Work Text:
“Mom?” Zuko’s whisper pierced through the silence of the night.
Ursa stirred, a jolt of movement shaking her from the depths of sleep. A gentle pressure tugged at her shoulder, followed by the shifting of weight at her side.
“Mom… I need you.”
She blinked into the darkness, her vision adjusting slowly as her eyes blinked away the sleep. Shadows loomed across the room, painted silver by the slant of moonlight filtering through the open window. When her eyes settled, she found Zuko there, hunched at the edge of her bed like a child lost in a nightmare.
His face was drawn tight with unease, brow furrowed, lips pressed in a hard line. The pale side of his face caught the moonlight, stark against the shadows, and for the briefest moment, her heart seized.
Ozai?
She banished the thought just as quickly. Ozai was in prison now. She had to constantly remind herself.
“What’s wrong, darling?” she asked, her voice low, threaded with concern and caution.
“I can’t—” He struggled, the words catching like thorns in his throat. “I can’t do this… I can’t sleep. I can’t…”
She saw it in him, the strain carved into his expression, the weight of a crown newly placed upon his head. The role of Fire Lord was no small mantle, and already it was grinding into his shoulders, stiffening his neck, and stealing what little rest time allowed.
Ursa recognized that burden. She had lived with it once, shared a bed with it, listened to it breathe beside her in the dark. She remembered how it haunted Ozai long before it was ever truly his, how the desire for power had poisoned his dreams and sharpened his edges. And now, she watched that same poison work its way through her son.
Without a word, she reached for him.
She had comforted Ozai through nights like this with whispered reassurances in the hush before dawn, cooled his fevered thoughts with gentle hands and a practiced smile. And now, she reached to soothe the boy created of that same ambition. Her son, the one the Fire Sages had foretold of, and born to rule.
Together, she and Ozai had ended Azulon’s reign with one small vial. For power, yes, but more so to save Zuko’s life. To protect him from a death sentence handed down in rage. Even now, the memory sent a tremor through her bones. She had wished the old man dead for years, but the image of him—Fire Lord Azulon, lying lifeless with wide, glassy eyes, fixed eternally on the two of them, still haunted her.
Ursa had done many things in the name of love, in service to her family. But until that night, her hands had never taken a life, not directly at least.
Technically, Ozai was the one who landed the final blow , she thought, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips.
The memory returned with startling clarity. She and Ozai hadn’t loved each other that fiercely since the earliest days of their marriage, right there, beside the old man’s cooling corpse. It had been a victory, hard-earned and long overdue.
Ursa wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, drawing her night robe tighter around her frame. The fabric rustled softly, a whisper against her skin. It still felt strange, this layering of modesty. After so many years away from the palace, it had become unfamiliar, almost performative. Another tedious habit she’d been forced to relearn, one she quietly resented.
She remembered a night, months past, when Zuko had come to her room like this, disturbed from sleep and seeking solace. She had shifted upright beneath the silk sheets, her body bare beneath their cool weight. His eyes had met hers and then dropped, fast and panicked, his head snapping to the side in polite horror. He had stood there, stiff with propriety, waiting, rigid and respectful until she had drawn the covers up.
She couldn’t help the flicker of annoyance. Ozai never minded .
But Zuko wasn’t Ozai. She reminded herself of that often.
Ursa extended an arm, her voice low and knowing.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” she said, beckoning him.
Without hesitation, Zuko came to her, folding into her embrace. He curled against her like a child seeking shelter from a storm, clutching her with a desperate fervor that pinched her ribs.
His entire body was coiled with tension, his frame rigid against hers. She hummed a soft melody similar to the songs she sang to him as a child. Her fingers gently brushing the side of his face. Tracing a path from cheek to temple to scalp, moving in slow, rhythmic strokes.
Gradually, his body softened beneath her touch. His muscles loosened, his breathing slowed. And eventually, he succumbed to sleep. His body pressed close to her, finally at peace. At this proximity, she could smell the faint scent of incense that clung to his hair and skin.
He was nearly twenty and still he found comfort in sleeping in her bed. When he was a boy, Ozai had expressed in no uncertain terms that he was displeased to find their son intertwined in her arms. Zuko’s restless sleep often caused him to turn and twist throughout the night. Sometimes she would awaken to find a tiny fist or a foot mere centimeters from her face. He had grown since then. His head nestled on her chest, his long dark hair spilling across the front of her robes.
His features were a striking resemblance to his father's, except for the scars that marred his face and chest. The burned area was hidden, but the untouched half seemed to gleam with a familiar intensity, as if it were a mirror image of Ozai's own face. Her hands roamed through his hair, a comforting gesture that seemed to ease his own tension.
As she gazed at Zuko, she felt a pang of nostalgia wash over her. He was a clone of his father, with the same cascading black hair, the same knowing smirk, and the same relaxed ease in her arms. Their heads were always positioned between her breasts, and she hummed softly to them, a soothing sound that seemed to lull them both into a state of relaxation.
Beneath the surface calm, Ursa knew a tangle of emotions simmered quietly. Zuko had taken drastic measures to protect the world and end the war. She had hated the path he’d chosen, even as she slowly came to understand his reasoning. Grudgingly, she’d accepted that his sense of duty had demanded sacrifices, chief among them, his father.
Stripping Ozai of his firebending had not been enough. Zuko had locked him away to rot in silence and shadows. A man without power or a legacy. The man Ursa had once loved, the man she once fought for was gone. In his place remained a husk: meek, powerless, and clinging pathetically to her attention like a kicked dog.
The memory of Ozai clutched at her throat. A lump formed there as tears threatened to rise. She was not a woman who wept easily. And yet the man she both loved and hated still had the power to wound her. She had hoped that her return to the palace would offer closure. That the corridors and courtyards might restore something she had lost. But instead, all she found were ghosts.
Zuko, sensing her movement, tightened his hold on her, his body responding to her gentle strokes. His shirtless form seemed to glow in the dim light, and Ursa felt a flutter in her chest as she gazed at him. She held him closer, giving herself small allowances, her robe opening just enough to allow him to rest against her.
As she looked at Zuko, Ursa felt a pang of guilt. She was drawn to him, but she knew that it was wrong. Ikem, her current husband, was kind to her. Gentle in that disarming way only someone untouched by palace politics could be. There was an innocence in his gestures. The way he held doors open for her, the way he asked before touching her hand, the way he listened, even when she had nothing to say. Perhaps, in another life, she might have loved him. Perhaps she would have found his steadiness endearing, his quiet life a kind of safety she could lean into.
But now? She found him excruciatingly dull.
He was a polite distraction from the ache of loneliness. What he lacked was danger. The unspoken thrill that had made every moment with Ozai feel like standing at the edge of a cliff. Their love had never been gentle, it had been incendiary. One moment, they would stroll through the palace gardens, their fingers brushing as they whispered about which noble they’d ruin next. The next, she would glance at him across the dinner table and seriously consider driving a bread knife into his chest.
It wasn’t the sort of romance the poets sang about, but it was the only kind she had ever known. The only kind that had made her feel alive.
She missed that life. Missed the power, the virulent affection… and as the days dragged by, each one slower, each one more suffocating, Ursa found herself haunted by a truth she could no longer evade.
Zuko was beginning to resemble his father.
Not just in his appearance, though there were moments when he turned his head and the light caught him just so, and she felt the air freeze in her lungs. It was more than that. It was in his posture, rigid and proud. In his silence, which no longer felt thoughtful, but heavy. In his gaze, piercing and cold, a look that seemed to cut through rather than see.
And that excited her.
She caught herself staring at Zuko's trousers, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the subtle movement of his hips. It was an instinctive reaction, one that she tried to suppress, but couldn't. The way his muscles rippled beneath his skin, the gentle flex of his abdomen as he moved, even at rest was almost hypnotic.
Her hand hovered above the waistband of his trousers, her fingers trembling slightly as she hesitated. It was a tentative touch, one that she quickly withdrew, but not before she'd felt the warmth of his skin emanating from beneath the fabric.
She felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she realized what she'd been doing. She shouldn't be watching him so intently, but she couldn't help herself.
Just a small touch , she told herself. Just a small adjustment . One small allowance.
Before sense could stop her, Ursa's hand made contact with Zuko's pelvis, her fingers brushing against the firm muscles hidden beneath his clothing. A rush of adrenaline went through her veins, a sensation that was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was as if she were touching Ozai all over again, the familiarity of his body imprinting on her mind. It was almost too much to bear. Her breath hitched and her heart thundered in her chest.
The boundaries of reality had begun to blur as she remembered a time when Ozai’s touch was both once sanctuary and a prison for her. The memory of his hands on her body, his voice in her ear, his scent filling her senses, it all rushed back to her.
She could feel the heat of Zuko’s body beneath her touch, the way his muscles tensed and related under her fingertips. It was intoxicating, a thrill. The first one she had in many, many years. She knew she should pull away, she should stop herself before it went any further. But her body betrayed her, her hand lingering on his pelvis, her fingers tracing the contours of his body with a hunger that she hadn’t known since she was married to Ozai.
Zuko’s breath stilled, a soft gasp followed by a moan as his body responded instinctively to her touch. The tension coiled tightly in her stomach, her sex becoming slick and her nipples hardening against the thin fabric of her night robe. Ursa bit her lip as her mind drifted further into thought.
She imagined herself straddling him, and pushing his cock inside of herself. Her hips moving in a slow sensual grind. She could practically feel him hot and hard involuntarily pushing himself further in her. A soft moan escaped her lips as she got lost in her own thoughts.
No mother should be thinking of her son in such a way. She should feel shame for such lewd, disgusting thoughts. But shame and guilt had become foreign to her, maybe she felt it years ago, but years of palace politics and machinations devoid her of those emotions, if she ever had them to begin with. Her free hand had started up her thighs to rest between them. Her sex begged to be touched, when she had felt that unmistakable feeling of being watched. Ursa raised her head to see one golden eye staring up at her between a sheet of black hair.
She hesitated, her hand withdrew from Zuko's crotch.
"You—you were—" she began, her voice trailing off as she searched for words.
Zuko blinked lazily at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
"Mom? What are you...?" His voice faded into silence.
Ursa's panic set in, and she held her breath, her mind brought her back to reality. What was she doing? Had the years of isolation driven her mad?
The words tumbled out of her mouth in a whispered plea, her voice barely audible.
"Do you... want me to stop?"
She hesitated, expecting him to react with anger, to storm out of the room and leave her to face the silence alone.
But instead of pushing her away, Zuko's body seemed to lean in, his movements becoming more deliberate, more inviting. He adjusted his position, angling his body to give her better access, a silent invitation. A soft gasp escaped his lips as he surrendered to her touch, his body responding with a hunger that matched her own.
“Zuko,” she said, leaning closer to him.
Her breath was hot against his ear. Her voice was a whisper.
“Is this what you want?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he let his body speak for him. He arched his hips into her hand. A silent plea for more.
“You’re so tense,” she said, placing her hand back over his hardness. “Let me help you.”
She wondered if his girlfriend, Mai, had ever done this to him or if perhaps she was a contributor to his stress. She ran her fingers up and down his length in a rhythmic fashion, her touch deliberate and skilled. His body responded to her, a moan emanating from his chest as he grew harder under her touch.
The more she stroked him, the more his breathing caught itself in his throat, his body becoming increasingly rigid with desire. It felt so wrong, but the forbidden nature of it made it all the more exhilarating. She had never wanted anything more in years. Zuko was Fire Lord now, and she needed to mold him into the leader she envisioned, one careful step at a time.
His hand reached out to her, finding her thigh to stroke it gently before slipping his hand inside the open space of her robe. His touch was warm against her ribs. His hands investigated every curve of her body until he found one of her breasts. Squeezing one softly as if he owned it. One of his fingers found her nipple, and rolled it between his calloused fingers, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.
She was surprised at his boldness. Zuko had always been one to second-guess himself, each action plagued with doubt. But here, he seemed so sure of himself, his golden eyes hazy with pleasure. He exhaled a shaky breath as she expertly stroked him with a trained hand, his body trembling with each touch.
Ursa's hand slipped into his trousers, freeing his cock from its confines and was taken aback by his size. His father, Ozai was a mountain of a man, towering over her, and his erection was equally imposing. Prior to their wedding day she had been teasing him for months, finding reasons to touch his chest or his arms, and brushing her rear against him whenever she got the chance. And always with that mischievous grin on her face.
But the night of their wedding, when she gave him her virginity was different.
The air in their chamber was hot and thick with anticipation as Ozai stripped off the last of his clothes, tossing them aside without a care. Her eyes were drawn to the thick, long cock between his legs, hard and eager for her.
Ursa never remembered feeling so small and fragile as she wondered if he would even fit inside of her or if he would rip her in two.
He did, eventually, but it was a slow and painful process. She took him inch by inch, her body stretching to accommodate his massive size until he filled her completely. The next morning, she moved with a slight limp, her jaw aching and her throat sore. Ozai wore a smug grin all day, pleased with himself, knowing that he marked her forever.
Ursa’s body had adapted swiftly from that day forward, but no other man could match the fullness or the ferocity of their lovemaking. He ruined her for lesser men, including Ikem.
Until Zuko that is. While not as thick as his father’s member, Zuko made up for it in length. Curling upwards in a way that promised both intense pleasure and that familiar exhilarating pain that made her feel like a virgin teenager again.
It must be genetic , she giggled to herself as she wrapped her hand around Zuko’s length, smearing the droplet of precum with thumb along the velvety underside of his cock. His body involuntarily twitched toward her hand. His hand clutched at her breast hard enough to make her moan.
“Mom—” he said, the words came out like a desperate dull ache.
Hearing the word ‘mom’ slip from his lips made her skin crawl not just with disgust for herself, but also an incredible desire. She stroked the smooth half of his face with her free hand while the other pleasured him.
“Sssh,” she whispered, her voice a low purr. “Lie back and let go, Zuko. Let me take care of you.”
With her free hand, she gently turned his head, stroking the smooth, pale part of his face. She leaned over him, her lips tracing a path of soft kisses down his abdomen. His stomach shuddered with each touch, his body tensing in anticipation. She continued her descent, her kisses slow and deliberate, until she reached the head of his cock. The tip of her tongue drew along the underside of his cock, eliciting a sharp inhale from him.
She wrapped her lips around him, sucking gently as she slid him further down her throat. Her head bobbed slowly up and down, the rhythm deliberate and enticing. Her tongue memorized every sensitive inch of him to drive him closer to the edge. She hated to admit how much she had loved this, how much she had relished being on her knees in front of his father, taking every inch of him into her mouth. But the memories only heightened her arousal, making each movement more intense. It took every bit of her self-control not to take him in between her aching legs and fuck him for her own pleasure. But this wasn’t about her. This was about relieving him of his burdens.
It had been years since she had taken a cock of Zuko’s or Ozai’s size and her throat fought back against the effort. She relaxed her throat and breathed through her nose until Zuko’s cock hit the back of her throat with relative ease. She quickened her pace, her head bobbing up and down. She looked up at him with eager eyes, her lips glistening with saliva. His back was arched, his body rigid with pleasure, and his moans resembled deep, guttural growls that made her nipples harden against her robe.
His hand cupped the back of her head, pushing her further onto his cock. He wrapped his fingers around her dark hair, guiding her movements, pushing her further down until the tip of her nose brushed against his dark pubic hair. She took him deeply, willing her throat to relax to accommodate his length, her eyes watering slightly from the effort.
You’re becoming a little more like your father every day, she thought, smiling ever so slightly. Even their moans sounded similar. Except you’re malleable.
His body bucked toward her, as she felt his abdomen muscles tense underneath her fingertips. He was close, she could feel him. She used her hands in tandem with her mouth, allowing her fingers to stroke the base of his cock while her other hand cupped his balls. Her movements quickened becoming more urgent, her head bobbing faster.
He cursed underneath his breath as he stiffened further into her mouth. His hand wrapped around her hair like a vise as he held her head down, forcibly keeping her in place. His hips bucked forward with a primal force as a guttural groan escaped his throat. A flood of heat filled Ursa’s mouth. The taste of him was salty and warm, threatening to drown her. She swallowed quickly, still running her tongue along the smooth, sensitive underside of his cock. His body trembled underneath her touch. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps as he rode the waves of his climax. She pulled her head back until his cock left her mouth with a sharp ‘pop.’
He laid back into her bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. She laid beside him, squeezing her legs together to relieve the ache of her own desire and nuzzled his head against hers.
They laid there in silence, the only sounds were the rustling of the sheets and the distant hum of the palace. He kept his head turned from her. Staring out into a distance that she couldn’t grasp. Ursa watched him for what felt like ages before her eyes became heavy and she found herself slowly drifting off to sleep when his raspy voice whispered.
“Did you… want me to… is it your turn?” he asked, his voice was hesitant and soft, speaking into the air, keeping his gaze averted from hers.
She cupped the unscarred side of his face until he turned to look at her, stroking his cheek bone. This was the considerate boy she raised. Most men, and especially his father would’ve turned over and gone to sleep. Her pleasure being an afterthought. But Zuko was different. In truth she wanted nothing more than to see his face between her thighs. To feel his cock violating every hole she had. The thought made her squeeze her thighs tighter together. But she resisted the urge.
She didn’t expect her own pleasure. This was a duty. A devotion to her family and their empire. She placed a tender kiss on top of his forehead. Her lips brushed against his skin as she spoke. Her warm breath against his pitch black hair.
“No, my darling,” she said with a hum, placing her head on top of his, feeling the warmth of his skin against her cheek. “You have enough responsibilities and this was about you.”
She placed a final kiss on his cheek only inches from his lips.
“Rest now.”
He initially mumbled a retort, but any contention was met with exhaustion. She hugged him close, wrapping him in her arms tightly. His muscles uncoiled as the tension drifted away. He settled into her embrace, his breathing deepening as he drifted into a peaceful, serene sleep.
Ursa knew she should have felt more guilt for this. Every fiber of her being was screaming that what she was doing was wrong, that she was stepping over lines that should never be crossed. Yet the rational part of her brain struggled to overcome the intensity of her desires. She told herself that he hadn't said no, that he hadn't pushed her away. On the contrary, he had relaxed into her touch, his body yielding to her will.
He was bigger and stronger than her, and most importantly, he was a firebender. He could have made her stop at any time, his powers far surpassing hers. But he didn't. He was content to allow her hands and mouth to ease his tension, his body responding to her touch with a fervor that excited her.
The next morning, by the time Ursa awakened, she found the space beside her cold and empty. Zuko was gone. She hadn't felt him leave, her sleep too deep and dreamless to register his departure. The bed felt chilled to the touch, the warmth of his body replaced by an eerie emptiness that sent a shiver down her spine.
She reached out, her fingers tracing the indent in the pillow where his head had lain. Instead of pulling away, she wrapped her arms around it, drawing it close to her chest. She inhaled deeply, taking in the faint remnants of his scent mingled with the faded smell of incense. The aroma was a bittersweet reminder of the night before.
While the fabric of the pillow pressed against the side of her face, Ursa’s mind drifted back to the memories of the previous night. The recollections sent a wave of heat through her body making her sex slick and throbbing with need. She hesitated for a moment, heart pounded against her chest before giving into the ache. Her hand slipped between her thighs, her fingers finding her clit that pulsed with desire.
She began to stroke herself, her touch gentle at first, teasing and exploring. She could feel the wetness between her legs, her body responding eagerly with every flick of her steady fingers. The sensation sent shivers of pleasure through her body, each touch reigniting the memory of Zuko in her bed. She cupped her breasts with her other hand, placing a nipple between two pinched fingers. Her nails dug into her skin, the mix of pleasure and pain sending her groaning with each twist and pull. She increased the pressure, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as her muscles tensed and her toes curled.
The memories of Zuko's helplessness at her touch, the way his body tensed with her hands around his cock—it all fueled her desire, pushing her closer to the edge. She moaned louder, not caring who heard her. Her body arched with the intensity of her touch, her knuckles turning white the harder she pinched at her nipple. She was masturbating to the thought of her son, the sensation overwhelming, a mixture of revulsion and desire that heightened every pinch, every touch, every stroke.
The room spun around her, the aftermath of her orgasm leaving her limbs weak and her mind hazy. She held the pillow to her face again, taking one more inhale of his presence before tossing it to the other side of the bed.
Ursa felt the weight of the previous night settle heavily upon her shoulders as she waited in vain for him to join her for breakfast. He always shared this meal with her, and his absence was a stark reminder of the events that had transpired. Why had she acted so impulsively? What had possessed her? Had she been thinking at all? She desperately hoped that he would join her, that if he felt sour about what had happened between them, she might find a way to explain away her actions, to convince him that she had not been in her right mind.
She could tell him that, despite her hatred for his father, she still loved him and missed him deeply. Ursa had been shrouded in loneliness ever since returning to the palace. Surely, he could never hate her in the same way.
Ursa had an ongoing debate in her head if he would understand if she told him that she had confused him for his father after she mixed alcohol with one of the teas she brewed to resolve a headache.
Yet, a nagging doubt gnawed at her. What if he confided in Mai? Her son was not like Ozai, who had indulged in numerous affairs. Some of them blatant, others had been behind her back. Unlike Ozai, Zuko possessed a conscience and an unwavering sense of loyalty to those he loved. The guilt might consume him, eat away at him from the inside until he could no longer contain it. He had betrayed his lover's trust, and with his own mother, no less.
Ursa absent-mindedly shuffled the untouched food on her plate with her chopsticks. Her tea had grown cold as she lost herself in thought. After over an hour, the servants had cleared her table, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her rationalizations began to spiral, and she tried to consider every possible reason for his absence, beyond the obvious.
Perhaps he had an important meeting she had forgotten about, or maybe he was visiting Agni’s temple or he had an engagement with Iroh or Mai. At any moment, she expected him to burst through the door, frantically apologizing for keeping her waiting.
For well over an hour, Ursa fixed her gaze straight ahead, toward the door, keeping a book or a game of Pai Sho nearby to feign preoccupation. As if she hadn't been straining to hear every sound that even remotely resembled his footsteps, only to have them fade as quickly as they had come.
As evening fell and he still had not sent word or made an appearance. Ursa's anxiety reached a fever pitch. She had spent the entire day pacing the palace, room after room, not only in search of him but also in a futile attempt to calm her frayed nerves. When she couldn't find him, she contemplated leaving in the dead of night, perhaps returning to Hira'a with Ikem and trying to forget the potential fallout of her actions.
Ursa's mind had taken control of her body, guiding her through the motions of the day like a marionette. When she finally came to her senses, she found herself immersed in what she thought was a hot bath, the water had now grown tepid. The silence from Zuko pressed down upon her like a heavy shroud. It was a familiar and oppressive sensation.
Ozai would often punish her with silence and disdain when she had displeased him, sometimes for hours, days, or even longer. Once, it had been nearly a month before he deigned to look at her. She enjoyed the silence for a handful of weeks, but it became maddening by the fourth week.
The door clicked open, and she assumed it was a servant coming to reheat her bath. She didn't bother to turn around, her mind still consumed by her thoughts. But when she heard a voice that sounded familiar, she froze.
"Mom?"
Ursa turned too quickly, causing a sharp pain to shoot through her neck. She ignored the discomfort, her eyes straining to see through the steam. His expression was unreadable, his face a mask of cold indifference. He stood in the corner, maintaining a chilly distance between them, the headpiece still pinned into his top knot.
Ursa stood up from the bath, her modesty forgotten in her haste. Her long dark hair clung to her wet back and chest as the water dribbled off of her.
"Darling," she exclaimed, her voice filled with a desperation she couldn't hide.
Relief washed over her as she saw him, her heart aching with a mix of joy and fear. His eyes didn't avert from hers this time; those days were likely far behind them.
"I didn't see you at breakfast," she began, her voice trembling slightly.
She clasped her hands together to keep herself from shaking from the sudden chill.
"I thought—”
"I was busy," he replied, his voice as cold and unyielding as ice.
The warmth that had once filled his words was notably absent, replaced by a chilling detachment that sent a shiver down her spine. The sudden stern chill of his words sent goosebumps through her body. Her nipples hardened from cold air brushing against her.
“Busy? Oh. I see.”
Ursa’s voice trembled slightly, her heart sinking as she attempted to mask her disappointment with a weak smile. She wanted to probe deeper, to understand the sudden distance between them, but she held back, remembering the weight of his responsibilities.
But too busy to send word to a servant that he wouldn’t be attending breakfast? Too busy to call upon me to join him at the temple? Too busy to give me a kiss on the cheek? She wanted to say, but she held her tongue.
Being the Fire Lord left little room for personal time, especially in the wake of his father’s brutal legacy. She rushed to fill the silence with a flurry of timid words. Her voice wavered with every syllable.
“I’ve been busy myself,” she lied.
“However, I missed you today, and there’s already so much for you to do,” she admitted, her fingers nervously toying with the ends of her wet dark hair. “Perhaps I could be of assistance. If you need me to write letters or attend to other matters—"
He interrupted her once more, his tone as sharp as the steel of a blade.
“Mai is perfectly content to take the task from me.”
“Oh.”
A single word escaped her lips like a breath too fragile to hold. A feeble attempt to mask her true emotions. Ursa felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of Mai’s name, a bitter taste lingering on her tongue that refused to fade. She knew she ought to be grateful that Zuko had someone so capable and devoted by his side as any mother would. Yet the sting of his rejection cut deep stripping away her composure and leaving her raw, exposed, and aching
Ursa fought to control the slight curl of her lip, but the effort was almost too much. The mere thought of working alongside stirred a familiar, simmering anger within her. The same anger that she would feel when Ozai flaunted his blatant affairs in front of her. Why should she have to endure Mai’s presence? Every reminder of her existence felt like a fresh wound, an incessant irritation that refused to heal.
“You shouldn’t place all the burden on her,” Ursa said, her voice striving for calm, but edged with defiance. “I’m more than capable of helping.”
“Mai will inform me if she requires assistance,” Zuko answered.
The air in the room seemed to turn colder, the warm steam from her bath now a suffocating mist that clung to her skin, thick and oppressive. She could feel the weight of his silence pressing down upon her, a tangible force that made it difficult to breathe. The man standing before her was a stranger, his eyes cold and distant.
Ursa became suddenly, painfully aware of her nakedness. Swiftly, she stepped from the bath, the cool air biting against her damp flesh, raising a trail of goosebumps along her arms and legs. She snatched a robe from a nearby hook, wrapping it tightly around herself, pulling the sash firm around her slender waist—as though the fabric alone could provide some semblance of protection.
She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat of dread. Unsure if she truly wanted to hear the answer, she took a deep breath and forced the words from her lips. She needed to try a different tactic.
"Zuko, I think we need to talk."
She hoped — prayed desperately that he would interrupt her, assure her that there was no need for them to discuss anything. They could forget about what had happened and move forward, their lives returning to some semblance of normalcy. Yet a part of her longed for something else. Perhaps he would confess to wanting more, to needing her. The thought sent a hot, forbidden thrill coursing through her, a pulse of desire that made her tremble beneath the thin layer of cloth.
Instead, he remained motionless in the corner, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze fixed straight ahead, piercing her with a ferocity that stole the breath from her lungs. In that unrelenting intensity, Ursa didn’t see her son anymore, she saw Ozai. His patience was a mask as his rage simmered. Her husband would stand perfectly still, waiting for her to finish her ramblings before he would lash out at her.
Ursa continued.
"I believe you might be angry with me," she began, carefully allowing her voice to tremble.
She taught herself to cry on command, a skill born out of survival while living under Ozai and Azulon. The trick itself wasn’t difficult — a few shallow breaths, buried sorrow rising to the surface, and a deliberate crack in her voice. With a soft blink, she felt the tears burn her eyes, keeping eye contact. Perhaps if he believed her sincerity, his resolve would weaken.
"As Fire Lord you're well within your rights to refuse my help, to refuse… me . We don't have to talk about it if you don't wish to. But please, try to understand. You have no idea how lonely I've been, sitting here day after day with no other comfort, but my own thoughts. I must have lost my head.”
Her hands tightened involuntarily around the folds of her robe, as if bracing herself.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you, my darling. I never want to hurt you or destroy what you and Mai have built together. But… you have to understand, you look so much like him . And I know you hate him, I know you do. But I miss him."
Her words hung in the heavy humid air, weighed with longing. She watched Zuko's face, searching for any sign of softening, any flicker of understanding. But his expression remained frozen. She blinked up at him, tears welling in her eyes, glistening like dew on a rose petal. Her vision blurred as she waited to hear what he had to say. Zuko, however, stood as immovable as stone, his posture rigid, his gaze unwavering. The room seemed to grow smaller, the air thicker, as the weight of his silence pressed down upon her, a tangible force that threatened to crush her spirit.
It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke. His voice, when it came, was a low, raw rasp, his eyes shifting away from hers.
“Mai is wonderful.” His tone was laced with admiration and unmistakable sorrow. “I still love her, you know.”
Ursa bit the inside of her cheek, forcing down the bitter scoff that rose in her throat. That skinny girl with the face like an aardvark sloth, how had she so thoroughly captured her son’s heart?
To Ursa, Mai had always seemed moody and sullen, which manifested into ill-timed sighs and withering stares. She was cold, remote, so unlike the vibrant companion Ursa had once imagined for Zuko. Someone like her . And yet, despite all her misgivings, Mai had ensnared him completely. What he saw in her, Ursa could not fathom.
It couldn’t be her looks, or her colorful personality. Ursa thought.
“I know,” Ursa said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her voice was soft, as the tone she held when she soothed him out of a nightmare as a child.
“And I betrayed her trust.”
Zuko continued, his words dragging from him were thick with shame.
“I couldn’t look her in the eye.”
“Yes,” Ursa agreed, inclining her head in sympathy as she stepped carefully closer.
Her bare feet making no sound against the stone floor. She kept her posture open, and a mask of sorrow on her face. One of her hands loosening the sash that held the robe together. Allowing for the curve of her breasts to be visible at the right angle.
“But… she doesn’t have to know, does she? These things…” She let her voice trail off briefly. “These things happen between… individuals . Unintended moments. I won’t breathe a word of it to her, if you won’t. No one else has to suffer because of a single mistake.”
Zuko sighed heavily, lifting a hand to tear the headpiece from his hair. The golden flame clattered softly on the floor, discarded and forgotten. His hair fell around his face like a dark curtain, shielding him from her gaze. He was torn, the weight of his guilt etched deeply into the lines of his face.
“Individuals?” he repeated as if the word was poison on his tongue.
The disbelief and revulsion warred within him.
“You’re my mother.” His words cracked in his throat. “What I did was wrong. I should have never! It’s… it’s disgusting.”
His words chipped away at her pride with such precision that it left her raw. True, she was his mother though of late, she had begun to resent that fact. For once she wished he would forget their blood relations, forget that she was the woman who bore him into this world. She wanted to simply be Ursa to him. Ursa, former princess of the Fire Nation, granddaughter of Avatar Roku, a woman of beauty, power and cunning, a woman worthy of standing beside the Fire Lord as his equal. Even if that Fire Lord was her own son.
By all rights, she should have been Fire Lady Ursa, seated in splendor at the heart of the empire. She should have ruled alongside her husband. It was her marriage, her sacrifice, that had elevated him to the throne that he had no rightful claim to. The memories of all the wasted time, influence, the plotting was for nothing. Their son had a change of heart and decided to open the gates to their enemies. The dead legacy curdled into a bitterness that rested in her ribs. She pushed it down and ignored that feeling, as she had done for so many years.
Ursa approached him slowly, her movements deliberate. She lifted her hand and placed it against the scarred side of his face. Her fingers lightly tracing the marred raised skin with a touch that was both tender and possessive.
“I should tell her, shouldn’t I?” Zuko whispered, leaning unconsciously into her fingers. His voice barely audible without her leaning further into her touch. “That would be the right thing to do.”
“Maybe,” Ursa replied softly, her thumb brushing in soothing circles over his cheek. Her voice was low and coaxing. "But would she understand? Would she look at you the same way again?"
Zuko stilled beneath her touch, torn between the fierce instincts that warred within him. Silence stretched between them, as fragile as glass.
"No," he said at least.
The word fell from his lips like a stone.
"She wouldn't understand. She would hate me. She would hate you."
A faint smile crossed Ursa’s lips, too fleeting to be seen and to betray the satisfaction that bloomed within her.
“My darling,” Ursa said softly, her voice a velvet kiss. “My sweet one, it’s my fault.”
She placed a hand to her chest to steady the ache she conjured.
“I’ve done this to you. I’ll go back to Hira’a. You never have to worry about me again. And one day, you’ll forget about this. You deserve to be happy with Mai. You don’t need me anymore.”
She braced herself for the self-recriminations she knew would follow, his predictable guilt, and his inevitable denials. What she did not anticipate was the sheer panic that flooded his face. Zuko’s eyes widened, his body jolting with alarm as he grabbed her arm and yanked her closer to him.
"No!" he exclaimed, his voice raw and desperate. "No, you promised me! You said you wouldn’t leave again! Don’t leave me! I need you."
Each word struck with frantic urgency, his grip tightening around her arm.
"Mom, please," he begged, his voice shaking like an autumn leaf.
He cupped her face between his hands, forcing her to look up at him. His touch was trembling, but insisted. His golden eyes were bright with unshed tears, searching hers with a frantic, terrified need that pierced her heart.
"I can't live without you," he whispered, the confession breaking free in a rush. "I–I'm conflicted. I know what I did was wrong, but… I didn’t say no. It felt wrong, but…”
He faltered, his breath hitching as shame followed in his gaze.
“I enjoyed it. I wanted it."
Ursa tried to pull from him, but he held her firmly in place. Yes, this is what she wanted. To be wanted, for a man to worship the ground she walked on, but she couldn’t allow him to know that. It was a part of the game.
“Zuko,” she said, putting her hands on top of his. “I think you’re confused. I confused you. It’s best for both of us if I go back to Hira’a–”
At that, his expression darkened. His partially closed eye narrowed. His fingers dug into her face so tight, she feared he would tear her apart.
“I’m not fucking confused,” he growled, each word low and fierce. “I've wanted this for a long time. I wanted you. And I hated myself for it. I worried what you would think of me if you knew…”
He hunched down, pressing his forehead against hers. His thumb ran along her cheekbone, stroking it. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. When their eyes met again, she saw the pleading intensity in his. Ursa's heart pounded heavily against her chest as she felt him close the gap between them. She couldn’t tell if his words were sincere or if he was offering what she wanted to hear. But before she could process his intentions, his lips were pressed to hers in a kiss that was as soft as it was desperate.
Ursa was stunned by the sudden affection, but she went with it. A tingling sensation coursed through her entire body as she fell into the kiss. His tongue slipped between her lips, tangling with hers in a dance of longing and desire. She involuntarily moaned against his lips, savoring every bit of him, his taste, his love. Zuko's hands were hungry for her, pulling at the sash of her robe until it fell open, exposing her skin to the cool air and his eager touch. He reached between her legs, his fingers finding the aching bud between her thighs, stroking and teasing until she gasped with pleasure.
"Zuko…" she managed to whisper through a moan, her voice husky with desire.
His lips trailed down her neck, sucking and nipping at her soft skin until she was sure it would leave a bruise.
“You promised me you wouldn’t leave,” he repeated. His breath was hot against her skin. “You said you’d stay.”
“Zuko...”
“You promised.”
"We shouldn't do this here," she murmured, her body betraying her words as she melted into his touch.
She didn’t care what the servants thought, but servants talked and gossip could get to the ears of Mai. As selfish as she felt, she wanted to protect his interests and her own.
Zuko's breath hitched as he continued to explore her body until his hand went between her thighs, his touch both gentle and insistent.
"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered against her skin, his voice laced with desperation. "I need you. I need this.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and excitement coursed through her veins.
"Zuko, listen, we shouldn’t do this here," she said again, not just trying to convince him but perhaps herself as well.
It was wrong, but the forbidden nature of it made it all the more desirable.
"I want you now," he murmured against her pale skin, pushing her against the wall.
She closed her eyes as the sensation of his calloused fingers stroking her clit sent a shiver down her spine. Her breath trembled through her parted lips. Zuko pressed his lips to her collarbone leaving behind featherlight and reverent kisses. It was not passion that fueled his affection, but worship. His head dropped lower, and she felt his forehead come to rest against her chest, his hands pushing aside the robe that rested loosely around her. He placed his hand on top of her breasts, one in each hand. It felt exhilarating to be touched, to be loved and adored, for strong hands to cater to her and hungry lips to kiss every inch of her.
“Tell me you won’t leave,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
It wasn’t a demand, but a plea.
Before she could protest his lips clasped around her right nipple while he squeezed her left breast, his hunger growing with every flick of tongue, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake. His teeth gently brushed her tender flesh, sending jolts of electricity pulsing through her body. He suckled feverishly, his touch reminiscent of the fervent affection he had shown as a child. His hands pawed and clung to her full breasts, his tongue rolling over her nipple, driving her to the brink of ecstasy. She grabbed his head, cradling her arms around him, clutching at him as if she would shatter into a thousand pieces the moment she let go.
He suckled on her nipple pulling his head back until her hard nipple parted with a pop. He looked up at her, pleading again.
“Say you won’t leave me.”
She stroked his hair, her fingers weaving through the long, loose strands.
"Someone could see us," she managed to say through a moan, her voice a husky whisper of desire and caution.
The thrill of potential discovery only heightened her arousal.
He looked up at her with fierce golden eyes that conveyed the authority of a Fire Lord. For the first time, she didn’t see him as a boy trying to roleplay as his father and grandfather, but as a man in his own right, confident and commanding. He spoke into her chest, his hand palming his hardened cock through his trousers in a desperate attempt at relief.
"I’m Fire Lord," he declared, his voice steeped in power and dominance. "If they see us, I’ll banish them. No one would dare speak a word of it."
His words sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through her. He would banish his own subjects for her. She looked down at him, the boy that she raised– this man was on his knees before her, not as Fire Lord, not as her lover, not even as her son, he was a strange mixture of all these things. It made her desire him even more.
Ursa’s breath hitched as Zuko’s lips trailed further down her stomach, his kisses gentle yet insistent. He reached her thighs, his tongue finally gliding over her wet and aching clit. A jolt of pleasure shot through her, intense and electric, causing her to grab his head. Her fingers tangled in his long, dark hair, holding him close as her moans escaped like soft whimpers. It had been years since she had felt such intimacy, such raw, unbridled pleasure.
Ikem’s attempts to go down on her had been feeble, more irritating than arousing. In the years she had been with him, she became an even better actress than she had ever been. Her fake climaxes and control over her muscles made him feel like a god when he was on top of her. But he never brought her close to a climax. Ozai, on the other hand, had possessed a natural gift and years of practice that had brought her to the edge time and time again. For a fleeting moment, Mai wandered into her thoughts, and she wondered how many times Zuko had performed this act for her. How fortunate Mai was to have such a devoted and skilled lover, and now he belonged to Ursa.
The sensation of Zuko’s tongue against her clit sent waves of ecstasy crashing through her body, each lick and suck drawing her closer to the brink. She arched her back, pressing herself against him, her hips moving in rhythm with his own. She tried to mute her moans in fear that someone would hear her and rush into the room and disturb her. She tried to think, tried to speak. Yes, it was wrong, she shouldn’t be doing this, but a mother’s love was selfish, and all consuming.
"Zuko," she gasped, her voice a mix of pleasure and desperation.
Her nails dug into his scalp holding him in place.
"Don't stop.”
He didn’t.
His tongue deftly continued to explore her, his hands gripping her hips to hold her in place. The pleasure built and built, a pressure that threatened to consume her. She could feel the tension coiling in her belly, the heat spreading through her veins like wildfire.
“I’m so close,” she groaned louder than she anticipated, her voice echoing throughout the room.
And then he stopped. His gaze lifted to meet hers. His eyes were dark with hunger, laced with mischief, and shadowed by a quiet desperation. A crooked smirk curled on his lips, a familiar expression that echoed his father too closely.
“Tell me you won’t leave,” he murmured, his voice low, edged with something unspoken.
That smirk was once capable of undoing her, unraveling every thread of resolve, now it made her jaw tighten with restraint.
She leaned forward, letting her fingers trace along the edge of his cheek, down to the line of his jaw. Soft and tender.
“I won’t leave,” she said quietly.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it.”
“Zuko…”
“Say it .”
She drew in a breath.
“I promise,” she whispered.
“You promise what?”
“Zuko!”
“No, I want to hear it.”
“I promise I won’t leave again.”
Zuko studied her for a long, heavy moment. Then the tension in his shoulders eased, and a quiet, satisfied smile touched his face. Sharp, regal, and wounded all at once.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
He redoubled his efforts, his tongue and lips working in tandem to push her over the edge. She grabbed his hair tighter, her body convulsing with waves of intense pleasure. She bit her lip to control the sounds she made, tasting iron on the tip of her tongue, which only heightened the intensity of her orgasm.
As the waves of ecstasy began to subside, she collapsed against the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Zuko looked up at her, his amber eyes glowing with a mix of triumph and tenderness. He wasn’t just her son any longer; he was a man who worshiped her, claiming her body as his own.
The aftershocks of her orgasm left her limbs weak and her mind hazy. She looked down at him, her heart pounding in her chest, a mix of guilt and desire warring within her.
Zuko stood to his feet, and with a strong hand turned Ursa to face the wall. She heard the rustle of him yanking his garments off his body and wrapped a strong arm around her waist, drawing his length along the lips between her thighs. With one swift, deliberate push, he slipped inch by inch inside of her, filling her completely. She moaned against the wall, the sensation of him entering her sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.
It was just as she thought. No one, not since Ozai could ever fill her so completely.
He clutched at her breast as he thrusted inside of her. His fingers dug into her soft flesh as his thrusts became harder, more demanding. Each powerful stroke pushed her further against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. She clenched around him, her inner muscles gripping him tightly, causing him to moan in response.
"Mom—Ursa," he said almost in a growl. " Fuck, you’re so tight."
She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with her own, their bodies moving in a primal, synchronized rhythm. The room filled with the stifled sounds of their moans and the slick noise of their joining.
His hand moved from her breast to her hip, gripping her firmly as he angled his thrusts to hit the deeper, more sensitive spots within her.
Her moans increased with their intensity. Her voice bounced off the walls until a hand clasped around her mouth.
“Sssh,” Zuko hushed. His breath was hot against her ears. “Do you want to make a scene?”
His movements became more urgent, more desperate, as he reached closer to his own release. She could feel him swelling inside her, his body tensing as he neared the edge. Ursa moaned against his hand as she clenched around him, her own orgasm building, the pressure coiling in her belly like a tightly wound spring that was almost too much to bear.
She wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t finish inside of her. She was still young enough to bear children. How could she face Ikem again with a swollen belly? What questions would arise as to who the father was? How could she explain to her son that she was carrying his child and his sibling? She reminded herself to brew herself a cup of tea with a tincture of tansy and pennyroyal later.
Before she could speak, her orgasm rushed through her with an overwhelming force. She clenched around Zuko’s cock as he thrusted into her one last time. His body shuddered as he came, spilling himself deep within her.
They stood there for a moment, their bodies pressed together, their breaths coming into sync as they rode out the aftershocks of their climax. Ursa leaned her body further against the cool walls of the bath. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her prickled skin. Zuko's arm held her by the waist, holding her tight as her legs shook underneath her, threatening to give way if she wasn’t careful. The air was hot and thick and smelled of the scent of their lovemaking.
Several heavy seconds passed before he pulled himself from her. He refused to meet her gaze even as his seed fell down her already slick thighs.
“Zuko…” she said, her breath heavy as reality began to sink in.
He grumbled an acknowledgment in reply. He picked up the hair piece on the ground, but he turned his body away from her. She reached out to brush her fingers against his shoulder but he pulled away from her touch.
“Zuko, are we… are we…”
She couldn’t find the words. She wanted reassurance that they were fine, that some sort of normalcy would return and he wouldn’t lock her out. But before she could finish piecing together her thoughts, he spoke over her.
“I wanted this,” he told her.
His back faced her as he looked over his shoulder. His voice was heavy and tense.
“I won’t tell Mai. She doesn’t need to know.”
He was silent for a few moments when he finally spoke again.
“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.”
Before she could say anything, he left her in the silence of the bath. She slipped in the water, washing the reminders of what they had done off her thighs, and washed her body. She sat in the bath until her skin had pruned.
The next morning, Ursa found herself in a state of anxious anticipation, awaiting Zuko's arrival for their breakfast together. A part of her expected him to evade her once more, as he had done in the preceding days. Yet, as she finished pinching a tincture into her tea, she heard the imposing doors groaning open, revealing his figure, she felt a glimmer of hope—albeit short-lived, for he was not alone.
Her heart sank as Mai accompanied him into the room, her expression as ever, a mask of detached coolness, unreadable as a stone statue. Ursa swiftly composed herself, donning a warm smile that belied the turmoil within.
"Good morning, Mom," Zuko greeted, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her cheek.
The brief intimacy sent a rare and fleeting thrill through her veins. It had been an eternity since she had seen him smile so genuinely, so freely. So happily directed at her.
She returned the kiss, her hands gently cradling his face, lingering for a moment to trace the raised scars that marred his flesh.
Turning to Mai, she said, "It’s good to see you, dear."
Her voice was overly cheerful, her smile a touch too broad, too bright.
Mai offered what Ursa could only interpret as a smile, a faint curve of her lips that did little to reach her eyes.
Mai bowed her head.
“Lady Ursa,” she said, stiffly.
Zuko took his seat between them, Ursa to his right. He launched into a lively discussion about the turmoil in the Earth Kingdom and the tactics he and his comrades were devising to achieve stability. Mai interjected occasionally, her contributions calm and measured, reinforcing Zuko's words with an unshakable certainty.
As Ursa listened, she became aware of a subtle pressure against her thigh. Glancing down, she saw Zuko's hand resting atop hers, his fingers squeezing her wrist gently, the tips brushing delicately against her skin. The gesture was so subtle that Mai, seated on his other side, remained oblivious. Ursa's heart swelled with a warmth she had not felt in ages, a silent communication passing between them, a secret shared amongst them. She felt a profound connection, a spark of hope that perhaps he would come to her bed that night and for many nights to follow. And maybe she could have him all to herself again.