#soft zuko

pairing: ⸝⸝ Aged up! Zuko x Fem! Reader ⸝⸝

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst to comfort, secret pregnancy, found family, Iroh's wisdom

The morning sun peeked through the ornate windows of the Fire Nation palace, but you didn’t feel its usual warmth. Instead, you felt that familiar, heavy churning in your stomach. It had been happening for weeks now—exhaustion, the sudden sensitivity to the smell of Zuko’s favorite spicy foods, and a strange, fluttering pressure deep in your abdomen.

Tags: Adult!Zuko x Reader, Headcanons, Fluff

Warnings: Like ONE suggestive HC

Self-explanatory title. Zuko has become Firelord, so what does your relationship with him look like as a result?

Ehehehehe.... yes this is because of the new Avatar leaks. ZUKO OBSESSION IS BACK BABAAAYYYYY

* ˚ ✦ Read below the cut

Tags:!! second change love, Childhood lovers, wedding,Arranged wedding,zuko being soft,one night everything changes,stolen kiss etc

(sorry im sleepy)

i dont own the art used in the banner

Tying a new format of writing what do yall think?

Zuko x childhoodsweethear!reader

"Your Highness, with all due respect, this is not a suggestion—it's tradition." The councilman's voice was firm, his aged hands smoothing the scroll laid out before him. Zuko resisted the urge to crumple the parchment right there, the ink still fresh with the names he hadn't chosen for himself.

He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since before the banishment, before the scars, before the weight of a crown had settled onto his head. The Fire Nation’s politics were a web he’d learned to navigate, but this? Marriage? To someone he hadn’t spoken to since they were children playing in the palace gardens? His fingers tapped restlessly against the armrest of his throne.

The gardens were quieter now than they'd been in their childhood—fewer laughter-filled chases between hibiscus bushes, fewer stolen treats from the kitchens. Zuko stood at the edge of the courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, watching the turtleducks glide across the pond. Tomorrow, he’d be standing here with her. Tomorrow, everything would change again.

A rustle of fabric made him turn. She stood there, framed by the archway, the setting sun painting her in gold. Time had sharpened her features, softened only by the hesitant curve of her lips. "You’ve gotten taller," she said, and the familiarity of her voice—warm, teasing, just as he remembered—knocked the breath from his lungs.

"You’ve gotten bolder," he countered, but there was no heat in it. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been a prince with a temper and no throne. Now, he was Fire Lord, and she— "They didn’t tell me it was you. Not until this morning."

She stepped closer, her sandals whispering against the stone. "Would you have refused if they had?"

Zuko exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for her to notice. "I don't know," he admitted, quieter than he’d intended. The honesty surprised him—surprised them both, judging by the way her eyebrows lifted. "I spent years trying to prove I wasn’t the boy who got banished. Coming back… it wasn’t just about the throne. It was about being someone worth following."

She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve—not quite touching him, but close enough to make his pulse stutter. "You were always worth following," she said, and the simplicity of it made his chest ache. "Even when you were yelling at servants for bringing the wrong tea."

A laugh punched out of him, rough but genuine. "You remember that?"

"Remember? I was the one who swapped the jars." Her grin was unrepentant, the same mischievous tilt he’d memorized as a child. "You chased me halfway to the stables before you realized it was a joke."

Zuko’s laughter lingered in the air between them, loosening something tight in his chest. The memory—so simple, so foolish—felt like a gift. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, missed her, until now. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners, the way she bit her lower lip to stifle a giggle—it was all achingly familiar.

"You were always trouble," he murmured, but the words came out softer than he’d intended, almost fond. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It was the quiet of two people relearning each other, measuring the distance between who they’d been and who they were now.

She tilted her head, studying him. "You’re different," she said finally. "Not just taller. You’re… calmer."

Zuko huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Took a while." He hesitated, then added, "Aang helped. So did Uncle."

Her fingers finally closed around his wrist, warm and sure, her thumb brushing the pulse point beneath his skin. "I missed this," she admitted, voice low. "Missed you." The confession hung between them, raw and unguarded, and Zuko felt something in him shift—like a door he’d locked years ago creaking open.

"You didn’t write," he said, though it came out more curious than accusatory. The old hurt was there, but dulled by time.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Would you have read it? You were a little busy chasing the Avatar and… well." Her gaze flickered to his scar, then away, but not before he saw the flicker of regret. "I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. Not after everything."

Zuko exhaled sharply, turning his hand to lace their fingers together. "I would’ve read it," he said, and the certainty in his voice startled even him. "Even if I was too stubborn to admit it back then." Her fingers tightened around his, and the warmth of her palm against his felt like coming home—something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing until now.

The turtleducks quacked softly in the pond behind them, the sound mingling with the distant hum of the palace. She stepped closer, close enough that he could see the gold flecks in her eyes, the way her lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks. "Do you remember," she began, voice teasing, "when we swore we’d never get married unless it was to each other?"

Zuko’s breath caught. He remembered—vividly. They’d been twelve, sprawled on the palace rooftops after stealing a plate of honeyed buns from the kitchens, laughing as they made ridiculous vows between bites. "I thought you forgot," he admitted, thumb tracing the back of her hand.

She smirked. "I never forget a promise." Then, softer: "Even the silly ones."

The admission hung between them like the last notes of a familiar song—something half-forgotten but instantly recognizable. Zuko’s chest tightened, his grip on her hand unconsciously tightening as if she might slip away again. The memory of those rooftop vows, sticky-fingered and sugar-sweet, felt both achingly distant and impossibly close. "That was a lifetime ago," he murmured, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she stepped closer, until the space between them was nothing but the whisper of silk and the shared warmth of their breath. "And yet," she said, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze, "here we are." Her free hand lifted, hovering near his scarred cheek—not touching, just waiting. A question.

Zuko swallowed hard. He could count on one hand the people who’d ever reached for him like this—without flinching, without pity.

Zuko leaned into her touch before he realized he'd moved, his breath hitching as her fingers finally grazed the ruined skin. Her palm was warm against his cheek, her thumb tracing the edge of the scar with a tenderness that made his throat tighten. "You don’t have to be careful," he murmured, voice rough. "It doesn’t hurt anymore."

She shook her head, her smile bittersweet. "I’m not being careful. I’m remembering." Her thumb brushed the ridge of his eyebrow, lingering where the scar cut through. "You got this from your father, didn’t you?"

His silence must have been answer enough, because her eyes softened. "I saw heard about it" she admitted. "i am so sorry you had to go through that at 13"

Zuko’s chest ached. All these years, he’d assumed no one had apologized to him or given him Solace . "You never said anything," he breathed.

"And what would I have said?" she whispered, her thumb still tracing the uneven texture of his scar. "That you were brave? You already knew that. That you were reckless? You definitely knew that." A quiet laugh escaped her, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Besides, you were already gone by the time I could’ve reached you."

Zuko’s fingers tightened around hers, the memory of his banishment sharp between them—how abruptly it had happened, how little time there had been for goodbyes. "I wouldn’t have listened anyway," he admitted ruefully. "I was too busy being angry at the world."

She smirked, the expression so familiar it made his chest ache. "Some things never change." But then her smile softened, and she added, "But the things that did? They’re good, Zuko. You’re good."

The sincerity in her voice unraveled something in him. He’d spent years clawing his way back to something resembling honor, something worthy of his throne—but here she was, seeing him, not the Fire Lord, not the scarred prince, just Zuko, flaws and all. His breath shuddered out, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I missed you too," he murmured, the words raw in the quiet between them. "Every damn day."

The air between them hummed with something unspoken, her forehead still pressed against his, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the courtyard. Zuko could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse where their fingers remained intertwined—or maybe it was his own. He couldn’t tell anymore. The world had narrowed to the warmth of her skin, the scent of jasmine in her hair, the way her lashes brushed against his when she blinked.

"You know," she whispered, her voice barely louder than the breeze rustling the hibiscus blooms, "tomorrow, we’re supposed to stand here and promise to love each other forever." A wry smile tugged at her lips. "Technically, we already did that when we were twelve."

Zuko huffed a quiet laugh, but his chest tightened. The weight of tomorrow—of forever—settled over him, not as a burden, but as something startlingly light. "We were idiots back then," he murmured.

"Speak for yourself," she retorted, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes were bright with mischief, but beneath it, something softer lingered. "I knew exactly what I was promising."

Zuko’s breath caught. The courtyard, the palace, the weight of his crown—it all faded into the background, leaving only her. The way her fingers curled into his sleeve, the knowing tilt of her smile, the way her eyes held his without hesitation. "You knew?" he asked, voice rough with disbelief.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed pink. "Of course I knew. You were the only one who didn’t realize it wasn’t just a game." Her thumb brushed his wrist again, a silent confession. "I would’ve followed you anywhere, Zuko. Even into banishment."

The admission hit him like a blow to the chest. He’d spent years believing he’d been alone—that no one had cared enough to follow. But she had. She’d been right there, watching him from the shadows, remembering him when he’d tried so hard to forget himself.

"You’re an idiot," he muttered, but the words came out choked. Before she could protest, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her cheeks. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening, but she didn’t pull away.

Gradually, as if pulled by some unseen force, Zuko leaned closer—slow enough that she could have stepped back, slow enough that the moment stretched like honey between them. His breath ghosted over her lips, warm and uneven, and he paused there, hovering, giving her one last chance to turn away. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her chin up, her fingers curling into the fabric of his robes, anchoring him to her.

The first brush of their lips was tentative, a question more than a kiss. It was the gentlest thing Zuko had allowed himself in years, the softness of it startling against the calloused edges of his life. Her mouth was warm, yielding, and when she sighed against him, something fractured in his chest. He deepened the kiss without thinking, his hands sliding into her hair, fingertips tracing the delicate curve of her jaw as if memorizing her all over again.

She tasted like childhood summers—like stolen lychee nuts and the salt of the sea after a day spent sparring on the beach. The familiarity of it sent a shiver down his spine. How many times had he dreamed of this? Of her? Of the way her laughter had once been his only solace in the long, lonely nights of his banishment? And now here she was, real and warm and his, kissing him back with a fervor that made his knees weak.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Zuko’s breath came in ragged bursts. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and the sight of her like this—undone by him—sent a possessive thrill through him. “That,” she whispered, her voice husky, “was not how twelve-year-old me imagined our first kiss.”

Zuko barked a laugh, the sound rough with disbelief. “You imagined it?”

She rolled her eyes, but the pink in her cheeks deepened. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But her fingers tightened in his robes, betraying her.

The courtyard around them was silent save for the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional quack of the turtleducks. The sun had fully set now, casting them in the soft glow of lantern light, their shadows merging into one on the polished stone beneath their feet. Tomorrow, they’d stand here again, surrounded by nobles and officials, bound by tradition and duty. But tonight? Tonight was theirs alone.

Zuko traced the curve of her ear with his thumb, marveling at the way she leaned into his touch. “We should go inside,” he murmured, though he made no move to pull away.

She arched a brow. “Afraid I’ll scandalize the guards if you kiss me again?”

“Yes.” The admission was gruff but honest. He’d spent years rebuilding his reputation, and the last thing he needed was rumors of the Fire Lord mauling his bride-to-be in the gardens like a lovesick teenager. Even if that’s exactly what he felt like.

She laughed—a bright, clear sound that reminded him of wind chimes—and tugged him toward the palace. “Come on,” she said, her fingers lacing through his. “I want to see if the kitchens still have those honeyed buns we used to steal.”

The corridors were quiet at this hour, the torches casting long, flickering shadows as they wound their way through the palace. It was strange, walking these halls with her again. The last time they’d done this, they’d been children, ducking behind tapestries to avoid patrolling guards. Now, the guards bowed as they passed, their faces carefully neutral despite the way Zuko’s thumb absently stroked the back of her hand.

They rounded a corner and nearly collided with Councilman Hiroto, his wrinkled face pinched in disapproval. “Your Highness,” he intoned, eyes darting to their entwined fingers. “This is… irregular.”

Zuko stiffened. He could feel her grip tighten slightly, a silent show of solidarity. “Councilman,” he said evenly. “Is there a problem?”

Hiroto’s nostrils flared. “The wedding is tomorrow. Tradition dictates—”

“Tradition can wait,” she interrupted smoothly, stepping forward with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Unless you’d like to explain to the Fire Lord why he can’t escort his bride-to-be to the kitchens?”

The old man spluttered, his wrinkled face flushing. Zuko bit back a smirk. She’d always been quicker with words than he had. “As you say, Your Highness,” Hiroto muttered, bowing stiffly before shuffling away, though not without casting a disapproving glance over his shoulder.

The moment he turned the corner, she exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing. “He’s going to make our lives miserable, isn’t he?”

Zuko snorted. “He already does.” But the tension lingered, pressing against his ribs like a weight. Tomorrow, every move they made would be scrutinized—every touch, every glance dissected by a court that had only ever seen him as a scarred prince or a hesitant Fire Lord.

The kitchens were quiet when they arrived, the scent of baking bread thick in the air. She grinned, nudging him toward the pantry with the same mischievous glint she’d had at twelve. “Bet you can’t steal two without getting caught.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but followed, his fingers brushing hers as they crept past drowsy servants. The honeyed buns were exactly where they’d always been—wrapped in linen on the highest shelf. She reached up, her sleeve slipping to reveal the faint scar on her wrist from when she’d fallen out of the plum tree trying to impress him.

aight but zuko with dimples tho??? yes

As a kid, Zukos mum encouraged his love for the arts. Zuko loved wrighting and playing music. He would tell her all about how one day one of his songs will be played on stage.

When she disappeared anything that wasn’t war was considered week and somthing to be ashamed of. As a loyal son all his music stuff was packed away . And he stopped going to the theatre .

It was shameful hobby for a prince

—————————————-

When he was banished he certainly had a lot of time to himself away from his fathers disapproving eye And in the encouraging eye of his uncle. 

He started wrighting again and if he joined music night on the ship . No one commented .

Over three years he filled many notebooks of music . Some of it was just angry venting . But some of it was good .

—————

In ba seng se he would spend his days off watching the shows by the amateur dramatic groups . If asked he would complain it was a waist of time but he would always watch to the end eyes glued to the stage.

—————

if his vigilante persona was a character from his Favorite play. No it wasn’t

————————

When he joined the gang he didn’t realy have time for hobby’s but katara found his notebook when she was snooping through his stuff to “ find proof that he’s still evil”. Zuko found this horribly embarrassing but kataras couldn’t help but find it oddly endearing

—————

As he started to bond with the group he even began to share his interests.

Him and sukka bonded over there love of poetry .

Toph thought the note book itself was boring. But she bullied him into playing some music on an instrument she found and she had to admit that he was really good.

they all found it amusing to listen to the normaly quiet boy rant about everything wrong with the ember Islend players .

————————

At his coronation Zuko wasn’t well enugh to do any of the traditional coronation festivity’s , he could barely stand . So the fire nation decided to put on a show in his honner to celibrate the end of the war . So all he had to do was sit still and watch

As ang called it “the ember Islend players the corect way “

Though sukka would deny involvement . One of the performances played on stage sound a lot like one of zukos songs.