearly,” he replies. Then, suspiciously calm: “You’ll look gorgeous in—” He stops mid-sentence. His eyes narrow just slightly. “…Wait.”

You blink at him.

Zuko tilts his head a fraction, studying you like he’s trying to solve a very confusing problem. “How is that your number one priority,” he asks slowly, “when I thought the best thing about this was that we’re getting married?”

You stare at him. Deadpan. “Nevermind—"

Zuko doesn’t even let you finish. “Of course,” he says immediately, completely serious.

You blink.

He keeps holding you, thumb still tracing slow circles at your temple like nothing in the world is more normal than this conversation.

“The outfits are way more important.”

You squint at him. “Excuse me?”

Zuko nods once, very firm. “Yes.”

“…You’re joking.”

His expression doesn’t change. “…I am,” he says.

But the corner of his mouth twitches.

And that’s how you know. You let out a weak, disbelieving laugh that still has a little leftover shakiness in it, and Zuko finally relaxes a fraction more, like hearing that sound did something for him too.

“There it is,” he murmurs quietly.

You lean your forehead against his chest again, this time not collapsing, just… resting. “Idiot,” you mumble.

“Mm,” he agrees softly. “But I’m your idiot.”

That earns him a small, real smile from you this time. His arm tightens slightly around you, just enough to pull you closer without forcing anything.

The palace, the scrolls, the expectations—everything still exists.

But for a moment, it’s all just… far away noise.

And Zuko’s voice, quieter now, settles above you like something steady. “I’ll make sure it’s not too much,” he says. “The planning. The advisors. All of it.”

A pause.

“And if it is,” he adds, “you tell me. Immediately.”

You hum faintly. “Immediately?”

“Yes.”

You tilt your head slightly to look up at him. “Even if you‘re having a Council meeting?”

Zuko pauses. “…Especially then.” That makes you laugh properly this time. And Zuko, still holding you, looks like he’s decided that whatever the world throws at you two next, he’s already where he needs to be.

You’re still tucked against Zuko, the world finally quiet for once. Your breathing has evened out just a little, and for the first time in what feels like hours, your chest doesn’t feel like it’s actively collapsing.

Then—

“AH THERE YOU ARE!!” Sokka’s voice slices through the balcony like a thrown spear.

You freeze.

Zuko… does not. He just closes his eyes for a second. Like a man accepting his fate.

Sokka appears in the doorway with the energy of someone who has been personally wronged by inefficiency.

“Hello!” he continues, marching in like he owns the palace now. “We still have a whole royal wedding to plan?? No time for being lovebirds—”

He stops mid-step.

Finally noticing the situation properly. You, still in Zuko’s arms.

Sokka squints.

Behind him, the rest of the Gaang is visible in the doorway: Katara immediately putting a hand over her face. Aang looking politely fascinated. Toph already smirking like she knew this was going to happen.

“Sokka,” Katara says flatly.

Just his name. Nothing else. Pure warning energy. Sokka ignores it completely. “Right,” he says, pointing between you two like this is a tactical briefing. “Romantic emotional support moment? Very nice. Very important. BUT—we have seating charts, ceremonial banners, three competing traditions, and I have NOT finalized the emergency contingency plan—”

“Sokka,” Katara repeats. Same tone. Now sharper.

You slowly lift your head slightly from Zuko’s shoulder.

Still a little puffy-eyed. Still very done with everything. “…Really?” you say.

Sokka nods vigorously. “Yes! Really! This is a national-level event!”

Zuko finally opens his eyes. Looks at Sokka. “…It’s our wedding,” he says flatly.

Sokka points at him like that proves his point. “EXACTLY!”

Silence.

Toph snorts. Aang tries very hard not to laugh. Katara just sighs, long-suffering. “Sokka.”

He turns. “What?”

“You’re taking this more seriously than the two people getting married.”

Sokka pauses. Considers this. Then: “That’s because someone has to.”

You stare at him. Zuko stares at him. Even the wind feels like it pauses for judgment.

“…I hate that he might be right,” you mumble into Zuko’s shoulder.

Zuko exhales slowly, still holding you. “I also hate that he might be right,” he agrees.

Sokka immediately brightens. “SEE? Thank you. Now—”

Toph interrupts, deadpan: “He’s not right.”

Sokka points at her. “You can’t even see the situation!”

“I don’t need to see it,” she says. “It’s loud and stupid.”

Aang finally laughs. Katara pinches the bridge of her nose. Zuko just tightens his hold on you slightly, like he’s silently choosing peace over violence.

And you bury your face back into his shoulder again. “…I’m never getting married,” you mutter.

Zuko, without missing a beat: “You are.”

Sokka: “YOU ARE AND WE ARE GOING TO PLAN IT PROPERLY—”

“Sokka.” Katara says again in that familiar annoyed tone in her voice with her brother.

Toph: “Sokka is the worst part of this wedding.”

Aang who tries to be peaceful: “I think it’s kind of beautiful how passionate he is?”

Everyone: “No.”

Sokka is still talking when Zuko finally moves. He adjusts his grip around you slightly, like making sure you’re steady, then gently guides you out of the balcony with him.

“Alright,” Katara says immediately, already stepping in like she’s reclaiming control of reality. “We’re going back to the planning room.”

Sokka points forward. “YES. Excellent. Momentum restored.”

“Sure,” Toph mutters. “Tragedy continues.”

Aang floats along beside them like he’s just happy everyone is still breathing.

You let out a tired breath against Zuko’s shoulder as you walk. “I hate all of them,” you mumble.

Zuko doesn’t even hesitate. “No, you don’t.”

“…Okay, I hate one of them.”

“No, you don‘t” Zuko says immediately.

“Alright.”

Then, quieter, almost like it slips out before either of you can overthink it—

“…I do feel a bit better,” you admit.

Zuko glances down at you briefly. “I know,” he says simply. And that should’ve been it.

But then his hand finds yours with no hesitation. Just fingers slipping into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You look down for a second, then back up at him. He doesn’t look back immediately, just keeps walking like it’s normal, like it’s always been like this.

So you squeeze his hand once. Testing it. He squeezes back immediately. That does something to your chest. Something soft. Something annoyingly warm.

As you reach the corridor, Sokka is already mid-sentence again about “optimal ceremonial efficiency.”

Katara is actively ignoring him. Toph is walking backwards just to make fun of him. Aang is trying to keep peace like it’s his spiritual duty.

And you and Zuko?

You just keep walking.

Hands linked.

Swinging slightly between you as your steps sync without either of you trying.

Forward.

Back.

Forward.

You lean slightly into Zuko’s side as you walk.

Still overwhelmed. Still nervous. Still absolutely not ready for whatever “Firelady” is supposed to mean.

But his hand is warm around yours.

And for now that is enough.

I hope y‘all liked it. I can write a part 2 of their wedding if anyone‘s down for that. Don‘t forget to support the leaked movie when it actually gets released (for Avatar Studios—the animators, and writers obv)💗

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