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✧ Riri. she/her, and very much a bunny in human form.

➷ hi, i love talking about almost anything and everything, especially harry potter, spy x family, marvel, and books filled with fantasy and romance, they feel a little like home to me. i also adore bunnies and music, especially since they make even the worst of days feel gentle. i really love getting dms and anon asks, it makes me happy to hear from people, and i try to keep this a safe and warm space where no one feels judged. i enjoy listening to kpop, katseye, sabrina carpenter, and taylor swift, though i’m always open to discovering new songs. i’m a straight girl and currently single, and flirting is absolutely okay. i tend to talk a lot once i’m comfortable, so i hope that’s okay. i am a minor, but i don’t mind people over eighteen interacting as long as everything remains appropriate and gentle. please feel free to message me or tell me anything you like, and let’s keep this space kind.

ᨳ i’m dedicating this blog mostly to fanfictions, especially ones centered around theodore nott and draco malfoy, sometimes even both together, though i’m always open to writing about other characters as well. i’ve also recently gotten into dating killmulator, which i would definitely recommend, and as a cain girl, that might find its way into what i write from time to time. and with the recent leak of the avatar movie, my love for zuko (and the franchise) has been reignited, so i shall be writing about that now too. along with that, i’ll probably share little thoughts about love, everyday life, and the quiet, random things that come to mind. while i do read smut, it’s not something i’m comfortable writing myself, so i kindly ask that you don’t request it. my requests are open, and i’d really love to hear your ideas, so feel free to share anything you’d like.

෧ Anons: 🪽 💿 🎀 ✨ 🕊️ ♡ new fics every friday !! (including your lovely requests) — school is a bit demanding, so updates may be slow. feel free to request and message me though! 𐙚 Masterlist

Pairing: Adult! Zuko x Reader

Summary: A mission gone wrong leaves you poisoned and fighting to recover. As Zuko refuses to leave your side, he finds himself facing the terrifying thought of a future without you—and the promise he was already planning to make.

Word Count: ~3k (estimate)

Warnings: poisoning, temporary paralysis, hurt/comfort, established relationship, fluff, emotional vulnerability, proposal, happy ending

Author's Note: this was a request and i had a lot of fun writing it!! 😭 i really loved the idea of zuko being this intimidating, composed Fire Lord to everyone else, but completely losing it when it comes to the person he loves. this is definitely more soft than angsty (even though there is a little bit of hurt in there), because i just can't imagine putting zuko through all that and not giving him the sweetest ending possible haha. i hope you enjoy!! constructive criticism is always welcome :)

The poison hits your system like fire—which is ironic, considering the source.

You don't realize it at first. The tremor in your hands during training with Katara is easy enough to blame on exhaustion. The way colors seem to bleed at the edges of your vision? Dehydration. The creeping numbness climbing up your spine like skeletal fingers? You ignore it, push through, because you're a warrior and warriors don't complain about minor discomfort.

It's only when you collapse mid-sparring that anyone notices something is truly wrong.

Your vision swims as Katara catches you, her hands cool and panicked against your burning skin. You're burning—no, that's not right. You're freezing. Everything is wrong and fractured and you can't remember how to tell your body to listen to your mind anymore.

The last thing you hear before everything goes dark is someone screaming your name, and it sounds like it shatters something inside his chest.

When you wake, the world is muted.

Voices drift in and out like you're underwater. You recognize Katara's urgent tone, Sokka's worried rumble, Aang's panicked questions. There's another voice too, quieter but somehow the most violent of all—a low, dangerous whisper that makes your bones ache.

Zuko.

You try to open your eyes, but they feel weighted with lead. Your body isn't listening. The poison—because now you understand it was poison, some rare variant they're discussing in urgent, clinical tones—has settled deep into your nervous system. Shutting you down piece by piece.

"How long?" His voice is different when he's like this. Stripped of pretense, raw edges showing. The Fire Lord accent dissolves into something older, something that remembers being desperate.

"We don't know." Katara's response is careful, which means it's bad. "The compound is unusual. We've never seen anything quite like it."

"Who?" One word, lethal and low.

"We're still investigating, but whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing. It's designed to degrade slowly, to make it hard to trace—"

"I don't care about the academic breakdown, Katara. I care about—" He stops himself, but you hear the unspoken end of that sentence anyway. I care about her.

There's a rustling, and then warmth beside you. A hand finds yours in the darkness, and the touch is so unmistakably him—calloused fingers, the heat that radiates from his skin like a living thing, the way his thumb traces small circles against your palm—that your heart tries to remember how to beat faster.

"Stay with me," he whispers, and it's an order and a plea all twisted together. "Please. Just stay."

You want to. God, you want to. But your body is a prison and you're locked behind glass, watching the world continue without you.

The poison doesn't kill you, but it comes close enough that everyone learns about the secret anyway.

On the third day, you're still paralyzed. The healers work in shifts, trying everything—herbal remedies, gentle waterbending to flush your system, even some experimental firebending technique Zuko insists on attempting despite Katara's protests about causing more damage. Nothing works. The poison is patient. Methodical. It spreads like a slow-motion wildfire through your veins, and your body is the kindling.

On the fourth day, Zuko stops leaving your side.

It starts with small things. His hand never leaving yours, except when Katara forces him to eat. His voice, rough from disuse, telling you stories—about his childhood, about his travels, about the first moment he really saw you, saw you, not just another capable warrior in their ragtag group.

"You were arguing with Sokka about something stupid," he says into the darkness of the infirmary tent. His hand is warm against your hair, gentle in a way that burns worse than any fever. "And you were so angry, and you were so alive, and I couldn't stop watching you. I tried. For months, I tried."

It's intimate in a way that feels dangerous. You want to respond, want to tell him that you remember the exact moment too—three months ago, after a successful mission, when he'd touched your face with such careful reverence that you'd known, without a shadow of doubt, what this was becoming.

What it already was.

"The ring is in my quarters," he continues, his voice barely a whisper. "I was going to ask you properly. I was going to do this the right way, with flowers and—" He breaks off, and you hear the sound of him trying to breathe through something that isn't quite composed. "You can't die before I get to ask you properly."

On the fifth day, your fingers twitch.

It's small. Involuntary. But it's movement, and Zuko reacts like you've just defeated a hundred Fire Nation soldiers. He calls for Katara immediately, urgency cracking his careful composure. Within hours, the poison's grip loosens degree by degree. Your lungs remember how to breathe without prompting. Your eyes flutter open to find his golden gaze absolutely wrecked with relief.

"You came back," he says, and it's not quite a question.

You try to speak, but your throat is sandpaper. He brings water to your lips with steady hands, and you drink, and somewhere in the back of the tent, someone gasps.

"Oh my god," Sokka's voice carries the specific tone of someone who's just solved a puzzle he didn't know he was working on. "You two are—that's why he's been—oh my god, they're together."

There's a beat of silence. Then Aang laughs—a real laugh, surprised and delighted. "That's… actually kind of sweet? I mean, we figured something was up when he basically threatened to burn down the world if anyone couldn't save her, but—"

"Zuko," Katara says, and you can hear the smile in her voice despite the concern still threading through it. "You could have just told us."

Zuko's hand tightens around yours, and when you meet his eyes, you see the question there. The vulnerability. The absolute terror of having almost lost you before anyone even knew to be careful with what you meant to each other.

"We were taking it slow," he says quietly, though his eyes never leave your face. "We wanted to be sure before—" He stops, and something in him settles. Decides. "Before we told everyone that she's going to be Fire Lady."

There's a stunned silence.

Then Sokka whoops, and Aang is suddenly very interested in the exact details of when this started, and Katara is already planning something with the expression of someone who's been waiting years for good news like this.

But Zuko—beautiful, graceful, dangerous Zuko—just leans down and presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in like you're oxygen and he's been drowning.

"Still want to marry me?" he whispers. "Even after I let you get poisoned?"

You manage a small laugh. Your voice is wrecked, but it's there: "Especially after."

His smile against your skin is fire and home and everything you thought you'd never get to keep.

"Good," he murmurs. "Because I'm not waiting for the proper proposal anymore. The ring is in my quarters, and as soon as you can move, we're making this official. I don't care who has opinions about it."

"Very romantic, Zuko," you tease weakly.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his golden eyes are intense, steady, absolutely sure.

"You poisoned yourself and survived," he says simply. "You've already proven you can handle anything. I'm just trying to keep up."

And when he kisses you—soft and careful, like you're something precious and fragile—the whole tent erupts in chaos.

It's perfect.

Lacy Pairing: Adult! Zuko x Reader

Summary: Katara has always been everything you think you'll never be. As jealousy slowly twists love into self-doubt, you're left wondering if the Fire Lord's heart was ever truly yours to begin with.

Word Count: ~9k (estimate)

Warnings: jealousy, insecurity, low self-esteem, angst with comfort, established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, happy ending

Author's Note: okay... this one hurt a little 😭 it's heavily inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo (if that wasn't painfully obvious lol). while i was writing this, i actually had a few tears roll down my face because i could relate to that feeling of constantly comparing yourself to someone who seems so effortlessly beautiful, kind, or perfect. thankfully not the relationship part 😭 just the insecurity and the whole "why can't i be like her?" mindset. anyway, i hope i did the song justice. as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome :)

The Fire Lord's study is warm with the glow of late afternoon sunlight filtering through paper screens, and you should feel at home here. You do, usually. But today, sitting across from Zuko as he reviews documents with that infuriatingly perfect composed expression, you feel like you're suffocating.

"The delegation from the Earth Kingdom arrives tomorrow," he says, not looking up from the scroll. His long black hair falls like silk over his shoulder as he leans forward, the candlelight catching the amber undertones. It's not fair how beautiful he is when he's focused like this. It never was. "We'll need to coordinate with—"

"With Katara?" you hear yourself ask.

He glances up, and those golden eyes—those steady, thoughtful eyes that supposedly only look at you like that—flicker with something you can't quite name. "Yes, actually. She'll be leading the water tribe's interests, so—"

Lacy, oh, Lacy, skin like puff pastry Aren't you the sweetest thing on this side of hell?

You turn away, pretending to study the map on his wall. You know her skin is like that—soft, flawless, sun-kissed in that effortless way that makes people stop mid-conversation. You've watched heads turn when she enters a room. You've watched his head turn.

"She'll be here in a few days," Zuko continues, and you hear him set down his brush. "Actually, I was hoping we could discuss the water tribe's concerns before she arrives so we can—"

"So you can impress her with how prepared you are?" The words slip out before you can catch them, bitter and ugly.

Zuko goes very still. The kind of still he gets when he's calculating his next move. When he was a prince, that stillness meant danger. Now, it just means he's hurt.

"That's not what I meant," he says quietly, and that's almost worse than anger would be.

You watch him rise from his desk, all that practiced grace and royal bearing, and it makes your chest ache. He's taller than he used to be—broader, stronger, built like someone who spent years carrying the weight of a nation's redemption. Built like someone who should have someone equally magnificent by his side.

Someone like her.

"I don't want to fight about this," Zuko says, and his voice is so gentle, so achingly patient, and you hate it. You hate that he's trying. You hate that he's good. You hate that he's—

"Fire Lord Zuko?" A messenger appears at the door, bowing so low they nearly touch the floor. "We've received word. Lady Katara's ship will arrive tomorrow morning instead. She's traveling faster than anticipated."

You watch Zuko's expression shift—not drastically, not enough that anyone else would notice. But you notice. A subtle lift in his shoulders. A barely perceptible softening around his eyes.

Dear angel Lacy, eyes white as daisies Did I ever tell you that I'm not doing well?

After the messenger leaves, the room feels impossibly small.

"That's good," you say flatly. "You'll have more time together."

"You're being unreasonable," Zuko says, and there's the first edge of frustration in his voice. Finally. "Katara and I are friends. Allies. We've been through a war together—"

"I know exactly what you've been through together."

He steps toward you, and you hate how your body responds—the way your breath catches even though your heart is breaking. His hair spills over his shoulder like liquid night, framing his face and that scar that somehow makes him look even more striking, like he's been tested by fire and emerged flawless.

"You," Zuko says, and his voice is low, serious, the voice of a Fire Lord who's learned to command respect, "are the one I chose. You're the one I come home to. You're the one I—" He stops, shaking his head. "Why can't you see that?"

Ooh, I care, I care, I care Like perfume that you wear I linger all the time Watchin', hidden in plain sight

Because you see the way his eyes light up when she walks into a room. Because you've watched her laugh at something he said, and watched him lean in slightly, that familiar half-smile playing at his lips. Because last month at the council meeting, she complimented his robes—"That red really brings out your eyes," she said, and you watched him blush, actually blush, that soft color rising in his cheeks—and he looked at her like she'd just given him the highest honor in all the nations.

Because she's Katara. Because she's brilliant and brave and beautiful in that way that transcends ordinary prettiness. Because she spent three years helping him heal, literally and figuratively, and how could he not feel something for her? How could anyone not?

"I see it," you whisper. "I see everything."

Zuko reaches for you, but you step back. His hand drops to his side, and you watch his expression close off—not angry, never angry with you, but hurt. The kind of hurt that comes from loving someone who doesn't believe you.

"Katara is just a friend," he says carefully, as if explaining something to someone who doesn't understand common sense. "We've known each other for over a decade. There's nothing—"

"Then why does your whole face change when she's mentioned?"

The words hang in the air between you like a physical thing, and you can see him processing them, trying to figure out if they're true. And that's the worst part—he is trying. He's thinking back through moments, questioning his own expressions, his own heart.

Watchin', hidden in plain sight

You've become that person. The one who watches in shadows. The jealous girlfriend analyzing every interaction, every glance, every word that might mean something it shouldn't.

When did you become this?

"I don't know what you want me to say," Zuko says finally, and he sounds exhausted. "I love you. I've never lied to you about that. But you're determined to find something wrong, and I don't know how to convince you that there isn't."

"Maybe I just want you to admit—"

"Admit what? That I find her attractive? Fine. Yes. She's beautiful. She's one of the most remarkable people I know. Is that what you want to hear? Because I also find you beautiful. I also think you're remarkable. I also—" He stops, running a hand through his hair, and the gesture is so frustrated, so human, that it breaks something in you. "I can't do this."

He turns away, walks to the window, and stares out at the Fire Nation sunset bleeding across the sky in shades of crimson and gold.

Ooh, I try, I try, I try But it takes over my life

You want to apologize. You want to cross the space between you and wrap your arms around him and tell him you're sorry, you're scared, you're terrified that you're not enough. You want to bury your face in his neck and breathe in the scent of him—something like smoke and sandalwood and home—and pretend you never said any of this.

But you don't.

Instead, you stand there in the Fire Lord's study as the sun sets, watching his silhouette against the window, his beautiful long hair catching the last rays of light, his shoulders tense with the weight of trying to love someone who won't let him.

"She arrives tomorrow," you say quietly. "You should get some rest."

You turn to leave, and you don't look back even though every part of you wants to. Even though you can feel him watching you go, and the guilt is drowning you, and the love is suffocating you, and the doubt is poisoning everything you touch.

I see you everywhere The sweetest torture one could bear

That night, you lie in bed next to him—because he asked you not to leave, and you couldn't bear to be away from him—and you listen to him sleep. His breathing is deep and even, his hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink, and he's so beautiful in the darkness that it hurts to look at him.

You think about Katara arriving tomorrow. You think about the way Zuko will stand to greet her, probably taking both her hands in that respectful Earth Kingdom way he's adopted. You think about whatever conversation they'll have that doesn't include you. You think about how she'll probably smile at him in that warm, genuine way she smiles at everyone, and how it will feel like a knife in your ribs even though she won't mean anything by it.

Smart sexy Lacy, I'm losing it lately I feel your compliments like bullets on skin

And then, in the quiet dark, Zuko reaches for you in his sleep. Even unconscious, he finds you. His arm settles across your waist, and his face presses into your hair, and he pulls you closer like you're the one thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

You lay there, rigid and careful not to move, feeling the warmth of him and the weight of his trust and the terrible, consuming certainty that it's not going to be enough.

The next morning, you watch from the tower as Katara's ship cuts through the harbor, white sails billowing like clouds. She stands at the prow, and the sun seems to follow her—catching in her hair, illuminating her skin, making her look like she belongs to daylight itself.

Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate Well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?

Zuko stands beside you, and you feel him tense. You watch his hand grip the railing, watch his jaw tighten, and you think: there it is. That's the look you've been dreading. That's the look that confirms everything you've been afraid of.

But when you glance at him, his expression is conflicted. He's looking at Katara's ship, yes, but his other hand—the one not gripping the railing—is reaching toward you.

"Come with me to greet her," he says. It's not a request.

You want to refuse. You want to make him feel even a fraction of what you're feeling. You want to be petty and cruel and give him a reason to actually look at you the way you think he's looking at her.

Instead, you take his hand.

His fingers close around yours, warm and solid and grounding, and for just a moment, you let yourself believe that this might be okay. That you might be enough.

Ooh, I care, I care, I care Like ribbons in your hair

When Katara disembarks, she's glowing with travel and purpose, her water tribe furs pristine, her eyes bright with the excitement of seeing everyone again. She hugs Zuko—just a quick, friendly embrace—and his arm comes up to pat her back in that way of old friends.

She turns to you next, and her smile is warm and genuine and exactly the same as it would be for anyone else.

"You look amazing," she says, pulling you into a hug. "Fire Nation living must agree with you."

And that's when it hits you, sitting there in her embrace, breathing in the scent of sea and ice magic: she has no idea. She has no idea that you've spent months convinced she's the reason your relationship might be falling apart. She has no idea that you've been watching her like she's your personal demon, cataloging every interaction, every word, building her up in your mind into something larger than life.

She's just Katara. She's just a woman doing her job, being kind to her friends, living her life.

My stomach's all in knots You got the one thing that I want

But that's the thing about jealousy, isn't it? It doesn't care about logic. It doesn't care about reality. It just eats you from the inside out, makes you small and bitter and unrecognizable to yourself.

That evening, Zuko has to work with Katara and the other dignitaries, discussing water tribe concerns and trade agreements. You excuse yourself early, citing fatigue, and you spend the night alone in the royal chambers.

He comes to bed late, and you pretend to be asleep.

It takes three more days for you to realize what you're doing.

You're poisoning it. You're poisoning him. You're poisoning yourself.

Zuko catches you watching him from across the council room as he listens intently to Katara explain water tribe concerns, and something in his eyes breaks. It's not angry. It's not even frustrated anymore. It's sad. It's the look of someone who loves you and doesn't understand why you won't let him.

Lacy, oh, Lacy, it's like you're out to get me You poison every little thing that I do

That night, you finally say something.

"I'm sorry," you whisper in the dark.

Zuko is quiet for a long moment, and you think maybe he's asleep, but then he shifts, reaching for you. You let him pull you close, let him tuck your head under his chin, let him hold you like you matter.

"I don't want to fight," he says into your hair. "I don't want to watch you torture yourself like this. And I don't want to torture myself trying to prove something that shouldn't need proving."

"I know," you say, and the words are so small, so broken. "I know, and I'm sorry. I just… I saw the way you looked at her, and I—"

"I looked at her the way I look at all my friends," Zuko says firmly. "I looked at her the way I look at Sokka, or Toph, or Aang. People I care about. People who helped me become who I am." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his golden eyes are serious. "But you're the one I love. You're the one I chose to build a life with. You're the one I see when I wake up."

Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately And I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you

"What if I'm not enough?" The question comes out as barely a whisper.

"Then neither am I," Zuko says. "Because I look at you, and I think you're everything. I think you're the most beautiful, intelligent, kind person I know. I think I'm lucky every single day that you chose me."

He kisses your forehead, and it's so tender that you want to cry.

"Katara is my friend. A good friend. Someone I respect deeply. But she's not—" He shakes his head. "There's no competition here. There's just you and me, and what we're building, and I need you to believe that. Not because I tell you to. But because you look at yourself the way I look at you and realize that you have nothing to be jealous of."

You spend that night pressed against him, and for the first time in weeks, you don't feel like you're suffocating.

It's not a fix. Not really. Jealousy doesn't disappear just because someone tells you they love you. The insecurity lingers like a bad habit, like a song you can't get out of your head.

But you try.

When Katara makes a joke during council meetings and Zuko laughs—really laughs—you don't clench your fists. You just listen to the sound and remember that laughter is good. That joy is good. That his capacity to find happiness with his friends doesn't diminish what he feels for you.

And slowly, painfully, you stop seeing her as a threat.

One afternoon, you actually ask her for advice on a Fire Nation diplomatic matter, and she gives it thoughtfully, genuinely trying to help. And you realize she'd been doing this the whole time—just being kind, just being herself, just living her life—and you'd been the one writing a narrative that didn't exist.

Yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you

The night before Katara leaves, Zuko braids your hair for you—something he's learned to do from watching her, actually, in an ironic twist that makes you laugh instead of cry. His fingers are gentle as he weaves the strands, and you sit between his legs, your back against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

"Thank you," you say.

"For the braid?" he asks, amused.

"For not giving up on me. For not… for still being here even though I made this so hard."

He kisses the top of your head, and his hair—so long, so beautiful, so distinctly his—falls around you both like a curtain.

"Always," he says simply.

And maybe that's all love is, at the end of the day. Not the absence of doubt, but the choice to stay anyway. Not the absence of jealousy, but the choice to work through it. Not believing you're enough, but believing that he thinks you're enough, and trusting him enough to eventually believe it yourself.

Pairing: Adult! Zuko x Female!Reader

Summary: Being forced into an arranged marriage with the Fire Lord is bad enough. Realizing he's kind, ridiculously attractive, and somehow convinced you hate him? That's definitely worse.

Word Count: ~4.5k (estimate)

Warnings: arranged marriage, misunderstandings, mutual pining, social anxiety, fluff, slow burn, soft intimacy, happy ending

Author's Note: okay so this is just zuko being the sweetest, most patient man alive 😭 i loved the idea of a reader who accidentally looks angry all the time when they're actually just really shy. 

The throne room of the Fire Nation palace feels colder than it should.

You stand at the far end, positioned like a piece on a board game that never asked to be moved. Your arranged betrothal was announced three days ago—a political alliance, some said. A union to strengthen ties with your family, others whispered. You called it a prison sentence with silk curtains and gold trim.

Your mother spent hours grooming you for this moment, pinching your cheeks until they flushed, reminding you to smile, darling, try not to look so… severe. As if you could help the way your face naturally settled into what she called "that expression." As if being trapped in an arrangement with a stranger was supposed to make you beam with joy.

The doors swing open.

You don't look up. You've trained yourself not to—it's easier to maintain your walls when you're not making eye contact. But even without looking, you can feel him. There's a shift in the air, a warmth that has nothing to do with the eternal flames licking at the palace braziers.

Fire Lord Zuko enters like he was born walking into rooms. Like every step is deliberate, purposeful, graceful.

And then you make the mistake of glancing up.

Oh, gods.

Your heart performs an involuntary gymnastics routine that you have no control over. He's tall—so much taller than the reports suggested. His shoulders are broad, the kind of broad that comes from a lifetime of discipline and training, and he wears his Fire Nation formal robes like they were designed specifically for his frame. Rich crimson and black silk, detailed with gold threading that catches the light like captured fire. His long black hair falls past his shoulders, framing a face that seems almost unfairly beautiful—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and those eyes.

His left eye bears the ragged edge of his scar, pale against his skin, and yet somehow it only makes him more striking. Both eyes are a molten amber that seem to hold the weight of a kingdom, intelligent and calculating and—

He's looking at you.

Your face immediately shifts into what you can only assume is your most menacing glare. It's a defense mechanism at this point, your features rearranging themselves into something cold and unapproachable before you can stop them. You tear your gaze away, staring instead at a point on the wall just past his left shoulder.

You don't miss the way his expression flickers. Confusion? Disappointment? It's gone too quickly to tell.

"Your Highness," the Fire Lord says, and his voice is like warm honey—unexpected softness wrapped around something strong. He bows, a gesture that seems ridiculous given that he's essentially your future husband, and you're trying very hard not to notice the way his hair catches the light when he moves. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Your jaw tightens. Of course he's charming. Handsome and charming. The universe's idea of a joke at your expense.

You offer a stiff nod, still refusing to look directly at him. The silence stretches, uncomfortable and heavy.

"Perhaps we should speak privately?" he suggests, and there's something almost hopeful in his tone. "There's much we should discuss about the arrangement."

You finally meet his eyes for half a second—long enough to see them searching your face for something, anything—before you turn on your heel and stride past him. Not rude enough to be outright disobedient, but cold enough to make your point clear: you have no interest in this. You have no interest in him.

Behind you, you hear him exhale slowly. It sounds almost like resignation.

It gets worse.

Over the following weeks, you're forced into proximity after proximity. State dinners where Zuko sits across from you, his golden eyes tracking your every movement. Political meetings where he somehow always ends up sitting beside you, his warmth a constant, distracting presence. Family walks through the palace gardens where he attempts conversation and you respond with monosyllabic answers and glacial stares.

The worst part? Everyone else loves him.

You watch from a shadowed corner of the dining hall as your future sister-in-law throws her head back laughing at something he's said, her face lit up with genuine joy. His smile—a real smile, not the diplomatic one he gives you—is warm and easy, and it transforms his entire face into something almost boyish. He listens to the servants with genuine interest, asks them questions about their families, remembers their names.

But with you?

You catch him studying you sometimes when he thinks you're not looking, his expression unreadable. That's when you turn your head away the quickest. Because the more time you spend around him, the more you realize how spectacularly unfair he is. No one should be allowed to look like that and be genuinely kind.

No one should be allowed to make your traitorous heart skip when he walks into a room.

It happens three weeks into the arrangement, and you're furious at yourself for it.

You're in the palace library, supposedly researching Fire Nation history for your upcoming wedding ceremony. In reality, you're hiding from another dinner where Zuko will inevitably try to engage you in conversation and you'll inevitably respond like a glacier with a conscience.

He finds you between two towering shelves, afternoon sunlight filtering through the window and catching in his dark hair like gold leaf.

"There you are," he says, and there's something different about his voice. Something that sounds dangerously close to exhaustion. "I was wondering if you'd—" He stops, and you watch his shoulders drop slightly. "Never mind. You're probably reading something important."

He starts to leave.

Against every instinct screaming at you to let him go, you find yourself speaking. "Wait."

He turns, eyebrows raised with something that might be hope. You immediately feel your defenses rising, your face falling back into its default position of disdain. But you force yourself to stay, to not run away like you've been doing.

"I…" Your voice comes out smaller than you'd like, betraying the anxiety beneath all your walls. "I wasn't reading. I was just… I needed some quiet."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can feel him assessing you. Really looking at you, not at the mask you wear. "From all the wedding preparations?"

You nod slightly, still not meeting his eyes directly. From you, you think but don't say.

"I understand." He moves deeper into the shelves, but not too close—giving you space, you realize. Showing you he's not a threat. "I found these archives overwhelming too, when I first became Fire Lord. Everything feels very… final. Very heavy."

Something in his tone makes you glance at him. His golden eyes are reflecting the sunlight, and they look almost sad. He's looking at the shelf of books, not at you, and for some reason that makes it easier to speak.

"Does it get easier?" you ask quietly. "Feeling trapped in something you didn't choose?"

The question hangs in the air between you. You realize too late what you've admitted.

Zuko is quiet for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost vulnerable. "I was a prisoner once. Not literally, though that too. But I meant…" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I was trapped in expectations. In anger. In the belief that I wasn't worthy of anything good, and that I deserved only what was taken from me."

He finally looks at you, and his gaze is steady, unflinching. "The cage wasn't the worst part. The worst part was believing I belonged inside it."

Your throat feels tight.

"How did you escape?" you whisper.

"Someone showed me I didn't have to." He gives you a small, sad smile. "But I had to let them. I had to stop pushing them away, even though I was terrified."

The subtext hangs between you like a held breath. He thinks you're pushing him away. He thinks you're terrified. And gods, he's not wrong.

"I'm not good at this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "At people. At… at you."

"I know," he says, and it's somehow more comforting than if he'd denied it. "But you're kind to everyone else. I see it. The way you speak to the staff, the way you read to the children in the lower city. You have this light, and it's…" He trails off, shaking his head like he's said too much. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to—I know you don't feel the same way."

"You don't know that," you blurt out, before your brain can catch up to your mouth.

He goes very still.

You're already mortified, already backpedaling. "I just mean—I'm difficult. I can't seem to control my face, and I know I probably look like I hate you constantly, but I don't. I'm just—" You squeeze your eyes shut, hating yourself. "Shy. And terrified. And you're so—"

"So?" His voice is gentle, almost teasing.

Your eyes snap open. "Don't make me say it."

A smile blooms across his face, slow and genuine and absolutely devastating. It's the kind of smile that makes his entire face soften, that reaches his golden eyes and makes them shimmer with something like hope. Something like joy.

"What?" he asks, stepping closer, and his voice has a warm amusement to it. "Not going to tell me I'm 'annoyingly attractive' or 'infuriatingly graceful'?"

Despite everything, despite your mortification and your anxiety and the four-alarm fire his proximity is setting off in your chest, you feel a laugh bubbling up. It comes out as a small, startled sound, and his smile widens.

"For what it's worth," he says softly, "you're the most beautiful thing I've seen since the moment you walked into the throne room. And your 'resting bitch face,' as I've heard it called, is absolutely terrifying."

You make a small noise that might be a laugh or might be a cry of embarrassment. Probably both.

"But your smile," he continues, reaching out carefully, as if you're something wild that might bolt, "is worth every cold stare. It's worth the walls you put up. Because it means you're letting me in, even just a little."

His hand hovers near yours, not quite touching. Asking permission.

You think about running. You think about retreating to your comfortable cage of indifference and ice.

Instead, you reach out.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact sends electricity up your arm. His hand is warm, calloused from a lifetime of bending, and when he gently closes his fingers around yours, you feel something crack open inside your chest.

"Hi," he says softly. "I'm Zuko. Would you like to get to know me?"

You're trembling slightly, still terrified, but you take a breath.

"Hi," you whisper back. "I'm… working on letting people in. But I'd like to try."

He squeezes your hand gently, and when he smiles again, it's like the sun breaking through clouds you didn't know were blocking out the sky.

"That's all I've ever wanted to ask for," he says.

The wedding happens on a night when the fire lilies are in full bloom, their crimson petals falling like snow. You wear white and gold, colors that make you feel less like a political pawn and more like a bride. Zuko wears his finest robes, and when you meet his eyes across the ceremony, you don't look away.

His smile is soft, patient, and it promises that he'll wait for you to catch up. That he'll give you time to shed your walls brick by brick.

You're still terrified. Still struggling with the way your face naturally settles into something cold when you're nervous. But now, at least, Zuko understands. He sees the shyness beneath the glare, the tender heart hiding under all those careful defenses.

When he takes your hand during the ceremony, his touch is warm and grounding. When he cups your face gently and kisses you for the first time as your husband, it's soft and asking and so achingly tender that you feel tears prick your eyes.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing the same air.

"We can take this as slow as you need," he murmurs. "All the time in the world."

And as his golden eyes search your face—not looking for judgment or coldness, but for the real you beneath—you finally, finally let yourself smile.

i've been thinking about buying the maybelline cloudtopia blush, but the reviews i've come across haven't really helped much. if you've tried it (or know someone who has), i'd really love to hear your thoughts. ♡

where do i even begin...

first of all, i'm so incredibly sorry for disappearing without a word. i know i haven't been active since the end of april, and i truly understand how disappointing that must have been for everyone waiting for updates, requests, or even just hearing from me.

back in june, i posted saying that i was officially coming back. i really believed i was. i had every intention of returning then, but life had other plans. school became even more demanding than i expected, i ended up getting the flu shortly after, and everything just kept piling up. i hated that i couldn't keep the promise i made, and i'm genuinely sorry for that.

this little blog has always meant so much to me. it isn't just somewhere i post stories—it's become one of my favorite little corners of the internet, filled with people who have been nothing but kind and patient. every time i thought about how long i'd been gone, i felt guilty for leaving without another update.

the good news is that i never stopped writing.

over these past few months, i've written nine brand-new fanfictions, and i'm so excited to finally share them with you all. these are completely separate from my requests—they're just stories i've been working on because inspiration kept finding me even while i was away. i'll be posting all nine throughout this week, so there'll be lots to read.

and because i haven't forgotten, i have another little treat after that. ♡

i'll also be working through all of the requests that have been waiting for me. every request is still important to me, and i want to give each one the time and love it deserves, so they'll be coming alongside my return rather than being forgotten.

thank you to everyone who stayed, everyone who checked in, everyone who continued reading my stories, and even everyone who simply waited. your patience means more to me than i could ever put into words.

i'm really hoping this time i'm back for good. i missed writing. i missed talking to all of you. and i missed having this little space to call home.

thank you for welcoming me back, and i hope you'll enjoy everything that's coming. 🤍