#atla fluff

It was all because of a stupid joke Toph made at dinner; one that everyone took lightly but you.

“So since Aang’s still alive..” she started with a dirty snicker at the man’s absence, quite tipsy, playfully nudging Katara’s side. “That means the Airbenders could be brought back. Think you and him could repopulate the Air nation, Sugar Queen? Have little Airbender babies filling up the temples?”

“What the hell— No!” Katara shoves her off, flustered and embarrassed, groaning in defeat at the others’ laughs.

Zuko offers her a timid smile, his words a little slurred from the drinking. “But it’s true, no? That would be a very heroic act, Katara.”

“Drop it, you guysss..” she sighs, downing one more shot, Toph’s noisy cackling mingling with Sokka’s until they’re interrupted by their synchronized hiccuping, which only causes them to laugh even louder.

Your grip tightens around your glass. You were glad nobody was looking at you; you wouldn’t know how to justify the glare you were throwing their way.

Images of Aang and Katara naked and tangled under the sheets suddenly plagued your mind, and you couldn’t tell if they were the cause of your headache or if that was the work of your sixth drink.

You huff, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking the thoughts off. This was ridiculous.

You push yourself up from the floor, and that piques Katara’s attention. She looks up at you, a little worried. “Leaving already? Is everything okay, sweetie?”

A twinge of guilt tugs at your heartstrings at the genuine worry in her voice. You give her a small nod, and your best attempt at a smile, “Just had too much to drink, don’t worry. I’ll go upstairs, to check on Aang.”

“Gooood,” Toph drawls through a fit of giggles, raising her hand to give you a thumbs up while Sokka refills her mug. “Tell him that Katara’s gonna bring back the Air nation while you’re at it. Gonna give him loooots of babies. Pregnant Katara, pregnant with little Airbenders. Buuunch of ‘em.”

Your lips purse tightly, and as much as you wanted to, you refrain from throwing your glass at her face. “.. Alright. Goodbye.”

You walk off, Katara’s exasperated denials and Toph’s increasingly dirty jokes fading into a dull noise as you storm up the stairs.

You don’t even know why this was upsetting you so badly. Sure, you had a little crush on Aang but.. it’s not like he was yours. He probably would never be.

You weren’t even a bender; so why in the world would he ever pick you over Katara?

Sweet, pretty, skilled Katara. Unbearably perfect Katara.

Everyone in the group pictured them together for good reason; she was the perfect match for him. And you did love them both a lot as your dear friends.. so why were you this worked up?

Tears prick at your eyes when you stand in front of Aang’s door. You quickly wipe them off with the back of your hand, bewildered at the fact that you were actually crying over this.

You sigh. You shouldn’t have had so much to drink, this was all the alcohol.

After a few more minutes of mulling over your words and composing yourself, you knock on the door softly. Three knocks.

“Come in!” His voice, breezy like always but a little weighed down by the exhaustion of night work, shoots right through your chest like an arrow. You suck in a sharp breath, then slowly slide the door open.

“Ohh, thank Spirits you’re here.” He practically whines as he tips his head back against his chair, limp as a ragdoll. “Dumb Avatar work won’t end, I swear I thought I was about to die from boredom. You’re my savior.”

You force a small smile and walk over to his desk, setting down your glass with a bit of sake left, that he wastes no time in stealing and chugging down in a second.

He exhales with a wide grin, very pleased, melting back against his chair. “Really, really my savior.”

You stare at him silently. Your gaze lingers on the pretty arch of his eyebrows, the light blush already tinting his cheeks because he had the liquor tolerance of a two year old, the adorable twinkle in those tired, happy doe eyes..

You look further down, noting the squeeze of his too-big back against the borrowed chair, and the way his legs twisted uncomfortably to fit under the somehow small-for-him desk.

Downsides of a bigger build, huh. Your mouth dries up a little.

It physically hurt that you couldn’t have him.

His puzzled, sad frown snaps you out of your haze. “You’re not even listening to me.. am I boring you?”

“Oh, no, no, not at all. I’m sorry.” You wave your hands wildly, embarrassed and grateful that he seemingly didn’t pick up on your inappropriate leering. “I just.. just..”

The more you look into his eyes, the heavier your heart feels.

Your friends’ words keep ringing in the back of your head, the filthy images of him and Katara together in different positions refusing to leave your tipsy mind.

Spirits, you felt like you could cry again. Damn you, inhibition-lowering alcohol. And damn you, Toph.

Once again, you’re pulled out of your thoughts by him. His large hand wraps around yours, his features scrunched in worry at the sight of your teary eyes. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Now was not the time for his stupid nicknames. This was so unfair to your poor heart.

“I am. It’s just.. this dumb thing that happened earlier.” You look down at your hand in his, your eyes welling up much to your embarrassment and dismay.

His fingers gently curl around yours, urging you to look at him. “What dumb thing? Please tell me.”

‘No.’ You wanted to say. ‘It concerns you, so how could I tell you?’ You tell yourself.

Staying silent or lying was the smart idea.

..

Maybe you would’ve been smarter sober.

With the alcohol in your system, and those beautiful eyes boring into yours so intimately in the dark of the night, the moonlight reflecting in his pupils.. you don’t feel the words spill out of your lips until you hear them yourself.

“It’s nothing. Just a joke Toph made,” with each syllable that left your mouth, your brain desperately tried to hit the brakes and shut you up, regret already pooling in your gut as you helplessly watched yourself commit the stupidest mistake of your life. “About.. you and Katara. Talked about you two.. uhm.. repopulating the Air nation, or whatever. Like.. Airbenders aren’t totally extinct since you.. you’re still here. You could, y’know, make more—”

“I-I get the gist,” he interjects, blushing while his grip tightens around your hand. He sighs lowly and shakes the thought off. “Of course it’s Toph. But.. I’m still lost.”

He tilts his head, blinking up at you so sweetly you almost melt. “I think I get the joke. Dirty, sure. But I’m not sure why it’s sad?”

“Sad?” You answer back, just as puzzled. “It’s not sad, though?”

He nods, both of you like lost puppies. “I know. So why is it making you cry?”

Fuck.

Your addled brain racks itself to come up with a reason fast enough, but oh, who were you kidding?

“It’s just..” you look down at the empty glass, wishing it was full so you could down it and hopefully choke on it. “..I don’t know.”

Could you have picked a worse answer? Hard to tell.

A long silence settles between you two, and you can feel his heavy, curious gaze on you without even needing to look at him. You regret doing so, because with the way his eyes suspiciously narrow, his oblivious mind exhausting the possible explanations for your state, you can see him work closer up to the conclusion.

“Welp,” you force an awkward chuckle, patting his hand before sliding yours off his grasp and taking a few steps back, hoping to make it out of here before he figures it out. “I’m sorry to bother you, Aang. It’s nothing really, I think it’s just the drinks getting to me. You know how they always make me soo emotional. Anyway, I just wanted to check up on you, so I’ll get going now.”

You turn around and pick up your pace, but before your fingers find the knob, a gust of wind pushes the door just right out of your reach.

“Wait.” His voice sends a shiver up your spine, cold sweat suddenly rolling off your temples. “Are you..?”

He trails off again, and your limbs grow shakier. This was such a dumb idea, why did you even have to go up to his office? Dumb, dumb, dumb.

You take a deep breath and take one more step to the door, but this time it’s slammed shut with a sharper gust.

“Were you..” You can hear the scraping of his chair as he stands up, your heart sinking down to your ass. “.. Jealous?”

And, unfortunately, there it was.

Even then, knowing Aang, you could’ve still flipped it around. Laughed and played it off. Told him he was wrong. He would’ve believed you.

But, unable to even look up from the door knob, the dumbest answer rolls out of your heavy tongue, a tipsy lightheadedness washing over you for a second. “.. Yes.”

At this point, you didn’t even care anymore. It couldn’t possibly get any worse than this. Maybe now he could laugh at how weird you were being and send you off, finally putting off the burning flames in your chest.

You wait for the longest time, neither of you moving, and right when you expect him to burst out giggling, a firm command escapes his lips instead. “Turn around.”

You blink, dazed.

You slowly turn around, and your breath hitches at the sight before you. Aang standing with his palms flat against the desk, his chest silently heaving, wisps of steam slipping out of his parted lips, more redness across his cheeks, broad and bulky and scary with his no longer sparkling eyes.

There was only what you could describe as heat in them. Not from anger, no, but something awfully akin to lust that had a foreign heat pooling deep in your lower tummy.

Was the alcohol making you see things? Was this just wishful thinking?

“Come here,” he orders again, but it’s shaky this time. Your feet comply before you can process it, and you feel your guts twisting with dread and hopeful anticipation.

Spirits, did you make him uncomfortable? You’d never seen him like this before.

When you finally stand before him, only the desk separating you, your fingers curl around your skirt in guilt. “Aang, I’m so sorry. You already have enough on your plate, I shouldn’t have said anything— Mmf!!”

You’re cut off with a rough kiss, sudden and heated from the get-go, big hands cupping your cheeks as his lips smush against yours in a sloppy mess. You want to make sense of it, but it’s hard to care when your brain’s this fuzzy and you’re living out one of your nightly fantasies.

Neither of you want to stop, breathlessly lapping at each other’s warm tongues and moaning at the unfamiliar feel, swapping sweet sake-flavored saliva.

He reluctantly breaks it with a wet pop, gazing down at you so desperately it had you squeezing your thighs together.

“Don’t move.” Aang whispers, trailing around the table to stand behind you, the order nailing your feet down to the floor. A soft gasp slips from your kiss-bitten lips when his hands tentatively rest on your hips, his breath hot against your ear as his buff body presses against your back. “Is this what you wanted?”

With his touch slowly travelling down to your thighs, all words die out on the tip of your tongue and you can only nod, swallowing thickly.

“You were jealous.” He states again, his voice low and gravelly, like the fact wasn’t embarrassing enough being said the one time. “You’d rather Toph made that joke about you, correct?”

You would’ve answered that, if something huge didn’t poke you in the ass the next second.

Heavens, what the hell was— Oh.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Aang murmurs into your ear, giving your thighs reassuring rubs as he grows unbearably hard against your backside. “I don’t want to.. repopulate the Air nation with Katara, if that’s any consolation. I don’t.”

The words do soothe you a little, but the dirty images are burnt into the back of your eyelids, looping in your mind like a cruel parade, making you shudder against him. “Thank you. I just.. I keep imagining it, and it kills me. Just imagining you on top of her and fucking her— Ah!”

You squeal, startled, when you’re swiftly spun around with not so breezy hands, facing his towering figure with a lick of your bottom lip.

His hands hook around the hem, sliding his shirt off to reveal his muscular frame in all its glory, your gaze sliding down the arrow tattoos, but you’re not given much time before the same hands slide down to the back of your thighs to lift you up on the desk.

He sweeps off the paperwork, crowded between your legs, and you can’t help but moan at how much your thighs have to spread just to wrap around his waist.

So big. In every sense of the word.

“This— Is this what you imagine?” The question’s breathless, lowering himself to look at you and you throb at the eye contact. So does he, judging from the twitching you feel against your inner thigh.

You let out a quivery sigh, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders while he leans even closer, his steamy breath mingling with yours. “..Kind of..”

He nods at that, glances around hesitantly, then decides to push you flat down on the desk. It’s firm but not rough, your head landing softly on the hardwood thanks to an air cushion he swirled up. “How about this?”

You’re about to reply with a “maybe” when wild fingers swiftly fumble with his belt, lowering his pants enough for him to spring up— WOAH!

Your face is set ablaze, quickly looking away, eyes blown wide open in a mix of shock, dread, and helpless arousal.

His hands find your hips once more, tugging your skirt up to reveal your plush thighs and a patch of your lacies that has him choking on a gasp.

He grabs your jaw, turning your head back to face him, desire and uncertainty swimming in his pretty brown eyes. “Are you.. sure about this? There’s no going back.”

“Please,” it slips out of you with a needy gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist while your hands roam over his wide shoulders. “Yes.”

With the blood rushing in your ears, you can’t hear his whispered word, but from the way his face scrunches up, you assume it was a curse.

Your skirt is fully ridden up with a gust of wind, one that (unintentionally or not) flicks up against your clothed folds and has you shivering in his grasp.

Thick fingers tug the delicate fabric to the side, and he moans in awe at the sight of your drooling slit, already so ready for him.

“So wet,” he comments as he admires the slick coating your glistening cunt, not ripping his eyes off it like it was a piece of art. The prolonged staring makes you self-conscious and embarrassed, but when your thighs shift just a little bit to hide yourself, firm hands keep them separated and he looks up at you, mildly offended. “No, don’t hide from me. You asked for this.”

“Well, I didn’t think your staring was on the menu,” you sputter out, flushed.

“I’m sorry, she’s just so beautiful.” He sighs softly, and your breath is knocked out of your lungs when he starts tracing your folds. “I can’t believe you’re already this wet. You wanted me this badly?”

His questions are genuine, but they only increase your shame. Aang senses that, and so decides to finally give you a taste of what you want.

“Fuck—!” Your back archs off the desk with a yelp, two of his abnormally big digits prodding at your sopping wet hole. It takes some time, but when they finally slip inside you, your pussy greedily sucks them in, earning a pleased grunt from him. “Good girl. Gripping me so nicely.”

It feels illegal to even hear such words from him outside the fake scenarios you touched yourself to at night. More desperate mewls are coaxed out of you when he starts scissoring you open, the pads of his fingertips pressing skillfully against your spongy spot and curling upwards.

“Need to get you ready for me,” he breathes out, stretching you out with a third finger that has you ferally clawing at his back. “So you can take me.”

Steam is wafting off him as he pounds his fingers in and out of your tight walls, unable to look away from your fluttering cunt. His calloused thumb comes to swipe over your perked up clit, a wail ripping through your throat. The sound has him lifting his eyes to check on you, and the sight of tears filling the rim of your eyes, your lips contorted into a quivering pout, your hair pooling so prettily around your head, sends a hot jolt of arousal down to his cock.

“Spirits, you—you’re so pretty.” He babbles dazedly, dragging another scream out of you with a thrust of his fingers. “Pretty, pretty girl. I need you now.”

With a few more rubs to your puffy clit, he suddenly pulls away, your arms tightening around him with a pitiful cry.

“No no, don’t cry, please.” Aang wipes the tears off your eyes, stealing a warm kiss from your puckered lips. “I’ll take care of you now baby, I promise.”

His entire body burned hot with his firebending, but especially his hands; scalding as they slid up the back of your thighs to push your legs up against your chest in a mating press.

But even his hot touch paled in comparison to the heat between your thighs.

He exhales through his nose, one of his hands ditching you to wrap around his girthy cock, lazily fisting himself as the tip flushed an angrier red, veins forking up the length.

You gasp when he lines himself up, the leaking tip gliding over your slit like he owned it, and your eyes roll back at its pure thickness.

You didn’t even know if you could take him.

He lowers himself over you, his bare chest pressed flush against yours as he litters your neck with warm open-mouthed kisses. “Ready for me?”

He takes your pathetic whimper as a “yes”, swallowing it with his tongue while he slowly pushes in.

His pre-cum mixes with your slick in filthy squelches, and you both moan loudly when he finally pushes through the tight ring of muscle, plunging into your velvety walls.

You’d think it’d be easier with him prepping you with three of his fingers, but the big stretch was still scream-worthy.

“I—I can’t,” he whines against your lips after some minutes pass by, frowning down at you so sweetly. “I really want to be gentle and good to you, b-but it’s so hard. With how you feel around me, I just wanna— wanna— ugh, lose control. You— feel so good..”

His words have your organs collapsing against each other, your cunt fluttering around him with arousal at the thought of rough sex with the sweet, tender Avatar before you.

How could you resist such a nasty demand made with the most adorable look?

“Lose it.” You whisper into his mouth, feeling his entire back tense up under your hands. You pull him in for a brief kiss, “I want you to lose it.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, your eyes widening at the flickering of his tattoos. “D—Don’t say that.”

His slow thrusts grow faster and rougher, each inch splitting you further and completely numbing your tipsy mind, broken moans ripping through your hoarse throat when he bottoms out.

You try to adjust to his size, the lingering pain only increasing your pleasure as he rolls his hips into the flesh of your ass, his grip deadly tight around your folded thighs. “Spirits—”

The desk clatters under you, mewling in tandem while he tries to fight the Avatar state, flashes of blinding white forcing you to shut your eyes but they were just as quickly forced back open at the animal pounding that accompanied them.

Holy mother of God, you could feel him in your womb.

“Is—” He grunts, suddenly ripping your top off with his teeth to bare your chest to his hungry gaze. You’re taken off guard, choking on your startled yelp when he hikes your hips up to deepen his angle and fuck you harder, his eyes drinking in the bounce of your gorgeous tits. “Is this what you imagined?”

You could hardly tell if it was Aang anymore, tears streaming down your face and hiccuping sobs while his wild thrusts bruised your cervix.

You feel him twitch inside you, his pace stuttering for a second, and that’s when you know he’s close.

He leans down to capture one of your peaked nipples between his teeth, nipping and licking at the sensitive bud as he reveled in your whiny cries. His svelte fingers take care of the neglected one, twisting and rolling it while his tongue flicked harshly against your left.

When his lips close on it in a sucking motion, your mind goes blank and your eyes cross, drool leaking out of your mouth when you open it to beg for release.

With your pleading and the way your cunt lovingly squeezes around his throbbing dick, he completely loses it and brutally picks up the pace.

“Gonna.. gonna cum,” he slurs, latching off your chest to gaze down at your wrecked face. “Pump you full of me. That’s what you want, right?”

He takes your loud moan to his words as approval, drunk on your noises as he fucks you with the stamina that could only belong to the Avatar.

“Fuck, need— need to breed you.” He turns into an incoherent mess, each thrust fucking your earlier scenarios right out of your head, Katara’s image gradually being replaced by yours. Your nails draw blood, scratching down his muscular back while he gets off to the thought of knocking you up, his fingers sliding down to rub fast circles on your clit. “My—my sweet girl, gonna give me lots of little Airbenders. You want that, don’t you? Stuffed full of my cum, bearing my children. You’ll make me a daddy.”

If his cock destroying your cervix wasn’t enough to make you cum, his words definitely did it.

Your orgasm crashes over you, your toes curling in the air, gushing all over him with a broken cry and so does he, the feel of your walls clamping down on him so tightly tipping him over the edge as hot ropes of thick cum paint your insides white.

It’s so warm — and so much — you almost cum again from the sheer sensation.

“Gonna get you pregnant,” he breathlessly pants, angling your hips up for none of his cum to slip out of you. Your pussy spasms around him, thoroughly milking him dry and you don’t know if it’s just the tipsiness, but you could swear you felt all his warm seed seep through your cervix and fill up your womb.

You’re both drenched in sweat, fighting for air. He gives you a few more thrusts for good measure, draining himself out entirely, eliciting an overstimulated mewl from you, before reluctantly pulling out of what he would later consider his home.

Dazed, he watches your swollen folds clench around nothing, and when he sees some of his cum dribble out of them, he tuts and fingers it back inside you. He does this for the next minutes, making sure you’ve taken all of him, appreciating your needy squirms and whimpers each time.

When he’s satisfied with himself, he exhales deeply, all his earlier savageness gone for an affectionate look in his eyes as he gazes down at you. He gives you a fond smile, pressing his large palm flat against where your womb is. “You’ll grow me some Airbenders in here, won’t you? Birth me back my nation?”

Too fucked out to answer, you nod weakly, limp in his grasp. He leans down to kiss you tenderly, slow and warm and wet. “I can’t wait. In some months, everyone will know what happened here. They’ll know who you belong to, who you craved tonight. You’ll be all big and swollen with my babies.”

The thought has you furiously blushing, your arms wrapping tighter around his shoulders. “W-Well.. it’s still too early to know if I’ll be preg—”

“Oh you will be.” He answers with a cheeky grin, patting your belly again. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

You blink at him, incredulous, a small smile tugging at your lips too. “But that’s not how it works. There’s no guarantee that I’m pregnant, even if you know what you’re doing.”

At that, he groans, tucking his face into the crook of your neck while his heavy body rests over yours. “But I’m the Avatar. My stuff’s gotta be special. I’m sure it worked, you’re definitely knocked up.”

You return his tired hug, letting out a soft exasperated sigh. “.. Sure, Aang.”

Meanwhile, everyone downstairs remained blissfully ignorant of what the hell happened a floor above them, all busy with their drinks and tipsy banter.

All, except for a very drunk earthbender that heard everything through the walls. Who was thankfully way too drunk to properly tell the others, only shouting garbled congratulations to the ceiling that nobody bothered to understand. “Niiiice. Good going, Twinkle toes. You lucky dog.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

masterlist

* i’d be popping out babies left and right with this yummy bald man.. if you see any mistakes leave me alone i hate proofreading.

however, the moment you fell pregnant you began to see the many issues surrounding his crusades. while he was gone you would walk through the castle, dreading any letter that arrived in fear it would be news he would not return.

any messenger who arrived from afar was turned away, in case they brought with them the announcement of his death.

you were beginning to picture the worst every time he stepped foot out of the borders of the fire nation.

it’s not like this fear was completely unwarranted either as he often returned injured or otherwise, unable to attend court for days.

then the baby came. you expected him to slow down with his adventures, make them every few years instead of every few months. but when a letter came, addressed to ‘flameo hotman’ himself, he was rearing to go.

you took it upon yourself to remind him that you JUST popped out his baby, to which he failed to see the issue. thankfully what he lacked in brains he made up for with his care, being there for much of your recovery. so you acquiesced, allowing him to go with a kiss and a long string of prayers for his safety.

one more. one last big crusade, then he can stay home to help you. that was his promise. he never went back on his promises. at least that’s what you thought.

and then another letter arrived, and he saw the fire nation through you like he never hoped to, red, hot, fiery anger blazing in every piece of you as you chastise him in the confines of your bedchambers. despite your anger, you know better than to disrespect him in the public eye of his court, especially as his ‘lowly’ wife.

“you’ve been back for 3 months at the least, do you have no desire to be with your wife and child?” the letter crumples under your tight grip, and zuko’s displeased wince has you squeezing it harder.

“what? of course i do, how could you even say that?” his eyes are full of concern and hurt.

“how could i say that? here, allow me to enlighten you. three months ago you promised me, you swore, zuko, that this would be the last one for a “long” while.” you feel immense relief that your baby is with your ladies in waiting, unwilling to allow her to ever see this side of you. even if she’s unlikely to remember it.

“and i thought that would be the case! i want to stay with you, i do!”

“so turn him down! you have every capability to reject his invitation. or is this your subtle way of saying that you would rather be free from your responsibilities? from us?”

“my love, c’mon you know that’s not what this is.”

“you’ve done nothing to show me that's the truth.” you toss the letter towards his feet, daring him to reach for it. he is smarter than you give him credit for, you’ll admit, as he steps over the crinkled paper.

“where is this coming from?” he reaches out for your dress, and you swiftly swat his hand away, in no mood to entertain his puppy eyes and delicate hands. in no way ready to accept an indirect apology through gentle touches and soft whispers, as he cares for you like a porcelain vase. you remind yourself that this discussion is for the wellbeing of you and your daughter and you will not be swayed by mediocrity, you want acknowledgement and reflection.

“do you have any idea what i went through during my whole pregnancy while you were gone on your little adventures? do you? i couldn’t be sure if you would back unharmed, let alone alive. i had to worry about not only the health of our baby, but also my husband who would rather risk his life for his friends that live in safety with his family.”

your eyes burn with tears you didn’t notice brewing. you’re not sad, you’re brimming with a rage that has been building for months and months.

he is silent and unmoving. the only indication of his attention is the furrow of his brow and the way his chews on his lip in frustration. even if he wanted to speak, you don’t allow him the opportunity.

“let me ask you this, lord zuko, is your fun worth more than your life? worth more than coming home to your wife, or your daughter having a father?”

“you know it’s not! you two are worth more than the entire world to me.”

“then you know how you will answer aang’s letter.”

“my love..”

“i’d like to be alone now. in fact, i’d like to be alone until you know for certain where your priorities lie.” you approach, gaze pointed as you brush past him, leaving him alone in your shared chambers.

that is the last words you speak before, what he will always remember as, the long week of silence. the first time a fight has left the room with you and carried itself alongside you like a protective shield, preventing him from getting in close. you won’t even let him near the baby, which may be a tad unfair, but you’re angry and not thinking straight.

you continue to perform your duties as the fire lady, diligent as you are, but you’re mean about it. he’s not ‘zuko’ anymore, not your love, he is lord zuko. fire lord zuko. you’ve shrunk him to not so much as a colleague in your mind.

it’s the only way you continue in your position as the fire lady, playing the role of dutiful wife for his court then leaving right after the dismissal of said court with a curt bow.

the tension between you two is felt throughout the castle by all. the court notices the subtle distance between you but doesn't verbalize this observation.

you sleep in the nursery with your daughter. your back is stiff, and your neck is crimped, from sleeping on the tiny futon within. you are kept awake all night long by the light of decorative fire ornaments, night lights for your baby. you don’t rest well.

neither does zuko.

he lays in the empty space of your previously shared bed, staring at the ceiling. his mind races with how to win your favor back. how to speak to you. he misses you. misses his daughter. he reminisces on your touch like it’s been years of your absence, when really it’s only been a few days.

he’s already rejected aang’s invitation and you know that, so why have you not returned to him?

when the end of the week approaches he begins to feel ill. distracted. and of course, you notice, but you are stubborn and strong willed.

you miss him too, but the hurt from feeling second to his ‘freedom’, an idea concocted completely on your own, overwhelms you too much to give in just cause he appears to be losing sleep. you want him to feel your absence a little longer, the way you felt his for nights on end. at least, you reason, he knows you and your daughter are alive and well.

the grand chamberlain drones on and on in the confines of zuko’s royal office, to which he casts a spiritless gaze. his thoughts are not on the affairs of his court, rather they are anywhere but.

he only thinks of you, of your baby. have the two of you eaten? what are you doing now? are you in the gardens? in the capital? in your bedroom.. alone.. without him..? should he go to you?

have you forgiven him?

“my wife...”

“what?”

“hm? oh.. um, what i said was, my life. as in.. i would give my life for this court, of course, chamberlain.”

“i believe you spoke of the honorable fire lady, lord zuko.” he stares at zuko with a silent contempt, then relinquishes his harsh gaze upon fully taking in the shell of the fire lord in front of him.

“i suppose.. my mind may have drifted.” zuko sighs, head falling back against his chair’s backrest. a pause, a moment of understanding and quiet contemplation between them, before the chamberlain speaks again.

“forgive my asking, lord zuko, but have you done something to upset the honorable lady?”

“why? did she speak to you? what did she say?” he straightens, like an arrow, gaze pinned to the chamberlain whose head shakes in dismissal.

“i assure you, lord zuko, that is not the case. in fact, it is quite the opposite, as the honorable lady speaks to none but your own child.” zuko frowns, another wave of guilt flooding his already weak stomach.

“she has not spoken to anyone?”

“not in the last week. perhaps she has taken a vow of silence to honour the beginnings of your child’s life?” it’s more than a stretch to suggest this, considering your daughter has been in the world for over three months now, but the chamberlain suggests it despite this. zuko releases a weak huff of laughter.

“yes.. i suppose, it may be that. thank you, advisor, that shall be all..” zuko waves him off with a gentle flick of his hand, the opposite palm sliding down his weary face. finally, he decides, this silence has gone on long enough.

he leaves his office with a start, tripping over his feet as they try to match his fervor. he searches high and low for you, every nook and cranny where you could be hiding from him. until it dawns on him, you’d barely left the nursery since you took shelter there.

he approaches the nursery quietly, cautiously. his palm, slick with a thin layer of nervous sweat, reaches for the door knob and hesitantly pushes it open.

you sit on the rocking chair in the corner, baby in hand, cooing at your daughter until the door creaks and makes his presence known. your eyes meet his for less than a second before they are stubbornly focused on your daughters chubby cheeks.

one glance at you is enough to have him feeling better, not whole, but no longer ill with worry. he walks to you, steps slow, like he doesn’t rule the nation but rather like that of a hesitant child. he points to the foot stool, unused, muttering a small ‘may i?’

“you’re the fire lord, you don’t need my permission to do anything. you’ve made that fairly clear..”

“i’m asking you if i may join you..” you nod, but still your eyes avoid his. he sits.

“are you well?” you nod once more. “and the baby?”

“she is fine as well.”

“good.. that is good,” he clasps his hands together, contemplative as he searches for his next words, “i rejected aang’s invitation.”

“so i’ve heard.”

“but you didn’t come back..”

“i wasn’t ready to.”

“and now?”

“you tell me.”

he sighs, slipping off the stool to kneel in front of you.

“please, don’t dirty yourself on my behalf, lord zuko”

“enough.” his tone is not unkind, but firm. your brow raises and his nods in apology, you listen despite this, eyes finally on him.

“i understand what you're doing.. and why. and i’m sorry,” he reaches for your hand and you can tell he expects to be swatting away again, a visual that makes your heart hurt, “i’m sorry for everything.”

you hold your daughter, who is drifting in between sleep and wakefulness, close to your body. zuko’s thumb rubs across the back of your hand, searching for forgiveness before he continues.

“i will never know how you felt back then, when i was gone, but i know now the power of absence. you have been gone from our bed mere days and i cannot sleep, i cannot eat, i can think of nothing but you. and i know that my safety is questionable on aang’s crusades. so.. i understand why you do not want me to go as often, if at all. i do enjoy a break from being the fire lord but i.. i never want you to think that i value my freedom more than you. i did not know the meaning of the word until you, until .. her.” his eyes drift towards your daughter, soft and longing.

“i know..” you admit quietly, freeing your hand from his grip to cup his cheek.

your thumb swipes across his scar, his eyes close like a dog being pet. your eyes sting with the threat of tears, but the closeness of him after days of distance overwhelms that part of you, a strange happiness patching any sadness lingering within. you tuck his hair behind his ear, his handsome face on display.

“you do?”

“of course i do, i married you for a reason, i know you value this family.. i was just hurt.”

“i know, baby, i’m sorry.. i’m gonna do anything and everything to make up for that.”

“this is enough for now.. i missed you.”

“yeah?” he smiles weakly, like he’s unsure if that's allowed. when you smile back, it grows more sure. he falls forward, arms wrapping around your waist and face resting against your stomach, “i missed you. so much. both of you.”

“i.. don’t mind if you go with aang every once and a while, but we need you here. safe.” your hand rests on his head, which he raises to look at you once more.

“i know. i’m gonna be better. i’ll be around so much you’ll both get sick of me.”

he stands, offering his hand for you to do the same, which you do. you calmly offer him your daughter, his face lights up. his back straightens, like weight upon weight are being rolled over his shoulders one by one. he takes your daughter in his arms, kissing your temple.

“our chambers have been so quiet without you, you’ll come back right?” you nod. “right now?” you smile at his eagerness, hand resting on his arm.

“sure, lord zuko, let’s go, i am dying for a nap on an actual bed. you’ll watch her right?” he leads you out of the room, and down the hall, baby in his arms as he wears the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his face. It’s infectious, bleeding onto you and making your lips curl upwards.

Zuko set aside much of his concerns for the time being and embraced the kindred fire of first light as they braved the clouds. He had not wanted to—he felt he did not deserve to—yet was unable to stop himself from succumbing to relief, for what a long arduous battle it had been.

"This marks another win for team Avatar!" Sokka exclaimed breathlessly as he landed unceremoniously beside Zuko. He threw his arm over the railed edge of Appa’s saddle and deflated from the aftershock of nearly free-falling to his death.

"And what exactly did you contribute?" Toph queried.

"O you know, brains and brawn. Saved yalls butts twice! Not forgetting how my spectacular no bending invention single-handedly restored peace and balance to the world"

"You think you could use that no bending skills to save me from the wrath of my wife?”

Silence.

Sokka's head whipped toward Zuko whose face had shifted in an instant from calm serenity to petrified realization.

“I didn’t tell her I was leaving,” he muttered under his breath, staring into the sun as if it might offer him mercy.

Toph chortled, “Goodluck with that”

Sokka furiously shook his head. “Don’t drag me into this”

Aang, perched atop Appa’s head, looked back, glad he had not been in Sokka’s—or, worse yet, Zuko’s—stead because he, like the rest, had known your fiery temperament and had been subjected to its terrifying nature before, close enough to understand it wasn’t just talk or a joke passed over lightly.

Even Katara who could silence a room with a glance had never made him feel quite like this: that uneasy awareness of having already chosen the wrong side of a coming conversation.

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of his torn clothes, and looked away from Zuko. He was taken back to that one time during a stealth mission when Sokka and Zuko’s simple bantering had turned a quiet mission into near disaster.

It was a few years after Firelord Ozai’s defeat, when the plans for Republic City were still ink on paper and the world was trying to stitch itself back together.

They ran on exhaustion more than certainty, moving between rebuilding efforts, negotiations, and the precarious work of keeping the nations—set in their ways of war—from tearing at each other again.

The group had split in two. Probably not the smartest of plans. Aang was to take Sokka and Zuko, stake out a camp, trace patrol patterns, count soldiers, gather whatever intel they could, and await the signal.

But with three hours gone and still no sign of movement, Zuko, who wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place, shifted from stillness into irritation. And with Zuko, irritation never stayed small for long.

Sokka noticed, of course. And Sokka—well, Sokka had never met a tense situation he couldn’t make worse on purpose.

“We’ll age out here before we see a single soldier. Look, Zuko’s already balding,” Sokka said, poking at a branch at Zuko’s feet with his boomerang.

“If you would stop talking, we might actually hear something useful.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sokka shot back, louder, “I didn’t realize Fire lord grumpy here was conducting a listening ceremony.”

The air tightened.

Aang had glanced between them, already sensing the shift before either of them fully committed to it. “Guys... maybe—”

And just like that, their bickering grew harsher, loud enough to have alerted an unseen passing patrol. “It’s the Avatar!!”

“You guys did it again!” Aang snatched up his staff in one motion. Air lifted him upward as he rose above the bushes, frustration flashing across his face. “Every time you argue, someone shows up and I'm always the first one noticed!”

Troops had plunged from the canopy of trees, emerging one after the other from the dark crevices of the forest with no end in sight.

Aang landed to help Zuko and Sokka.

But they were steadily driven back into a position where the enemy had gained the upper hand.

Like fury incarnate, earth had suddenly surged up in twin walls from the ground, folding the attackers in and cutting off every escape, and then water followed—an erosion, swift and precise washed through the space, locking every step in place as it hardened around their feet.

Every threat was flattened in a single, controlled strike.

The chaos gone as quickly as it had escalated.

You stood there afterward with a flat, unreadable expression, sweat clad and breathing heavier from the strain of such coordinated yet strenuous bending, your disappointment settling over them like stone.

Aang visibly shivered, his body reacting as the memory surfaced.

He could still feel it: the pressure of your words pinning them in place more effectively than any Earth Kingdom soldier ever had.

Since then, he had avoided anything even remotely reckless within your orbit. If something looked like it might spiral, he was already halfway out of it.

If Sokka started arguing, Aang found air.

If Zuko started pacing, Aang found distance.

If a plan felt even slightly like it might become “that kind of situation again,” Aang was suddenly, urgently needed somewhere else. Anywhere else.

He let out a small breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if it could ease the memory away.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, glancing off toward the horizon. “Not doing that again.”

Katara had heard the whole thing.

She didn’t feel sorry for them. Not really. They made their choices, and choices had consequences, therefore they should own up to it. Simple as that. Still, there was something faintly amusing about the way they spoke of you, like your presence alone had rewritten the rules of survival.

Katara had seen real fury before. Water crashing, storms breaking, emotions spilling over in waves.

And you…you were rational. That was all.

You were control. And control when it turned toward them felt like standing still in deep water as the current decided where one would go.

You were calm, collected, even when you reprimanded them. Somehow, that was exactly what made it worse. Because you didn’t raise your voice. Like every situation wasn’t an emotional mess to be shouted through—but a problem to be solved, with consequences carefully considered.

She sighed, shaking her. “Deserved.”

Toph nodded in agreement. Boys were stupid. Brainless. Rash. They had tendency to ruin most of what they touched… and didn’t touch.

Sokka spoke first, very carefully. “She once looked at me like I had personally offended the concept of intelligence.”

“You did,” Toph and Zuko replied in unison.

Sokka glared.

“You’re all ridiculous.” Then, almost absently, Katara added, “She doesn’t scare me.”

“And me,” Toph raised her hand.

Aang blinked. “Really?”

Katara rested against Appa. “She’ll be angry—and it's within her right to be. You left without telling her.”

Zuko looked toward the horizon, where messengers and rumours always seemed to travel faster than wind.

“And after what just happened,” she added, quieter now, “news of the scale of the wreckage will reach her soon.”

Sokka patted Zuko’s shoulder with forced sympathy. “You're going to have to deal with this one yourself buddy”

Zuko’s expression didn’t change. “You’re coming with me.”

“Nope.” Sokka's leg hooked lazily over the other, letting the slight breeze catch him as if he had already emotionally checked out. “This is a royal problem. Fire Nation business. Husband wife stuff.”

Toph snorted, pointedly removed from the conversation in the exact way Sokka had hoped to be.

“Sokka”

“What Katara? I value my life.”

Aang shifted uncomfortably as Appa readied to land. “In her… condition. I don’t think she’s going to just—focus on one person.”

Zuko’s eye twitched. He clearly caught the implication, but swallowed it down with visible effort. “…You’re all coming,” he said flatly.

Sokka pointed at him. “That’s not how protection works!”

Appa touched down near the city center with a thud that rippled through the streets below.

“It's been a while. We could do with a visit” She smoothed a hand over Appa’s fur, a smile written across the corners of her mouth.

“Sweet.” Toph shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

With Katara and Toph in agreement, the decision was already made.

Zuko would be returning home regardless, so his vote counted for nothing.

As for Aang and Sokka…they weren’t given a choice.

With much still to be done in the wake of the destruction left behind, Sokka suggested they remain in Republic City for the day, where they would clean up, rest, and handle a few lingering matters before setting out for the Fire Nation the following morning.

This time, his opinion had been heard and agreed upon.

Zuko was grateful, albeit hesitant. He told himself it was better to return home fully rested and composed than to arrive in torn clothes, injuries half-healed, and every weakness laid bare for scrutiny.

•.‿︵˖⤿🐦‍🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•

Steam curled lazily along the stone walls.

Zuko submerged himself under the hot water longer than necessary. When he resurfaced, it ran over his shoulders, down his arms and chest as if it could rinse out more than just soot and sweat.

The day replayed itself in fragments. Then went further back to when his hope for redemption sparked and brought him to this point. Then even further back—deeper into the memories of his childhood when he'd been taught the history of his Nation, their climb to dominance and success…to the demise of the Air Nomad. Aang's people.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the tub, his arms resting along its curved edges.

His chest rose with the steam, then eased back down—steady as the flicker of candlelight in a still room.

“What troubles you, My Lord?”

A ghost of a touch brushed his shoulder where a deep incision had been healed to a dark bruise. Another sensation had followed shortly, a softer collision against his shoulder.

“Why? Do you plan on kissing my troubles away?” He had found himself smiling.

“Oh, I can do a lot more than that…” you replied, voice warm with that familiar spark—the kind that didn’t burn outwards so much as it simply refused to dim.

His hand had rested on your hip, fingers idly tugging at the absurd amount of layers in your dress as if grounding himself in something real.

“Thank you…”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you mused, tilting your head to capture his lips in a simple kiss before tucking his hair behind his ears.

But Zuko had meant it in all honesty. “For being here. Even when it got hard. Even when everything changed… when it was an upheaval and adjustment for you.”

You had become his calm, the push and pull of water, steadying him when everything else felt uncertain.

And yet, despite the water that flowed through your veins, making you strong, composed, and grounding, there was a fire breathing beneath it.

It was obvious in the way you moved through the world—quick to flare, quick to speak, quick to challenge anything that stirred too comfortably around you.

“Those eyes look as if they could do no wrong,” your finger traced the slope of his nose, slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to map him out, to revitalize the memory of him.

It lingered there for just a moment too long—enough to blur the line between thought and touch—before drifting down, over the heat of his cheek, across his jaw to pinch his chin.

His breath caught, subtle but sharp.

He didn’t move at all, caught between the instinct to step back and the more dangerous urge to stay exactly where he was.

“But it’s not enough to get you out of trouble,”

His body jolted upright.

The bathwater around him swayed at the suddenness. The illusion broken instantly, like heat breaking through glass.

He dragged a hand down his face. Once. Firm.

Exhaustion. That was all it was. A tired mind pulling shapes out of absence just to fill the missing and overexertion and the hunger.

Nothing more.

He pushed up through the water, muscles tightening as cold air met damp skin. Heavy droplets clung to him, sliding slowly down his shoulders and legs, tracing paths to corners touched by your heat.

For a moment, he stood there letting the realization settle back into something he could control. Then he stepped out of the tub.

The towel came around his waist in practiced motion. Water hit tile in uneven rhythms behind him as he dried his hair, wringing it out before clipping it back and walking into the room he'd been given.

Soft bedding, muted light, walls too clean to feel familiar. Comfortable, but not home. Not anything that could anchor the feeling he’d just shaken off. He crossed it anyway.

He dressed in silence, awkwardly folding each movement into the next like he'd long forgotten how to do it himself.

By the time he lay down in bed, at last, the room was dark except for the faint spill of city light through the window.

Sleep didn’t come quickly, and so he stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant ensemble of Republic City—too alive to feel entirely restful. His mind drifted anyway: plans, routes, conversations yet to happen, versions of tomorrow that all ended in the same place.

Zuko closed his eyes. And eventually, after a long stretch of misery—sleep finally took him.

•.‿︵˖⤿🐦‍🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•

The sun wasn’t even up yet. Sokka stared into oblivion with a bag slung under his arm, blinking slowly like sleep itself was personally refusing him entry.

Toph flicked a pebble at him. It struck him square in the forehead.

“OW—hey!” Sokka yelped, stumbling sideways and nearly taking himself out on a crate. “What was that for?!”

“Keeping you awake,” Toph said. “You were starting to look peaceful. It was disturbing.”

Zuko stepped past them, passing Aang the last of the supplies before climbing up onto Appa with the efficiency of someone ready to get back home.

“I feel like I should’ve been consulted on this,” Sokka muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Katara didn’t even turn around. “You were.”

“I would remember being consulted.”

“You were informed,” she corrected. “Then you complained.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is exactly the same thing.”

Toph lifted herself onto Appa, joining Zuko and Katara. “You’re coming. Stop whining.”

“I am not whining—this is strategic concern for my continued existence.”

Katara was unimpressed.

“I hate when the group consensus is ‘we suffer together.’”

“Oh, don’t be such a dramatic shrimp fry. You’re the only one acting like this is a funeral march.” Toph laid down and pulled a blanket over herself and lay down.

With the long journey ahead, she might as well catch up on sleep

“I’m not being dra—” he yawned mid-word, staggering slightly, “matic.”

“Sure.”

Aang tightened his cloak against the early morning chill. “Everyone ready?”

Zuko nodded.

“Appa, yip yip”

Appa shifted beneath them with a low rumble, then launched into the air.

︵ঌ︵

The flight home filled with an anticipation Zuko had yet to process.

It was not the first time he'd been away from you this long.

Between diplomatic missions, routine territory checks, and military assessments, distance had become a familiar part of his life. But this time was different.

This was the only time he had left without telling you where he was going. And that sat with him miserably.

There was much to think about—beyond the worry for you and his children. It was what lingered beneath that, something he had long claimed to have moved past. And yet, still kept him awake.

Years had passed. He had healed. He had… He had tempered those stubborn irrational flames that drove him. Gained loyal allies, true friendship, married the love of his life, named his first born through strength and legacy.

Why couldn’t he forget the years shaped by hate and obsession?

He had once believed capturing the Avatar would prove his worth. That it would earn back his father’s love, his respect. But somewhere along that path, his ambition had twisted—and the that which he hunted had turned, and hunted him in back.

His honour had never known the golden glory of which existed so strongly today, at the same time, his heart sunk unbearably beneath the guilt such honour carried.

As a full day passed since they left Republic City, Appa flew as though time itself were pressing forward.

Aang could feel the anticipation build in the air surrounding Zuko, he and his bison shared the same understanding—faster was better. The sooner they arrived, the sooner everything could finally settle.

With the second sunrise creeping over the horizon, Sokka and Toph snored their way through the early hours in complete disregard for dignity or altitude.

Katara and Aang sat closer together, speaking in low voices, their conversation soft enough to fade into the wind. Zuko remained near the edge of Appa’s saddle. He looked away from them.

He traced the familiar shapes of mountains and rivers as they passed beneath him, each landmark drawing him closer to home—closer to you, and he counted the minutes.

Quite literally.

Though how accurate he was, he couldn't tell. Only that home was getting closer.

When they crossed into Fire Nation territory, the land was scarred by craters of old destruction, softened now by layers of green grass and scattered wildflowers.

Time had not erased them—only made them appear less frightening.

Sokka stirred at last.

He sat up, squinting at the light. He took in his surroundings, let out a long yawn, then moved closer to Zuko who watched as shapes began to form in the distance.

The roads grew more ordered. The settlements more structured. A different world unfolding as they neared the capital.

“Amazing,” Sokka breathed, genuine admiration softening his voice.

Things had changed since he was last there.

Zuko felt pride swell in his chest. It had taken all of them… but most of all, it had taken you. The Fire Nation was no longer something to fear. It was thriving.

By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was high overhead, drawn near its peak.

They were all momentarily pulled from their grievances, awestruck by the bright banners stretched across the streets below, and the sound of voices rising in organized waves—chants, cheers, a welcome that rolled through the capital.

Their arrival had been expected, it seemed. Likely your doing.

They offered their waves in return, Sokka a little more enthusiastic once he realized this wasn’t a public execution.

Toph tilted her head. “What’s happening?”

“They’re cheering,” Aang said.

“Yeah, I got that. What does it look like?” she shot back dryly.

“Cheerful… alive,” Katara answered, an understatement to the welcome they received.

Appa stuck his landing with heavy force, wind rushing outward with a strong gust that sent he robes and banners snapping.

The members of court straightened immediately, then bowed in unison as their Fire lord stood to his full height.

And there he saw you. At the forefront, fury that rivalled his flames—no smile, no softness, nothing but your gaze focused squarely on him.

Zuko descended from Appa, his feet meeting cold concrete, his shoulders poised.

He approached.

Even with a scowl firm upon your face, you were—without question—the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"My love" his voice lowered, tone of command gone, replaced with reverence of worship.

Behind him, Katara felt her chest tighten just slightly, warmth blooming as she watched it unfold—this quiet, undeniable proof of how far he had come from the boy who once burned too quickly for his own good.

But all good things must meet reality eventually—or in this case, a wife reminding her husband he was still in trouble, and no victory or sweet tone would get him out of it.

“Welcome home, Fire lord Zuko”

His breath hitched for the smallest fraction of a second, not enough for anyone to call it out. Composure followed a half-beat late.

Behind you, his Advisor and Chamberlain stood rigid, guilt practically written into every wrinkle on their faces.

The court, usually so accustomed to political tension, held a bated breath for an entirely different reason now.

It wasn’t fear of their Fire Lord that alerted them, it was the controlled fury of their Lady that unleashed when she saw her husband.

"Do you care to explain yourself, or shall I have the divorce papers drafted?"

Zuko’s collar suddenly felt tighter than it had any right to be. The fabric pressed against his throat like it had shrunk in the heat of the moment. His posture stayed upright out of habit, but something in him had clearly faltered.

“Aang needed my help,”

The courtyard seemed to forget how to breathe.

The attendants stiffened altogether; one advisor’s scroll slipped slightly in his grip before he caught it too late, the rustle sounding far too loud.

Katara’s stifled her amusement while Sokka made a small, strangled noise like he was deciding whether to laugh or pray.

Toph smirked faintly, head tilted as if listening to the emotional damage in real time.

Even Aang, somewhere in the group, looked personally betrayed by his own name being used as justification.

And at the centre of it all, the air between you and Zuko sweltered.

"Is that an excuse I hear?”

“No—”

“Someone’s in trouble.” Sokka said with a grin that suggested he was enjoying this far too much.

It lasted exactly until Katara struck him lightly on the back of the head, silencing him mid-smirk.

“I was going to tell you—”

You side-stepped your husband mid-sentence. No hesitation.

They had all frozen, the Fire lord reduced not by battle, but by the displeasure of his wife.

“Katara.” Your voice noticeably changed first. The warmth returned like nothing had happened. Like it had all been folded away in an instant and replaced.

Katara didn’t hesitate as she crossed the space and pulled you into a tight embrace. Sisters through water, war, and everything that came after it.

Sokka, who had been raving in fear of your reaction was pulled into a hug too, which surprised him.

“Wow. Pregnancy has changed you" he said before he could stop himself.

Katara immediately pinched him.

“Battle wounds? No. More like survival wounds from you violent people.” Sokka barely had time to finish before Katara pinched him again, harder this time. “OW—okay, okay! I’m kidding! Mostly kidding!” he yelped, recoiling and rubbing his arm.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine. Pregnancy has been messing with me, but I’m in a good mood.”

“You're lying” Toph chuckled.

“I'm trying to be in a good mood,” you corrected. “I haven't seen you guys in a while… A visit must've fell from your list of priorities”

Toph gestured to Appa. “Not all of us have a flying bison or a fleet of airships, you know.”

“Mhm.” You looked sideways. “Zuko won't have an airship for a while either.”

That earned a quiet exhale from him.

He stepped closer toward you, but you moved away anyway.

A beat passed. Then Aang stepped forward last, a smile that hadn't truly reached his eyes.

You embraced him tightly. “You look worse for wear" you said.

“Getting better” he breathed out.

That seemed to ease something in you.

You stepped back, one hand resting over your stomach as your eyes moved across them—taking in all of them at once.

The whole mess. The whole family. Back in one place, even if briefly.

Above you, Momo suddenly darted in a tight circle, chittering excitedly around your head.

“Hello to you too, Momo,” you said, amused. “And Appa as well.”

You motioned once, and your lady servants quietly withdrew. “I've had someone prepare your rooms. I'm sure you'll want to rest. The kitchen has prepared a light meal—we can meet for dinner tonight”

Zuko exhaled halfway then stopped when you turned to him, and the breath he’d started to release stalled completely in his chest.

“And you…”

“The Avatar needed my help. I didn't know things would—”

“You had the whole court lie for you!”

A beat.

The officials shifted first. Then the attendants. Then the guards.

Zuko raised a hand.

The courtyard moved. Footsteps scattered and scrambled. Armor clinked. Doors shut too quickly.

“He lets them run but tells me to face my death with honour.” Sokka whispered to Toph.

She smirked. “That makes you less of a coward.”

Katara didn’t hesitate when she grabbed Sokka by the ear and Toph by the forearm.

“Aang!” she called sharply.

Aang blinked then hurriedly followed, leaving you and your husband alone in the courtyard.

“Are you really mad?” He asked softly, catching your face and tilting so your eyes met his.

“Oh rest assured, Honourable Fire Lord—” you swat his hand away, “I am furious!”

You walked first. And he shadowed your every step.

No argument. No pride. Just footsteps behind you, matching your pace through the palace halls, through archway and past carved pillars.

When you finally reached the bedroom, the door shut behind him with a firm click.

You pulled the headpiece from your hair—the one he had given you—and set it down onto the vanity harder than necessary.

“I am not some weak women who can't handle knowing her husband is needed for some greater purpose,” you said. “I do not need constant coddling for every matter you think might cause even the slightest negative reaction. I will not fall apart and I will not beg you to stay when Aang needs you…

But I am your wife!”

His arm came around you carefully, folding over your swollen stomach first, grounding himself there as if that was the most honest place to start. His hold was warm, steady, deliberate.

"You are..." he affirmed with pride—with certainty, submission and subservience that wasn’t defeat but devotion.

He leaned his forehead briefly against your shoulder. “You are my wife. And I know that.”

You slapped his hand. It stung, but he just refolded them into place again. “Let go”

“No”

You looked one sentence away from losing patience entirely. For a brief second, you even looked like you might hit him again.

Zuko, infuriatingly calm, smiled like he could read the thought forming. Then he pressed a light kiss to your shoulder, unbothered.

“I’ll let go if you stop being angry.”

“Not a chance.” You elbowed him in the gut, easily manoeuvring out of his hold, slower but no less familiar with the way your body had been trained to move.

“Feisty woman,” he rasped, hunched over.

He said your name.

No answer.

Repeated it again.

You slammed your hands down on the table. “What were you thinking!?”

“I'm sorry.”

“You hear that, little one? That’s what we call a half-hearted apology. A lie. Your father pulled that one straight from his ass.”

He was sincere—not just because he knew he’d upset you, or because you deserved an apology, but because he knew better. He knew better… and still doubted himself.

“I am sorry… but I—”

“Left. You left. With lies. With people keeping me in the dark because you thought it was best.

Where is your honour in that, Zuko?”

Your voice cracked.

The baby, as if sensing your distress, delivered a series of sharp kicks to your abdomen. You pressed your palm over your stomach, trying to soothe the movement, but the ache lingered.

“What if you died? You would’ve left without a proper goodbye. I would’ve known nothing. Nothing.”

Zuko finally moved—like he was forcing himself not to recoil from the hurt in your voice. “I didn’t think further than what had happened last time”

The memory surfaced, uninvited. A civil war breaking out across the Nation. Smoke on the horizon. Orders lost in the collision. And you—pregnant, close to term, already carrying more weight than anyone should have had to.

There had been a complication then. One that had nearly forced him into a choice that still didn’t feel real even years later—he was on the ground mid-battle when they told him. A decision he had never forgiven the world for making him consider.

So when Aang’s summons came—impossible to ignore—he had hesitated.

He had told himself he was protecting you by not telling you. By leaving quickly. By avoiding panic, avoiding stress, avoiding anything that might tilt the balance again.

But standing there now, watching your hands press into the table, watching the anger that came from love rather than distance, he understood what he had actually done.

He hadn’t protected you.

He had repeated the mistake in a different way.

His throat tightened.

“I thought—” he started, then stopped. Because there was no version of that sentence that didn’t fall apart halfway through. “I was wrong,” he said instead. “I should have told you. I should have trusted you with it.”

A pause.

“It was foolish to leave. It was even more foolish to think I could have the entire court lie to you… keep you in the dark until things blew over… I was foolish.”

"You were."

"I was…"

No deflection. No attempt to soften it.

You hated him. But you couldn't deny him. He had tried, but he was still only human. Human in his mistakes, human in the way he carried them, and human in the way he sometimes let fear speak louder than trust.

Neither of you moved. But then you stepped forward.

Zuko raised his arm, and you walked into his embrace, your forehead pressing into his chest as your breath caught like you’d been holding it in for too long.

“I’m here,” he murmured, meant only for you.

His hand brushed along your jaw as he leaned in—slow enough to give you time, to let you pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Your breath met his first. Then your lips.

Zuko left soft, lingering pecks along your bottom lip, unhurried, testing, like he was relearning something he had no right to rush.

Then, slowly, he deepened the kiss.

His hands came up to cradle your neck, warm. Always warm.

You swore he ran hotter than any fire bender alive. Not just heat, but presence.

Something constant, something that pressed into you without burning—unless you let it.

He was warmth in every sense of it. Like the thick summer air that clung to your skin, heavy and inescapable.

And like a fire in the dead of winter, steady, consuming, offering comfort the moment you stepped too close to the cold.

He stroked your earlobe while his other hand found the inner corner of your robe, easing it from your shoulder.

Zuko hummed, pleased by the way you inclined toward his touch.

But you sooner pulled away, telling him to go ahead to the bath chamber.

When you joined him, towel set aside, your fingers found his belt and began undoing the knot with practiced ease.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes traced your every move while you carefully avoided his gaze.

You pushed his robes from his shoulders, letting the fabric fall away and onto your forearm.

Zuko stepped back to remove his boots and the rest of his clothing followed soon after, until nothing remained between you and him besides the air and a visible shiver in his shoulders.

“Could you…” you gestured toward the water.

“Of course.” Zuko lifted his hand, and with an effortless breath, flame sparked to life in his palm.

The water responded instantly, steam rising in soft curls with a gentle hiss, the surface rippling before it settled.

You sat on the low stone slated edge of the bath as he lowered himself into the water.

“…You’re not joining me?” he asked.

“Waters too hot for me," you replied, reaching for a cloth.

You dipped it, then dragged it gently over his chest, over the bruises no water could heal.

Zuko had eased almost instantly under your care, the tension in his neck and shoulders unwinding as he rested his head against the stone.

His eyes closed, letting you take care of him.

︵ঌ︵

His face sank into the plush mattress, inhaling the faint trace of your scent that lingered in every crease of the sheets.

A low groan escaped him as his body finally registered how tired it was. His arms stretched out loosely, then went still, like even moving felt optional now.

“Where’s Atsumi?”

“Asleep. She’s been running a terrible fever.”

Half-lidded eyes shot open. Halfway through getting up, you pressed a hand firmly to his chest and pushed him back down.

Zuko's breath hitched.

“She hasn't slept well in two days. She needs rest…”

“Then I should—”

You didn’t let him.

“Carry on,” you said flatly.

Zuko exhaled through his nose, tension easing in reluctant stages. His shoulders sank back into the mattress, the fight draining out of him.

“She’s going to hate that I didn’t check on her immediately,” he muttered.

“I spent two nights consoling her cries all while dealing with this little Firestarter in my stomach kicking and acting up. You’re not going to wake her.”

He cupped your thigh as you came to straddle him, thumb rubbing circles.

“I should’ve been here,” he said quietly.

“You are here now.”

“That’s not the same.”

“No,” you agreed. “It’s not. But because of you, we're still here”

“…Is she really alright?”

“As alright as any child with your temperament could be” you said.

That earned the smallest, tired curve at the corner of his mouth.

“She’s more like you…”

She was. But she looked exactly like him.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you replied softly, running your fingers through his hair… a little insecure of it.

Zuko kissed your clothed inner-thigh before he smoothly flipped your positions.

He lifted your leg to wrap around his waist, lowering you into the position he was just in. Then, like he couldn't help himself, he face invaded your personal space—no such thing existed between you.

A kiss to your cheek, your forehead, then the bridge of your nose. His hand found yours, fingers threading tightly with yours against the sheets before he raised them above your head.

“You have nothing to fear,” he whispered.

“Beside my husband sneaking off on suicide missions.”

“Aside from that…”

Zuko caressed the back of your hand, his touch slow and deliberate, before lifting your joined hands to his mouth.

Your leg tightened around his waist. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, half a grunt and half pleading. He looked at your through his eyelashes—in worship… with unveiled devotion.

You skimmed your fingers up the column of his throat—over the thick pulsing vein—pausing at his scar.

He went still as you kissed it.

The heat flourished in his cheeks, not just embarrassment or shyness, but something far more vulnerable—enough to bring him to tears.

He kissed you before they ever fell—before he could retreat into his pain instead of his heart.

•.‿︵˖⤿🐦‍🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•

The last remnants of the day had begun to flee when you, flushed and exhausted, pulled yourself out from beneath the blanket and sank back onto your pillow. Zuko's insatiable hunger followed instinctively—too close, too heated.

You pushed at his shoulder before he could hover over you completely.

He laid a kiss onto you stomach, the gesture reverent. The baby kicked which warmed his heart.

Lowering himself until his ear rested against it, nuzzling his nose against the stretched skin.

Endearments whispered his love—the ache in your bones a testimony to it.

“We should get ready for dinner…” you mumbled weakly.

“Not obliged to attend,” Zuko replied, unmoving, still half-lounged against you like he had no intention of letting go.

“Courtesy…” You sat up.

He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath before sitting up properly, dragging a hand through his hair to reset himself into something resembling a Fire Lord again.

But the softness didn’t fully leave his face. Not when he stared at you.

You rolled your shoulder with a wince, working out the tension still lingering there.

Without a word, he crossed the space between you.

His silk robe draped over your shoulders, adjusted it gently, fingertips brushing briefly as he made sure it covered well.

“As you wish.”

And so he did.

From the bath to the cloth, from lifting you in and out and carrying you about, from laying out your dress and seeing you fit for the hall—Zuko had done it all.

By the time you entered the dining hall, the others were already seated.

Zuko led you in with your hand set light upon his forearm. His hair bound up neat and proud, the Fire Nation emblem set through it, gold catching the lamp-light and casting a warm gleam over the room’s high beams and carved stone.

You took the first step in. Then, just as you had almost reached the table, a small blur sprang from Aang’s lap and darted across the room in a flash of light and laughter.

Zuko dropped at once to one knee, swift as a striking hawk, and caught the child with ease before she could collide with his legs.

“Papa!” she cried, laughing so hard it came out like a squeal.

At the sound, Zuko’s heart was pried open with joy.

His arms closed around her small body without hesitation, his entire composure shifted in an instant to her father.

Katara’s face softened at once, and Aang watched her with a look that held both warmth and wonder. You saw it.

And you smiled just slightly as you took your seat.

Sokka, already halfway through pouring a drink, slid a glass toward you with exaggerated seriousness.

“For the Lady of the Fire Nation,” he said, trying—and failing—not to look smug about the chaos he was witnessing.

Zuko lifted her with ease as she tugged at his collar and pointed at nothing in particular with the absolute certainty of a child who believed everything belonged to her.

“I found him,” she announced proudly to no one and everyone.

“You always do,” Zuko said, almost amused, pressing a brief kiss to her hair.

Zuko sat beside you, his daughter in his lap. But she stayed no longer than a minute before she was up and dangling onto Sokka's shoulder.

With everyone seated and settled, though “settled” was a generous word for it. You began to eat.

Your daughter—who by all means should have been limp and fever stricken—had decided otherwise.

She clung to Sokka’s shoulder one moment, nearly toppling over into his plate of food the next.

But she had slipped from him like water, already darting after Momo, who chittered in alarm and delight as he took flight just out of her reach.

He yelped, simultaneously catching her and his plate. “Hey, hey… tiny tyrant, sit down!”

Aang winced. “Momo, don’t encourage her—!”

Too late.

She spun again, quick as a spark, and made her way to Toph’s side. A small hand reached. A piece of food vanished.

“I got it,” your daughter declared proudly, already halfway gone again.

Toph didn’t even move. “You’re lucky I like you,” she said, chewing slowly, though the faintest smirk tugged at her mouth.

Zuko watched her with a mix of disbelief and quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to intervene or admire the sheer force of her will.

“She was sick?” he murmured under his breath.

You shrugged.

Atsumi, after several laps around the dining table, finally slowed and squeezed her way between Katara and Aang, picking up the little bison stuffed toy she had left in their care earlier.

Conversation had found its rhythm. Old friends catching up. Distant family telling tales.

“…And the damage?” you asked.

You listened. You replied. You added where needed. But eventually, almost without noticing, the conversation had deepened.

Zuko’s hand stilled slightly beside yours.

Aang glanced up. Katara’s posture straightened just enough to be noticed. Even Sokka quieted, though he tried to hide it behind a bite of food.

“Later then,” you glanced at Zuko.

Sokka, ever the first to recover, leaned back on his hands. “Great. ‘Later.’”

Toph snorted. “You act like you’re the one in trouble.”

“I am in trouble,” Sokka shot back. “I was there. I participated. I enabled—”

“If anyone’s in trouble… it’s Zuko,”

Zuko shot her a look of warning immediately—but there was no real bite to it.

He was just grateful you were currently occupied with redirecting your daughter away from Momo’s tail before she discovered yet another way to test the limits of her mothers patience.

“…She shouldn’t have this much energy.”

You huffed, sitting down with her.

Aang smiled faintly at that. “I remember someone else who didn’t know when to stop.”

Zuko pursed his lips.

“…You chased me across the world.”

Sokka pointed between Aang and Zuko. “See everyone here has a history of making questionable decisions but I’m always the liability?”

“You are the liability,” Toph said flatly.

“I am the glue of this group.”

“You’re the gum that gets stuck under my barefoot,” she shot back.

You and Katara shared a laugh.

“So what will happen now?” you asked afterward, looking over your daughters head as she climbed into your lap without permission and then dove into her fathers lap when he sat.

He was breathing heavy.

Atsumi had made him chase her around the room, laughter echoing between the tables until even the guards had started pretending not to watch.

You argued it was dinner and he had already eaten half of his meal, but Zuko didn’t know how to say no to her—especially not when she looked at him like that.

Aang set his bowl down before answering, his tone thoughtful, already a step ahead in planning. “We’ll head back to Republic City. There’s still work to be done”

Sokka groaned softly. “Ah yes, more work. My favourite.”

“You don’t do the work,” Katara said.

“I supervise the work.”

“You eat during the work.”

“I fuel morale.”

Toph flicked a raisin at him.

Ignoring them, Aang concluded. “After that… I’ll be taking the new Acolytes to the place Sonan mentioned.”

Zuko glanced between them before speaking. “I can have airships prepared by morning, if you'd need it.”

Aang nodded in quiet appreciation. “That would help.”

Katara glanced at him. “You’re sure about this?”

“It’s time,” Aang said simply.

Zuko considered that. “Let me know what you need. Supplies. Support. Anything.”

Eventually, you had the table cleared and replaced with light desserts and tea because no one seemed ready to head to bed yet. The atmosphere was warm. Unrushed. The company welcomed.

Aang met his gaze and nodded once. “I will.”

And in that small pocket of noise, you leaned slightly toward Zuko.

Your voice dropped—low enough that it belonged only to him.

“You should go with them.”

You smiled, faint yet certain. “I want you to see there’s still hope.”

He stilled. “You want me to leave again?”

Your words sunk in—finding places within his soul that had learned to never complain again. The past was not something he spoke of often, but it lived in him all the same.

The Fire Nation had taken everything from Aang’s… and even now, it still kept him up at night—haunting thoughts that never went away no matter how much time had passed or how much he had tried to make right what could be made right.

It was part of the reason he had moved so quickly when Aang’s message arrived.

And though he had not been the one to begin it, he had once chased its ending for all the wrong reasons.

That guilt had never quite left.

Your hand brushed lightly against his beneath the table.

“That isn’t yours to carry alone, nor is it his” you added, looking across the table.

Aang laughed boisterously at something Sokka had said.

“You think I can help with that?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I know you can.”

“Uhm… guys— just letting you know… she's really hot," Sokka said, wide-eyed as she clung to him with alarming determination.

Zuko’s eyes flicked toward him. Toward Aang. Toward the future being built in small, stubborn pieces.

“Atsumi” Zuko called.

Her fever must be returning.

At once, she looked up. And just as quickly—faster than she ever listened to anyone else, faster than when you called—she broke away from Sokka and returned to her fathers side.

No hesitation. No protest.

He bent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There was still too much left unspoken behind his eyes, too many thoughts he hadn’t yet sorted into words.

“I’ll take her to get her medicine” Zuko stood for the hundredth time that night.

He lifted your daughter carefully into his arms as if she were the most natural extension of himself.

Then he turned—already halfway gone in his mind. Tethered only by habit, by love, by everything he had built and still didn’t quite believe he deserved.

And you watched him go.

Your incandescent.

⥁Copyright © 2026 by halahxze — I claim no ownership of any referenced materials beyond my original writing and ideas. No part of this publication may be reproduced, republished, translated, or transmitted into Ai nor onto any other platform.

He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that you felt stunned by the sheer audacity that he was absolutely right. You turned back to your dough, attacking the next ball with more force than strictly necessary. “I absolutely mean it. Go away. Be the Firelord somewhere else. I have work to do.”

You heard him move closer. He stopped right behind you, close enough that you could smell the faint smoke-and-ember scent that always clung to him, like a hearthfire banked for the night.

“You’re doing the rolls wrong,” he murmured.

You had to suck in a deep breath to keep yourself from rolling your eyes to the back of your head.

“I am not.”

“You are. You’re making them too small. The one on the end is going to burn.”

You looked down at your perfectly shaped, uniformly sized rolls. They were fine. They were perfect. You had been making these exact rolls for seven years, and he had never once—not once—thanked you for making them, and now he wanted to criticize?

You picked up no more than a palm of flour and threw it at him.

Zuko could’ve dodged. He knew what was coming. He’d dodged worse things than flying flour—fire, knives, and the occasional well-aimed shoe from his friends. But he didn’t dodge. He stood there and let the flour hit him square in the chest, a puff of white dust blooming across the dark silk of his formal robe.

He looked down at himself. Then back at you.

“That,” he started, “was a three-hundred-year-old ceremonial robe. And perfectly good flour went to waste.”

“Good,” you huffed. “Maybe it’ll teach you not to critique my baking.”

He brushed at the flour, succeeding only in smearing it around. 

“You’re so childish.”

“Childish? I’m not the one who sneaks into the kitchen at midnight to steal vegetables and complain about portion sizes.”

“I wasn’t complaining. I was merely stating my opinion.”

“Opinion that I did not ask for, Firelord.”

Zuko frowned at the title. You knew just how to get him to sulk and pout.

“I was being helpful.”

You made a sound of pure, undiluted exasperation. “You don’t know the first thing about cooking besides the basics, Zuko.”

“I also know how to make tea.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Zuko’s mouth pressed into a thin line—the one that meant he was trying not to smile and failing miserably. He looked ridiculous, standing there in his flour-dusted ceremonial robes with a half-eaten radish in one hand, hair loose that pooled behind his back, his cheeks flushed with something that might have been embarrassment or might have been the warmth of the kitchen.

You ignored the incessant feeling that clawed at your chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion getting to you.

“Sit down,” you sighed. “If you’re going to be in my way, at least be in my way sitting down.”

Zuko sat. He always sat, eventually. That was the thing about these midnight visits—he, for all the power he had as Firelord, was utterly compliant when it came to you. 

You finished shaping the rolls in silence, your hands moving automatically, your mind somewhere else entirely. You could feel him watching you with something that you knew all too well. Something that had been there for so long you’d stopped questioning it.

“You look tired,” he said, finally.

“I look like I’ve been cooking for fourteen hours,” you replied. “Which I have.”

“You should sleep more.”

“I could, but the prep wouldn’t finish all of this, now would it?”

“I hired a lot of people in the royal kitchen for you not to do all of this.”

“Well, I like doing all of this my way,” you hummed. “It helps when I’m alone. Have you eaten?”

He didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

You sighed, reaching for a covered dish by the pantry. You set the dish in front of him with a spoon.

“It’s still warm.”

Zuko looked at the noodles. “You saved these for me?”

“I saved them for the compost,” you noted flatly. “You just happened to be here.”

He ate them. All of them. 

“(Name),” he said once he finished.

“Don’t,” you said, because you knew that tone. You’d heard it a hundred times, in a hundred different ways, and you weren’t ready for whatever was coming next.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say something that’s going to make this weird.”

Zuko huffed. “I’m not going to make it weird.”

“You’re always going to make it weird. You have a gift.”

He frowned—not his angry frown, but the one that crinkled the unscarred side of his face and made him look softer. “I was just going to say thank you.”

“For the noodles?”

Oh. That was new.

“For… everything. For being here. For putting up with me.” He gestured vaguely at the kitchen, at the flour on his robes, at the half-eaten radish now on a clean tray.

“For all of this.”

You felt your throat tighten. You turned back to the dough, even though the rolls were already finished and covered and ready to just set. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to throw flour at me.”

“That part’s a bonus,” you told him smugly. “Perks of being employed by the Firelord, I guess.”

There was something in the air; you were sure of it. It could be the dust motes or the warmth of the fire burning until it reaches its last embers.

Something that you were scared to address because you didn’t want to ruin what you already had.

“You’ve got flour on your face,” Zuko said.

“So do you.”

“No, I mean—” He stood up, crossed the few steps between you, and before you could react, his hand was cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing gently across your cheekbone, wiping away the streak of flour you’d forgotten about.

His hand was warm. They were always warm, firebenders—Zuko especially, like a banked coal that never quite went out. But this warmth was different. This warmth was certain. His thumb lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and his eyes—those impossible, burning gold eyes—were fixed on yours, and you swore you forgot how to breathe.

“There,” he murmured. “Got it.”

You should have stepped back. You should’ve deflected and went back to familiar territory. That was the dance you and him had been doing for seven years—push and pull, bicker and banter, never quite crossing the line into whatever lay beyond.

But you didn’t step back. And he didn’t let go.

“Zuko,” you said, and his name came out wrong—too breathless—like the longing you tried so hard to bury had finally resurfaced.

“(Name),” he replied, and there was something in his voice you’d never heard before. Something that sounded like fear, like hope, like the moment before a flame catches.

It’s something. And that something was both terrifying and something that you now wanted to name. To acknowledge and finally be honest.

“You should go,” you whispered, but you didn’t mean it, and he knew it.

“I know,” he said, and didn’t move.

His hand was still on your face. His thumb was still tracing slow, absent patterns on your cheekbone. You could feel the calluses on his fingers—sword calluses, firebending calluses, the hard-won scars of a boy who’d had to fight for everything he’d ever gotten. 

“If you’re going to kiss me,” you started, because you had gotten tired of waiting and because you’d never been good at keeping your mouth shut, “you should probably do it before I change my mind.”

Zuko’s breath caught. You thought you’d misread everything—thought you’d finally pushed too far, broken the fragile thing between you with your bluntness and your sharp tongue and your inability to just let things be.

Then he kissed you. Soft and chaste. You swore that feeling in your chest had never been happier.

You broke apart eventually, foreheads resting together, breathing the same warm kitchen air. Zuko’s hands had moved to your waist, his fingers curled into the fabric of your apron like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“That was—” he started.

“Seven years overdue,” you finished, smiling.

He laughed. “I was going to say ‘nice.’”

“It was nice,” you agreed. “But you can do better.”

His eyes widened, settling upon the realization. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s an observation.”

“You and your observations.”

“You and your—mmph!”

He kissed you again, rude to not have let you finish, and this time it wasn’t shy at all. The dough lay forgotten for a while, but that’s okay; you’ll have the Firelord’s help to help you remake another batch.