(Fluff, fluff and more fluff. Zuko's hopelessly in love)
Zuko was a morning person. By the time the sunlight had filtered through the windows, illuminating the foot of his bed softly, right where his sheets would wrinkle, he’d already be getting ready. He’d gotten used to this particular part of his routine.
Mundane.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
He revelled in routine. After years in unrest and constant stress, this felt like a reward. Not a single soul awake in the palace but the night guards and himself. Zuko could hear himself think in the shower, feel the warmth seep into the crevices of his tired bones. He could get dressed without the rush of a meeting, the cool silky fibers meeting his flushed skin.
He wished he got to share it with you.
You tried, you really did. In the earlier days of marriage, you got up with him, sliding into his routine with much difficulty. He didn’t fight off sleep every time he opened his eyes, nor did he nod off in his showers, not like you.
But he’d never complain.
Not when he got to hear the sound of your shower running. Or when he would reach from behind you to help you with your regal dress, pretending to fumble for a few moments so you could loll your head back onto his shoulder. He was being greedy. Stealing your exhaustion for his own benefits.
It worked for a while. You’d grab a tea or coffee from the staff, staring blankly at the meeting debrief papers while it worked its magic. By the next meeting you’d be an active participant.
But… it took a toll on you.
You offered less nuanced takes on political matters. Agreed to fewer activities with Zuko. Stopped arguing with boundary-crossing admirals. Yes, you were awake. Of course you were, he was particular about optimal sleeping lengths. That wasn’t the issue. It was your biology that was.
You were a waterbender, you rose with the moon. This was the cardinal rule of the elements.
He knew that. He knew it all too well.
Thus he resolved to stop, relishing in the feeling of your sleepy head on his chest that night, your arm lazily thrown over his waist.
He’d find other ways to extend his time with his precious wife.
And so the next morning, Zuko neglected waking you up. Loneliness had never been this suffocating. The shower too hot. His robes too heavy. His hair a mess, and the crown crooked. He pouted like a kid, golden eyes catching your less than elegant sleeping form on the bed. A sigh escaped before he could push it down. If he stayed in that orange tinted room a second longer, he’d end up in your arms.
The image of you sleeping haunted him until you joined him. He dwelled on every single detail, down to the shape of your fingers against the space he once was in. Zuko could probably paint it from memory.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you asked, taking your usual seat.
Your husband set down a cup of coffee in front of you, in the pretty mug Iroh gifted you as part of a set, back when you were newlyweds. “You looked peaceful,”
“I’d give up peace if it meant watching your routine,” you pushed a loose strand of his hair out of his face, taking a sip with your other hand.
“Oh believe that leaving you there killed me. But you needed the sleep,”
“I can make my own decisions Zuzu,”
A deadpan expression cut through his previously tender eyes, drawing a giggle from your chest. “Sorry, baby,” you kissed his frowning lips into a reluctant smile.
The shift in your energy was noticeable. But, it caused a sense of ambivalence in Zuko, on one end he was ecstatic to have you back to your witty self, and on the other he mourned the early light of privacy with his wife.
He staggered back in returning to the room that evening, entering just in time to see you getting into bed. You looked cozy bathed in the moonlight, it brought out your features, softening your complexion. Dragging his feet to the bathroom to wash up and change, the firelord couldn’t help the bitter feeling inside. He wanted you so desperately to get up with him the following morning. He wanted it so bad he wanted to claw off his skin.
But not bad enough to tell you.
So he settled in bed next to you, peering over to find you reading a book. He scooted a few paces closer, pulling you into his chest. You rested your head back on his bare shoulder.
“You smell nice… is that my lotion?”
He hummed, “Mine ran out,”
“Not true,” you turned your head up, “I restocked it,”
He pursed his lips, “It just smells better. I like the cooler water tribe scent,” he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“You can’t deceive me with your cuteness, you klepto.”
“Yeah yeah yeah,”
You captured his lips in a kiss, a quick one, then back to your book. His cheek squished against your head, watching you annotate the different sentences in the lines with a pen.
A comforting silence pulsed between you two, only interrupted by the sound of his breathing.
“Why’re you still up baby?”
“I miss you when I’m sleeping,”
“I’m still gonna be right here- have you been getting nightmares again?”
“No,” he blushed a little, kissing your temple.
You tilted your head up, smiling when he kissed your neck. “Zuko go to bed, you're sleepy.”
He glared at you behind slowly blinking eyes, “I’m the firelord, I think I can decide my own sleep schedule.”
“Well, who controls the firelord if not his lady? It’s past your usual time zuzu, you won’t have energy for meetings.” you ran your hand down his forearm, interlacing your fingers together. “Is this you staying up because you feel bad having made me wake up early?”
“Maybe,”
“Idiot,” you pressed your lips to the underside of his jaw. He licked his lips, skull dropping back against the headboard. “Zuko,”
“Hm?”
“You have a lot of work tomorrow,”
“Since when were you so responsible? It’s like you want me to leave,” he joked dryly.
You gave him a scolding look, pinching his bicep. “You’re so dramatic.”
He flinched, a petulant expression on his face. Zuko retracted his arm from behind you, laying down facing the wall.
You watched his little performance with your eyebrows raised, unimpressed by his theatrics.
“Are you done?”
“Goodnight.”
“Zuko,”
“I have to sleep. Busy day tomorrow. Firelord things,”
“Quit being petty,”
“I’m not, I’m being responsible,”
You leaned down, kissing the shell of his ear. “Quit being a baby. M’only looking out for you,”
He shivered, huffing in return. You scooted closer, feeling the warmth of his toned back against you. Tracing some of his scars softly, eyes back on your book. Zuko let out a content sigh. He glanced at you over his shoulder, just staring up.
“What’re you being so pretty for?” you poked his nose.
He took your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist. “Maybe I should just take the day off tomorrow,” he thought out loud.
You patted your thigh, and he happily obliged, resting his tired head there. “I mean, you’re gonna be tired regardless. It’s well past your bedtime,” you pushed the soft black hairs out of his face.
“Bedtime,” he mumbled sleepily, a sarcastic inflection in his tone.
You smiled, “Isn’t that what it is?” you hummed, picking up where you bookmarked, your other hand scratching his scalp.
He yawned, “S’called… optimal sleeping,”
“Okay buddy,”
It didn’t take very long before he dozed off, breath evening out. He looked sweet like this, asleep in your lap. You could barely bring yourself to shift your positions, but when you did, he easily cuddled up to your side.
So, perhaps he’s lost his mornings with you. And despite how desperately he wished to share them with you, he’d settle for your lazy mornings and prolonged nights, even if it meant his eyebags growing heavy in meetings.
Truth be told, there’s nothing he wouldn’t lose for you.
AN: I have so many freaking fics in my docs but I keep abandoning them ugghhhhh send help
This is base on superman shave because he would use laser to shave I mean does he need to use shaving cream for that. This is my thanks for the request you made for me and sorry you waited so long, it's pretty heretic week..
summary: you take care of a drunken Zuko only for him to make a startling confession
You’re just about to apply a soothing mud mask to start off a relaxing evening alone when a harsh pounding at the door has you freezing in your tracks. You set the bowl aside with an annoyed huff at the disturbance as you quickly throw on your robe. You weren’t exactly expecting company, and you had been looking forward to a peaceful night to yourself after a long day at the beach.
You’re staying at Zuko’s beach house on Ember Island for a summer getaway with your friends, and you’ve enjoyed being able to catch up on each other’s lives and reminiscence on the days of your adolescence. Though you appreciate spending time with the group after being apart for so long you felt you needed space to recharge, so you declined their invitations to go out for the night and chose to stay home. Suki, Katara, and Aang were out enjoying a night swim while Sokka, Toph, and Zuko decided to explore the city. You didn’t expect anyone to be home for hours which is why you’re surprised to hear someone at the door.
Holding your robe closed with one hand as you open the door with the other, you prepare to scold the trespasser only to be met with the sight of a barely coherent Zuko propped upright between Sokka and Toph. The water tribe boy’s features are apologetic as he allows the Fire Lord to lean against him for balance, though Toph appears completely unbothered by the situation.
“Look, buddy, we’re back at the beach house,” Sokka tells him with a careful nudge, prompting Zuko to lift his head in confusion. Though clearly inebriated, he manages to make out your figure in the doorway and immediately lights up excitement.
“You found y/n!” He cheers, nearly toppling over as he tries to reach for you. Thankfully, Sokka and Toph manage to catch him before he falls flat on his face.
“Hi, Zuko,” you coo with a sympathetic smile that immediately fades as you turn your reproachful stare towards Sokka. “What did you do?”
“Nothing illegal,” Toph answers in their defense only to receive a glare from her accomplice.
“He had a bit too much to drink at the tavern, and he kept insisting on coming to see you.”
You don’t give an immediate reply, instead choosing to mull over his words as you look from him to Zuko. You realize then that you’ve never actually seen him drunk before. As Fire Lord he took great pride in keeping his composure and maintaining his image as a responsible leader, but being on vacation with your closest friends must have coaxed him into letting his guard down.
“Give him to me,” you finally respond with a resigned sigh, accepting the fact that your night of relaxation will have to be saved for another time. Sokka and Toph are careful as they maneuver Zuko into your hold, helping him drape his arm around your shoulders as you hold onto him by the waist.
“So uh, do you need any help? Because we were thinking of joining the rest of the group for that night swim—”
“Go,” you tell him with an amused roll of your eyes, “I’ve got it from here.”
You watch with a quiet laugh as he quickly bounds off towards the beach with Toph in tow, leaving you on your own to take care of Zuko. You manage to balance your combined weights on one foot as you use the other to shut the door. His head lulls to the side at your movements, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he struggles to keep his eyes open, and you try not to let this distract you from the task at hand.
“Alright, Zuko, I’m going to need your help getting you to your room,” you inform him softly, giving his waist a gentle squeeze to ensure he remains awake. “Can you do that for me?”
He hiccups, letting out a laugh before he responds, “I’d do anything for you, y/n— anything at all! You deserve nice things, and I-I can do those nice things. I’m really nice now.”
You try not to encourage his behavior, but you can’t help the giggle that escapes you at his change in demeanor. It’s certainly a stark contrast to his normally broody personality, and you enjoy getting to see the more playful side of him shine through. Compared to your days as teenagers he’s definitely learned to lighten up, but he still tends to convey his humorous nature more sparsely in comparison to the rest of the group. You like to think he’s most comfortable sharing that side of himself with you, but you try not to dwell on the fact in order to avoid setting yourself up for disappointment.
You don’t remember when exactly you first realized you had a crush on Zuko or how your feelings had transitioned from platonic to romantic, but for years you’ve harbored your affection for him under the guise of friendship. There hadn’t been time for romance during the war, and when he became Fire Lord he resumed his relationship with Mai, thus effectively destroying any chance of you ending up together. Even though they’d been broken up for years now, you’d long since accepted that it was never going to happen, and you wouldn’t jeopardize your friendship over a silly childhood infatuation that was clearly unrequited, so you told absolutely no one and swore yourself to secrecy.
You manage to get Zuko into bed, though not without difficulty, and assist him in removing his shoes so he can lay comfortably on the mattress. Though he’s now in the perfect condition to sleep off the alcohol, he simply sits propped against the pillows with his hands resting upon his stomach as he watches you move about the room. You open his window to allow fresh air to waft through and bring a bucket to his bedside in case he grows nauseous. You do everything in your power to make him content in his drunken state, and this doesn’t go without notice.
“I’m going to get you some water,” you inform him quietly only for his hand to immediately shoot out and grab onto your wrist, effectively keeping you in place.
“Don’t go,” he nearly begs, the emotion in his voice catching you off guard. “I want— I need you here.”
“It’ll only take a second—“
“Later,” he insists with a dramatic shake of his head. “That’s not impor-important… Need you. I only need you.”
His words hit your stomach like a gut punch, your heart lurching in your chest and your face heating from the drunken tenderness of his request. He has no idea how much of an effect he has on you, and even in his inebriated state you catch yourself yearning for him to return your affection. Things could be so much easier for you if you simply told him how you felt, but your fear held you back. You firmly remind yourself that you’re just friends, and he’s only seeking the comfort of a companion to help him deal with the intoxication.
“Okay,” you finally relent through a trembling breath, thankful he’s in no state to pick up on your nervous tells as you seat yourself beside him on the mattress. His head immediately falls to rest upon your shoulder, and you allow yourself the privilege of wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you’ve done so many times before.
“Thank you,” he sighs in relief, allowing his eyes to shut in hopes of stopping the spinning sensation he’s felt since returning to the beach house.
You sit in a comfortable silence for some time, neither of you daring to speak as you enjoy the quiet period of rest. Your fingers find their way towards the back of his head, and you absently begin to rake through his long strands of hair in the way you know he likes. These stolen moments are what allow you to ease the longing ache in your chest every time you’re around him, and you’re grateful he’s never seemed to mind your displays of affection. You let him believe they’re platonic for his sake and for your own sanity. It’s better this way, you think.
“You smell good,” Zuko blurts suddenly, effectively rupturing the silence. “Did you know you smell good?”
An amused huff escapes your nose as you glance over at him. “I didn’t know that, but thank you.”
“You’re just so good… you’re a good person, and I want you to know that you’re a good person. The best person!”
“I think that’s the alcohol talking,” you jest playfully, causing him to shake his head vehemently in protest.
“It’s the truth talking,” he argues passionately despite slurring his words in the process. “You’re so nice and funny and pretty. You’re like… you’re the prettiest girl.”
“Zuko,” you gently try to interrupt. Your heart is hammering in your chest and you can feel the blood rushing towards your ears as you try to stop his drunken rambling. You know he means well and can hardly comprehend what he’s saying right now, but you don’t think you can handle him spewing compliments at you when he doesn’t understand just how deeply it affects you.
“I wish you knew how much I like you,” he sighs, causing you to stiffen in place beside him. You don’t dare look at him or speak, simply holding your breath as you wait for him to continue. “You’re so good for me… I think about you even when you’re not around. I miss you all the time… do you know what that’s like?”
“Yeah,” you admit in quiet defeat, clearing your throat to ease the knot that had formed and pensively looking out towards the window. “Yeah, I do.”
You feel him relax against you, his steady breathing filling the air as he finally passes out from exhaustion. You let out a sigh as you carefully maneuver yourself out of bed and allow him to fall back against the mattress. You make sure to position him on his side and leave the bucket nearby before you set off to fetch him a pitcher of water.
You have no idea what to make of his drunken confession. He’d called you pretty, insisted that he needed you, even confessed to having feelings for you, but did it really mean anything? You don’t want to trust the words of an inebriated man, but you can’t deny the nervous fluttering in your stomach as you replay the moment over again in your mind. You so desperately want him to return your affection, but you know by morning he’ll have no recollection of your conversation and everything will return to normal. You can do nothing but settle into your own room and hope you can avoid ever having to talk about this night.
You manage to get some sleep in spite of your inability to quell your racing thoughts, and when morning arrives you make no mention of the conversation that had occurred when your friends ask about last night. They inform you they’re going to the local marketplace in search of groceries for breakfast, and you volunteer to stay behind to keep an eye on Zuko. You two have always been close, so no one suspects anything of your offer as they bid you goodbye and assure you of a quick return.
You enjoy the silence of the morning as you sip your tea and watch the waves crash on the shore from the window. A soft thud breaks you from your contemplative state, and you glance towards Zuko’s bedroom where a groan drifts through the sliding doors.
“Y/n…?” He calls hoarsely, and you wince at the sound of dry heaving that follows. Setting your cup aside, you quickly make your way into his room and find him hunched over the bucket you left behind. Rushing to his side, you help him pull the hair from his face and fashion it into a loose bun with your own hair tie.
“I’m here,” you assure him with a careful smile as you rub soothing circles into his back. You try not to pay too close attention to the feel of his muscles beneath your palm or the fact that he’d managed to remove his shirt in the night.
“I feel horrible,” he complains with a groan as he leans back against the bed frame. “Never let me go drinking with Toph ever again.”
“You found that out the hard way, huh?” You tease him with a gentle laugh as you reach for the pitcher of water and pass it into his grasp. “Drink water, you’ll feel better.”
You watch him begin to take greedy gulps from the pitcher, droplets of water dribbling past his chin and down the expanse of his chest. You look away flustered and silently curse the spirits for putting you in such a precarious situation. Every time you think you have your feelings under control Zuko unknowingly finds a way to push you over the edge.
“I hope I wasn’t too much trouble last night,” he apologizes after drinking the last of the water. “I made such a fool of myself.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too much. I mean, you definitely were nowhere near as bad as Sokka on cactus juice,” you humor him with a giggle, earning a wry smile from the Fire Lord in return.
“That makes me feel a little better,” he admits softly, carefully wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before allowing his head to fall against the edge of the mattress. “Spirits…”
“What is it?”
You tilt your head curiously when his features turn solemn. His eyes shut close as he releases a slow breath, and after a beat passes he allows them to open so he may turn to face you. His golden irises shine with an emotion you’ve never seen him convey before, and it has your breath catching in your throat as you struggle to maintain eye contact.
“I know what I said last night,” he professes timidly, causing your heart to nearly leap out of your chest with anguish. Your face starts to burn and you want nothing more than to find a way out of this conversation, but with the rest of the group gone you know there’s no chance at escape.
“Oh… right. That,” you breathe shakily. Your gaze trails to the floor as you prepare yourself for the inevitable rejection. If you can survive a lightning strike from Azula, then you can survive Zuko taking back everything he’d side while drunk. At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself. “Listen, it’s not a big deal-“
“It is to me,” he interrupts you with a faint frown. You startle when his fingertips touch the skin of your cheek and gently guide your face back towards him. You hope he can’t feel how warm to the touch you are or hear the rapid beating of your heart. “I’d never want to put our friendship in jeopardy or make you uncomfortable.”
“Zuko, it’s fine-“ you try to interrupt only for him to grow frustrated.
“No, y/n, you need to hear what I have to say,” he demands firmly, and finally you fall quiet. He sighs, not meaning to snap at you but desperate to get the words out. “I… I meant what I said.”
“What?”
A faint blush dusts his face as he nervously grasps the back of his neck and offers you a meek smile. “I know I wasn’t exactly myself last night, and though I wish I could have conveyed my thoughts when I was in a better state of mind, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t telling the truth.”
“So you…. You do like me?” you murmur softly, your stomach fluttering with nerves as you try to process his confession. You can’t believe what you’re hearing, and a part of you thinks you must be dreaming, but the feel of his hand reaching for your own proves otherwise.
“I have for a while now,” he assures you sheepishly, “I guess I just needed some liquid courage to tell you. This doesn’t have to change anything between us if you don’t want it to, and I understand if you don’t feel the same-“
“I like you too,” you interrupt, wincing with embarrassment at your abruptness. He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s the reassurance you need to continue. “I never wanted to tell you in case you didn’t feel the same, but then you called me pretty and I kind of lost any sense of rational thinking…”
“You are pretty,” he affirms with a tender smile, taking your hand in his own and lifting your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight so I may ask to court you the right way.”
“I’d love nothing more,” you nearly swoon, enjoying the feel of his lips against your skin and the satisfaction that comes from knowing the boy you’ve loved since childhood returns your affections.
Girls someone had requested something and it had something to do with a scene from tlok but my dumbass deleted the request when clearing my inbox, SO IF YOURE SEEING THIS RESEND IT PLEASE I WANT TO WRITE IT (and like the scene if you can)
And if she doesn’t I guess I’ll just write it from memory lol 😔💔
summary: firelord zuko's hair is a mess after a mission with team avatar. his disheveled appearance sparks concern—but his refusal for any help reveals that the only person he allows to take care of his hair... is you.
pairing: firelord! zuko x reader
content: his hair is so beautiful and luscious and i just can't, fluff, zuko yearning
"Zuko, your beautiful—lushious hair!" Sokka gasps. "It's a bird's nest!"
Zuko’s hair is in a haphazardly tied bun, barely hanging on through sheer willpower—and his loosened strands are a tangled mess. He runs his hand through his bangs, and his fingers catch onto the knots.
Shrugging, he tugs his hand away from the mess he’s worsened with a singular touch. “I don’t mind it.”
“You could use Katara’s help.” Sokka offers, desperately staring at Zuko’s hair as if it were his own. “She’s good at untangling hair knots, though I can’t guarantee it’ll be painless—”
“No, it’s fine.” Zuko waves it off. “I prefer—”
His voice shuts down immediately, lips clamping into a thin line. That was close, dancing too near to what would certainly be his demise.
Sokka, half-digging at his ear, cocks a brow. “Huh, prefer what? If there’s a particular hairstyle you want, you’ll have to ask nicely.”
“No, I don’t have a style I prefer.” Zuko answers with a deadpan. His words trail off before eventually settling on a semi-truth. “…My hair will be redone once I return to my nation.”
Sokka’s brows furrow together before his lips part. “Ah! How could I forget? The Fire Lord probably has his own team of personal hair stylists.”
Zuko restrains a sigh. He doesn’t let just anyone touch his hair, much less an entire team of strangers. It doesn’t matter if they’re the best in the entire nation, he would not have them, not when he has… you.
He’s gotten used to your delicate touch, braiding intricate braids into his hair—or even a simple bun. The habit of being pulled by the wrist to rest in front of you, your skilled movements undoing your own work once you’re tired of the previous one—brushing your hair comb through his locks before starting on a new pattern.
He misses that. Misses you.
“Something like that.” He settles on instead.
”Man, you’re lucky.” Sokka sighs in discontent. “All I got when I was younger—was a bunch of pulling and tugging into the tightest bun possible.”
Zuko blinks at the information before casting Sokka a side-eye. “And you wanted me to ask Katara for help?”
Sokka grins sheepishly. “I never said it didn’t come without sacrifice.”
If Zuko had known his brief mention of having a hairstylist would backfire on him when his hair becomes a topic of conversation, he would have just kept his mouth shut and dealt with the teasing.
His hair has become an unbearably, obvious distraction by the end of their mission. Every wash during stay-in nights at inns has led to its own self-assured destruction, with each shower complicating the knots, wounding them tighter and tighter till the point of no return.
“Looking at that makes me grateful I don’t have hair.” Aang winces.
“Why?” Toph whips her head around, eyes widening in curiosity. “What does it look like? Describe it to me.”
“A bird’s nest. A genuine nightmare.” Sokka snorts. “You might have to shave it off and start over.”
“We’ll be matching.” Aang grins.
“It’s barely in-tact. Hanging by a literal loose rubber.” Katara sighs, hand reaching out. “Let me fix it.”
“Don’t.” Zuko’s voice breaks out—defensive and panicked, before he can stop it.
Everyone freezes at his sudden outburst.
Katara pauses—retracting her hand, brows pulling together in confusion. “You prefer not being able to see past your bangs?”
Zuko pushes his bangs back, and his fingers catch once more in the knots. “See? It’s perfectly cooperative.”
Sokka scoffs. “Yeah, at least try getting your hands untangled from your hair before convincing us.”
“We’ve almost reached.” Zuko sighs in exasperation. “It’ll be sorted once we’ve landed. I don’t mind the mess, so just—look away if it bothers you.”
“You keep mentioning that.” Sokka mutters, catching onto Zuko’s slither of frustration. “What’s waiting for you back home? A five-star hair stylist to sort out that monstrosity?”
Zuko doesn’t answer, gaze lingering on the map. Anytime now, he estimates they’ll be landing within the hour. He can only hope his impatience isn’t obvious to the others, not when he’s barely restraining the bouncing of his leg in anticipation. Partly from the mess that was his hair, but mostly because he’s itching for your warmth, your hands unravelling his knots, your nails scratching into his scalp as you part his hair into sections.
He misses you… desperately. Time spent away from you, and the constant reminder that he can barely function without you being a part of his daily routine—till the point where he’s forgotten how to take care of his own hair and yet, still automatically refuses to let anyone assist him? Yeah, he’s done for.
“Hey! Earth to Zuko?” Sokka’s hand waves in front of his eyes.
Zuko barely restrains a groan. “What?”
“I was asking if I could get a free, personal booking with your hairstylist—”
“Absolutely not.” Zuko’s gut flares with an irrational temper, something he’s long retired since his youth. Or at least, he had assumed so that this familiar fury had been left behind in the past. Yet, just the thought of you working on anyone else’s hair except for his… leaves a dreaded, sinking feeling in his gut.
“Yikes, possessive much?”
He shrugs noncommittally. Maybe he was being overly protective. His self-control always slipped when it came to you, or the thought of anything endangering the soft, rare intimacy and vulnerability he only shared with you. Your soft hums, your random ramblings as you did his hair—it was all precious to him. He’ll send a talented hairstylist to Sokka if need be, but in regards to you? Is it truly a selfish wish, if he wanted to keep you all to himself?
A large crowd has gathered for Team Avatar, mostly for Aang, who has grown in popularity—especially among children. The cheering, the excitement all falls flat on Zuko’s ears. His gaze fleets over the numerous unfamiliar faces in search of one in particular.
His breath stops when he spots you, waving your hand enthusiastically so you’ll catch his eye. Not that you needed to, how could he not notice you? You’ve been the singular anchor that his thoughts have been warping around throughout the entire mission.
It doesn’t even occur to him that there’s still people around—or that the sight of the Fire Lord running towards a stranger in a crowd is unbecoming. Who cares if they’re staring—or if they notice the absolute unkempt chaos that was his hair.
When you’re within reach, his hands make contact with your waist and he wastes no time pulling you into his embrace.
“Zuko!” You gasp, fingers coming up to caress the loose strands come loose from his loose bun as you hang onto him. “Your hair—it’s a mess!”
He doesn’t care, still gripping you tight in his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s gone this long without you near—that the very sight of you consumed his rationality.
“I couldn’t.” He mutters, burying his nose into the crook of your neck.
“Couldn’t what?” You whisper, fingers resting softly on the nape of his neck, and he sighs at the touch.
“Let others take care of it.” He admits shamefully, twisting his head so you could hear him more clearly. “…That’s your duty.”
Your lips part and close, processing his admission. After a moment, you let out an amused chuckle. “You missed me taking care of your hair?”
“Yeah.” He lets out a breath. “It was driving me crazy.”
“The hair?” You guess.
“Not being able to see you.” He answers honestly. There was more, there always was when it came to you. Still, he was never good with his words, so he’ll have to settle on that.
”You…” You exhale, sounding content as you relaxed in his hold. “I’ve missed you too, Zuko.”
Your admission is a warm, soothing reminder of just how much he cherishes you. Only you could make him feel seen, or have such a strong desire to allow only you to take care of him. He’s meant to be a symbol, a strong leader—but there’s nothing more than he wishes for than to be whisked away to the privacy of his palace gardens, with you alone.
A loud whistle cuts through the roaring of the crowd.
Almost begrudgingly, Zuko lifts his head from the crook of your neck to meet Sokka’s smug expression.
“Sokka.” He warns, sensing mischief before it has even struck.
“What?” Sokka replies. “Just wondering when you’re gonna introduce us to your personal hairstylist.”
“What’s this about being a hairstylist?” You cock a brow.
“He’s twisting my words.” Zuko groans.
“No, I’m not!” Sokka huffs. “You’re the one bragging about having a whole team of hairstylists, even refusing help to fix that disaster messing up your good looks.”
“Bragging?” You muse, much to Zuko’s chagrin. “I’m honoured, but if you’re thinking of a team, then it’s sadly a one man show.”
Sokka grins. “Even more impressive! Could I book your services sometime—”
“No.” Zuko‘s hand out-stretches, tugging you by the waist back to his side. There isn’t a single gap left between you and him, and his gaze narrows. “Her hands are to only touch my hair.”
You blink rapidly, trying to process this rare side of Zuko that you’ve never truly seen before. A slow smile teeters on your lips, a happy satisfaction lingering in your gut as you lean into Zuko’s touch. “Sorry, Sokka. Fire Lord’s orders.”
“Oh man!” Sokka stomps. “I was so close to getting a free service from the Fire Lord’s personal hairstylist. Great going, Zuko.”
“Who said anything about it being free?” You grin innocently.
“Oh…” Sokka scratches at the nape of his neck, chuckling nervously. “Two birds of a feather do truly flock together. The price only the Fire Lord is willing to pay…. Consider my request retracted, M’lady.”
Zuko’s irritation—his desperation wound up in his chest, finally unravels the moment he’s alone with you.
No, it wasn’t just a simple unraveling. He has never felt so unconditionally happy—than in a mundane, normal manner like this. From the moment you’ve dragged him into his bedchambers, snapping the rubber that’s loosely holding onto his bundle of hair and grabbed for your comb and a new set of rubbers, he’s been needlessly pliant and cooperative.
“I appreciate the loyalty sentiment, but you’ve got to bring a comb with you next time, Zuko.” You mutter, lips bitten in concentration as you untangle his knots with your brush.
Zuko half hums in acknowledgment, too caught up in the feeling of your nails unintentionally scratching against his scalp as you re-do his hair. He’s gone so long without these secluded moments in his room, with your thighs over his shoulders as he sits on the floor, your skilled hands combing through his locks.
In the quiet, he feels the weight of all the expectations of being the Fire Lord roll off his shoulders with every brush of your fingers through his hair, and he just becomes… Zuko again.
It’s a peace he’s only had a taste of in the briefest moments of his childhood. Between the terror, the expectations—there was once where his mother used to comb through his hair in a similar fashion, and he would cherish it deeply in his heart.
You tug playfully when you notice he isn’t listening, caught in a daydream, and he whines.
“You listening, Fire Lord?” You tease. “Don’t you know the saying that if you leave your hair this tangled, you’ll lose it all before you’re fifty? That means you won’t be able to ask for my professional help anymore.”
He stiffens at the thought of never having your aid, your presence in his room over mere excuses of touching up his hair. He barely survived these past few weeks, much less forever. “I’ll bring a comb.” He answers obediently.
Humming a sound of approval, you resume your hand work. ”You know..” You murmur, beginning on your first braid. “Now that it’s been mentioned, I did notice that you don’t have a hairstylist.”
He furrows his brows. “Why would I need one?” Not when I have you.
“It’s just that..” You pause, voice softening. “Well, I’m no expert. Only the simple braids and buns, y’know? Even for your coronation as Fire Lord, and your yearly banquets, you called for me to do your hair.”
“…I don’t want anyone else.” He answers truthfully.
Your hand falters over your braid, and he feels you start over as your fingers thread through the top of his scalp. “Even if I put your hair into pigtails?” You tease, but it’s a silent prodding, a test to see how far he’d let you go.
”You can do whatever you wish.” He shrugs. “I have no complaints as long as you’re not providing your assistance… to others.”
“Still sour from that incident earlier, huh?” You snort. “I don’t know. I could charge a high price if I revealed that I’m your only, personal hairstylist.”
His hand catches your fingers right as they moved to begin the second braid. Caressing your hand gently, he slots his fingers between your own and interlocks them. “I won’t allow it.”
“Banning my business before it even starts?” You’re poking fun, but there’s a delight in your tone that tells him you’re enjoying this. “Don’t tell me you’re switching to a dictatorship.”
“I’ll offer you everything I own if it means being the only one who gets to have this. What’s mine is yours.” His voice is brash—quickened in his decisiveness, his other hand tracing the braid you’ve left that brushes past his shoulder. “My hair, my personal quarters, my trust—it’s all given only to you.”
Your lips part, not expecting him to take your words words so seriously. Swallowing your shock, you smile gently as your hand runs through his locks again. “Is that why you’ve been refusing to cut your hair?”
“You—” His ears redden, and he averts his gaze. “You mentioned before that you liked men with long hair.”
You’re silent. For long enough that he’s beginning to writhe slightly under the long minutes of sitting still on the floor. Zuko feels the heat burning at the back of his neck, and he thinks the long distance away from you for these past few weeks has finally run its course and fried his brain completely.
He’s caught up in his shame, his impudence to admit something so embarrassing that he didn’t have time to think of a proper excuse—when he feels your lips peck against the crown of his head.
He blinks once. Did—you just kiss him? If his brain wasn’t fried before, it definitely is now.
“I only mentioned that—” You reveal slowly, head still lowered so he can hear your hushed voice. “—because I like your long hair. Not anyone else’s. I wouldn’t trade this for anything else, so don’t get it confused.”
His heart stutters, quickening in its pace as he processes your words. A small smile spreads over his mouth as he leans further back, letting you do as you pleased. You’re right. He wouldn’t trade this for anything either.
He’d already quietly kept it as a promise that he’ll never cut his hair if it means you’ll stay here with him like this, tying childish braids into his hair that’s unbefitting a Fire Lord. No matter what comments his chamberlain tries to advise him, he’ll never undo them for as long as it’s to your design and liking. He’ll even go as far as to forget how to tie his hair into a minuscule bun if it meant having the excuse to feel your touch. He’s long past the point of rationality, but here in this moment, he finds having you do his hair is all that he needs to feel contentment.
He’s never felt more thankful to outgrow his old haircuts, than he did in this present moment.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
this is a very very veeerryy short piece, as it was inspired by a scene from a show she sent me. Thank you for the request!!
The marriage was arranged, there was no feeling involved. You and him were merely roommates, two young adults sharing a bed, a world’s worth of distance between you. That was how it started, and how it was meant to continue.
But…
Zuko was tall, handsome, and kind. He had this way of talking to you softly, in a way he’d never with anyone else. And those nights he’d spend trying to make you less homesick, his warm hands rubbing soothing circles into your cheeks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a romantic gesture.
And thus, a crush bloomed from the depth of your heart, seeping itself into all your bones and resting into the plates. For the most part, nothing changed. You didn’t seek him out more often, or talk more, or attempt to learn more. Comfort in routine.
Alas, all good things must come to an end. Zuko was summoned by Aang, his leave so prompt you barely managed more than a nod as he left. The palace felt cold, and empty. Barren. You busied yourself in expanding your skill set. You took up sewing, then archery and poetry. You even dipped your toes in cooking.
You hated the last one. You’d never been much of a chef.
After all, you were raised privileged, no? The daughter of a nobleman, highly esteemed and regarded, almost a princess. So why would you learn when anything you wanted was a finger snap away. If anything, you loathed cooking. Too overwhelming, too much to think about and do when you’d rather do anything else. But you saw it in one particular poem.
The perfect homecoming gift.
And so, despite yourself, you spent all day making it. Back hunched over the stove, hands skimming the old and withered pages of the cookbook. There’s not a letter you didn’t read, and not a measurement you didn’t double check. You were so focused, you could probably recite it from memory, down to the handwriting slopes, and dots misplaced.
After all, you wanted perfection, and not a hair short of it.
And so when your husband emerged from his shower, body sore from the fights he’d been through, you presented it to him with pride, right on his bedside.
His eyes landed on it momentarily, then snapped up to yours inquisitively.
“I made it,” you smiled down sheepishly. “Noodles.”
“Noodles,” He echoed, warmth spreading on face. “For me?”
“I mean… I figured you’d be tired from the journey,” your gaze fell on a nasty blue and purple bruise on his arm. “You don’t have to eat it if-”
“Course I do,” he interjected with a small scoff. “But you shouldn’t have,” The gesture was too sweet, he thought. He didn’t deserve your thoughtfulness.
Your face burned, and you averted your eyes to your fidgeting fingers, smiling at them. He picked up his chopsticks, and took a bite, his eyes widening a fraction.
.
.
.
‘How much salt is in this?’
“So, is it good?” She didn’t seem to notice his frozen expression.
A beat passed. Life or death.
But upon looking into your wide, anticipating eyes, he couldn’t bear the burdening truth.
“It’s amazing,”
You squealed inwardly, watching him force some more down. All he could focus on was getting the next bite in his mouth, swallowing, then repeating.
You went to pick up the portion you set aside for yourself, but were quickly interrupted when he slammed his own empty plate down, picking yours up and very unceremoniously slurping it up like a man starved.
You blinked. He blinked.
Zuko wiped his mouth awkwardly, setting the bowl down.
“Sorry-”
“No, don’t be! I’m glad you liked it, I’ll make sure to make it more often. When’s the next time your uncle will be over?” A pit of dread pooled in his stomach.
He winced a touch, then shook his head. “Iroh doesn’t like noodles, trying to keep the weight off and all that,”
You hummed, nodding with a pursed lip. “Bummer,”
“Truly,”
He twiddled his fingers a bit. “You don’t have to tire yourself cooking again,”
“I just wanted to welcome you, is all,” you pressed your lips into a tight smile.
“I missed you too.” he said simply. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. And maybe because his life was on the line just a couple hours ago, it was.
You stared into his eyes for a moment before Zuko drew you into a hug, resting his head atop yours.
“Let me take you out to the market tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, Zuko.”
AN: hi loveliess!! I honestly don't know how deep I'm gonna get back into writing so idk if ill get around to that many fics, i feel like the movie wasn't very satisfactory plot wise and lacked alot of substance needed to fully immerse myself (don't shoot me pls). I alr have one more super cute request waiting to be written. I'm considering writing an arranged marriage au series or something. If that's something you girls would want. Any who...
This is me convincing myself to write for Zuko again, so in this short au, you were childhood friends basically, and now lovers.
The balcony towered over the party below, the firelord propped against the railing, tapping his fingers on the expensive glass he held. He wasn’t really certain what it contained, whether alcoholic or not, nor did he care. Now was not the time for celebrations at all, he concluded, not with everything looming right behind him.
Not with the anniversary of her disappearance right around the corner.
“Hey stranger,” he turned his head slightly at the sound of your voice, breathing out a chuckle.
“Hey yourself,”
You slid the door shut behind you, scooping your dress up slightly as you walked over to where he was standing.
“Cool party,” you mused, nudging his shoulder.
Zuko scoffed, rolling his eyes. He gestured to a man with his cup. “That guy’s tried courting at least three different women tonight,”
“Fourth time’s the charm?”
“No, he’s gonna keep failing. That lady over there is four drinks in, already swaying and looking for a fifth, that kid’s been pestering his-”
“You’re so judgy. We aren’t perfect either,”
“No, we are not,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. He cast you a simple sideways glance. “You look beautiful, by the way,”
“Ya think? It’s a little frumpy,”
“I think that’s just you,”
You glared at him, wanting to wipe his sly grin off his face.
“Quite the charmer aren’t you?”
He slid a hand around your waist, pulling you into his side tightly, pressing a kiss on your cheek. “Seriously, you look lovely,”
“Yeah whatever,” you stuck your tongue out at him. He offered you a sip of his drink, bringing the cool glass to your lips, a nice shift in climate to the warm and humid fire nation heat.
“This tastes awful,”
“All you ever do is complain, it’s an acquired taste,”
“That’s Iroh speaking,” you poked his forehead and he giggled, a real boyish giggle.
A comfortable silence enveloped you both, until he spoke. “Your parents make it?”
“I don’t… I don’t know man,” you sighed, cupping your face as you leaned over the balcony. “Plus, it’s not like they’d be here to see me, big bad firelord,”
“I’m the big bad firelord?”
“Yep.”
“Ouch.”
He took another sip, dropping his head between his arms, the glass dangling lazily from one hand in the air. You reached across, twirling a rogue strand of thick jet black hair.
“You hair looks great grown out,”
He blew at the piece of hair, then stood up straighter, smiling.
“You think?”
“Suits you,”
“She said the same,” his smile softened. His mom.
“She was a wise woman,” you mused.
You pushed yourself off of the railing, “Let’s walk,”
“Yes ma’am,”
He extended his hand to you, lacing your fingers tightly. You weaved between the hallways effortlessly, rocking your hands back and forth.
He led you right to the library, going to one of the furthest corners to sit on the comfy chairs. He knelt on the ground, tracing his fingers on a book with cobwebs on it.
“My mom used to love you,” he said with a small smile, watching you stretch on the seat.
“Mmm,”
He grinned, sitting on the ground and resting his head on your lap.
“She told me you were a sweet girl,”
“I am,”
“Meh,” you flicked his forehead.
“She used to tell me all about you too Zuko,”
“Good things?”
“Mostly,”
“Mostly?” he sat up abruptly, and you pulled him back down gently. He obliged. “When did you even talk to my mom?”
“Ember island,” he hummed. “When you had crashed on the sofa, she slipped me out of my villa and toured the place with me, said I’d needed to loosen up,”
Zuko made a scoffing noise, his smile wide. “What’d you talk about on your little walk?”
“School, friends… we tried different food stalls too,”
“Oh my lord that’s why you both had food poisoning the next day?” he wiped his face, chuckling at the memory.
“She told me she worries about you too much,” you pulled his top knot out of his hair, rubbing his scalp. “That you’re too soft, and need to toughen up before the world takes it from you,”
You traced your finger to the edge of his scar, despite the wince, he let you.
“If she could see you now, she’d be so proud,”
He choked up, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, unfocused. “You’re just sayin’ that,”
You leaned down, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He sniffled slightly in response.
“You think she’d still be out there?” he rubbed his arms, tucking himself just a little closer to you.
“That lady had a strong spirit. I’m sure she is,”
An: btw, mini self promo, I still write just not for zuko LMFAO find me under @the-ate-show (squint and pretend it's zuko)
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