One could expect anything from Jason—anything but the fact that he’d end up with a ‘Robin’ of his own.
The Scarecrow was one of the people you feared the most ever since your mother decided to move to Gotham City—a bad idea, clearly, and one she never explained to you, why she chose such a dangerous place. Every time the news showed what became of his victims, thanks to his fear gas, your fragile body would tremble against your mother’s worried embrace.
A current of panic flooded through you every time she left the house for work, especially after you saw the last incident on the news—the one that claimed several lives in the streets of the Upper East Side, where you lived with her in a cheap apartment in the red zone.
Maybe that’s why you were so sensitive to every detail in your surroundings: the creak of the floorboards, the whispers of the wind slipping through the window, the distant wail of sirens.
And then came that night, when everything changed: the cold became unbearable, and your bones seemed to crack under a shiver that not even the heater could drive away.
You opened your eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the glow of the television in front of you.
The voices coming from the news channel reached your ears as muffled echoes, sounds you didn’t really pay attention to. You had fallen asleep on the uncomfortable couch in the living room after your mother left for work when the clock struck 7 p.m.
You still felt drowsy, your body numb, your thoughts foggy and unclear. After a deep yawn and a stretch that only made the ache of sleeping in a bad position worse, your body froze.
Your stomach tickled—not like the swing-set tickle in your belly, but that unsettling sensation that spread more and more through your body.
You were so cold, and you couldn’t move, couldn’t react; slouched on the couch, your fingers turning white from clutching the frayed edges of the old fabric.
You knew that feeling well. Your mother had called it intuition—that uneasiness blooming out of nowhere in your chest, convincing you something was about to happen.
And you desperately hoped it wasn’t something bad.
But the only thought crashing through your mind was your mother’s face—the fresh memory of her earlier, grabbing her bag, turning back to smile softly at you as her lips murmured warm words of goodbye. Words you never imagined would be the last.
“I want my mom… where is she?” you thought in alarm. You stood up quickly, glancing around the living room until your eyes landed on the window. Gotham’s starless sky was lit up by a symbol—the Bat-Signal.
But that was normal, wasn’t it? Batman was out almost every night, punishing bad men. You couldn’t think of a reason why they would have to light that signal.
You prayed it wasn’t for something bad.
But everything would be fine. Because Batman and Robin were out there. Maybe.
The door rattled under insistent knocks.
You opened it with cold hands, barely reaching the doorknob. Two police officers stood there, and behind them, Commissioner Gordon lowered his gaze to meet your height. They asked for an adult, another presence in your home—one that was never there.
Sometimes you still remember that night, embodying the pain as if it were the first time. As if your emotions had memories that echoed through your body, wounding you as if you were reliving it all over again, dragging you into that dark, depressive pit that changed your world forever, that snuffed out the innocence in your eyes and made you see the world differently.
The pounding of the officers’ fists still echoed in your chest, and when they asked for an adult, all you could do was stammer your mother’s name. Gordon looked at you, and in his eyes you discovered what you never wanted to see: pity.
From then on, you lived surrounded by invisible whispers. Your mother, once your shelter, became a prisoner of her own mind. Panic attacks, screams in the middle of the night, terrors you couldn’t see but could feel every time she squeezed your hand until your fingers went numb.
Your fear was never your own. She passed it on to you, with every story she told about that man, about the monster in the burlap sack who seemed to be everywhere. You grew up convinced Jonathan Crane didn’t need to touch you to destroy you—he only needed to break the person you loved most.
And that was enough to ruin your life.
To shatter your illusion. Because Batman, nor Robin, not even Nightwing, were there to save your mother.
And that bitter resentment only grew stronger as your thoughts hardened, shaped by the forced maturity you had to carry—at only eleven years old. Because there were no sane adults left in that house, and the cracks in the walls and spreading stains of mold were the clearest sign: as the mildew grew, your mother’s mind decayed alongside it.
And though your body still trembles when you think of him, you know this: you survived.
Your mother survived, though broken. And you survived, though scarred. And that scar became a silent promise: someday you will stop being afraid. Someday you won’t be the frightened child—you’ll be the voice that stands up for those still trembling.
Because survivors don’t forget. And you are one of them.
Though no matter how strong you try to appear, you were weak, fragile, sensitive—and could probably collapse under something as simple as a strong wind.
Jason Todd knew what it felt like to be unprotected, even when there was supposed to be someone there to shield you from danger, to wrap you in their arms against all harm.
And you were just a stray dog like him, searching for the warmth you had lost at home—throwing punches with bloody, scraped knuckles as you tried to find it again.
A stray dog who found warmth in the first person who offered even the smallest piece of trust.
Him.
Jason felt his chest tighten, silent vines growing inside him until his breath grew short. It was that feeling of pain again, the echo of the past crashing into him without warning.
It was your face.
Your bruised cheeks, dust smeared as if you’d been dragged across the ground while fists rained down on you.
Maybe that was the clearest sign—your nose dripping crimson, sticky against your skin, staining your lips.
It was your eyes that haunted him the most. They didn’t shine, they were empty, hollow wells that even the lights of Gotham’s docks couldn’t bring back to life.
But there was something else there too. Rage. Something dark that made them burn. The same look he’d carried in his own eyes after crawling out of that green pit, staring at his reflection and realizing he was no longer the same.
There were a hundred different ways he could have crossed paths with you. But this one? It was cruelly ironic. Like karma clawing its way back to him, forcing him to face the echoes of his past. Both of you stood frozen, the sound of waves crashing somewhere behind, when he caught you in the act—halfway through removing the wheel from his motorcycle.
A thick metal bar dangled from your hand, gripped so tightly it looked ready to strike at the smallest twitch from him. And those eyes—those owl-like, chilling eyes—never left his, staring straight through him without a hint of fear.
It was like you weren’t even breathing. Your body rigid, fists clenched tighter and tighter until your knuckles cracked. The way you stared him down was unnerving, your pupils blown wide, your gaze sharpening.
Jason knew, deep down, that if Damian or Tim ever found out he’d been frozen in place—paralyzed—by some random girl, they’d laugh until their ribs hurt.
And in his mind’s eye, he could already see Bruce’s look—the one that told him they both knew exactly what this reminded him of.
He could almost hear Dick’s laugh too, amused that even a kid could stare down the Red Hood without flinching. But then, inevitably, that laugh would fade. His features would soften, and the weight of it would sink in—the ache of realizing just how lost a child had to be to end up stealing like this.
You didn’t just see his face when he pulled off the metal mask with an irritated sigh—you stole the damn wheels off his motorcycle too.
He hated how hard it was to swallow the truth staring back at him. His reflection. Another kid broken by Gotham’s streets.
“I’m not… I’m not gonna hurt you,” he muttered, careful not to startle you further. “I promise.”
Your eyes narrowed, flickering with confusion, maybe even fear, but it was gone in an instant. They only hardened. You said nothing. You couldn’t.
Because you knew your voice would betray you. That high, childish pitch would shatter the fragile armor you’d built.
You flinched back when he took a step forward, like a startled deer, glass bottles and pipes clattering behind you as you scrambled away too quickly.
And something inside Jason cracked.
Instead of chasing that feeling, instead of holding your gaze so you could see the concern he was trying to bury, he simply fixed the wheel back onto his bike.
He revved the engine, ready to ride away and leave the chill of old wounds behind. He wanted to say something, anything—
But before the words could form, you bolted. Gone in the blink of an eye, running despite the scrapes on your legs, vanishing into the maze of shipping containers.
Leaving behind the metal bar.
Leaving behind Red Hood himself.
You knew it was his bike—his logo was painted on it clear as day. But your impulses always won. The gnawing ache in your stomach always won. Hunger always won.
Warnings/MDNI: none.
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+++ Arthur pic by bambs, scenery by watanabe, and dutch by 𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗌
★ Prev I concept m.list
It was 9 in the evening, and Molly , well, she needed a smoke. Dutch had barely strung together more than three words today. Why? Why would he ignore a perfect, loving, loyal woman? Because of a boy. A "self-proclaimed son" he'd plucked off the streets , and now that boy was gone, taking Dutch's smile right along with him.
"Bollocks…" She exhaled a slow ring of smoke, staring up into the starry night.
Then she heard it , a small noise. Small enough to be missed.
Suki.
Curled up beside your and Arthur's tent. Shit. They'd forgotten her in all the drama and hurry.
"Hey… there, girl." Molly crouched, scooping the cat into her arms with a gentle smile. For a moment, she forgot all her worries in the quiet warmth of soft fur , well, except for Bill and Pearson's thunderous snoring rattling across the camp.
"Let's see if there are any leftovers for you…" Her feet turned toward the wagon, but something made her stop.
The tent flap, slightly open.
At first, it was only curiosity , a passing wonder at how seamlessly you had settled in beside Arthur. She told herself it was nothing more than that. Her gaze swept over the dim space, lit only by the lantern hanging outside on Dutch's tent, its amber glow bleeding faintly through the canvas.
What an analogy. Dutch, a shining light in that orphan boy's eyes, and now that boy had gone and left this whole gang for his woman.
Ah, Dutch. When will you ever realize…
There was a quiet sting of envy as her eyes drifted over the space. The way your hairbrush lay beside Arthur's comb. Homely. Domestic. All the small, tender things missing from her own life. How was that even possible , more warmth tucked into what began as a hollow, vengeful arrangement than in a relationship built on something real? Something like love?
Her gaze wandered to a chest near the far side of the tent. A beautiful one. Nearly as fine as her own. Yours.
"Maybe your snack is in there, hm?" she murmured to Suki, knowing full well it was wrong. But one glance outside confirmed the camp was still and silent, and , well. Recent events had given her reason enough. She just needed to be sure. To know that you were someone worth trusting. A woman who was a victim, not a…
"Mhm. Doesn't seem like it."
Her hand glided over folded garments until her fingers met something solid beneath a satin dress. A perfume bottle? Her brows knitted as she lifted it , small, dark, filled with what looked like dried leaves and herbs.
But Molly O'Shea was no fool. She was not one of the naive girls giggling around the campfire. She had knowledge, and she had sense , enough of both to recognize exactly what she was holding.
These herbs.
Something clicked in her mind. Several things, in fact. And several others… didn't.
She stood there a breath too long. Should she take it with her , no. No.
She placed it back carefully, tucking it beneath the satin just as she'd found it, closed the chest, and made certain everything was exactly as it had been. Then she slipped out of the tent with Suki still warm against her chest, her breathing heavier than she'd like to admit, and made her way to the wagon without looking back.
❀˖°
"Hosea… got a minute?"
"Yes, what is it, Miss O'Shea?"
"It's , I wanted to ask about Abigail's condition. Is she doing any better?"
Hosea skimmed the camp for the girl's presence, but it seemed she was still sleeping in. Good. She needed it.
"Doing better, yes. Though she gets cramps often now." He exhaled quietly. "It worries me."
"I know. But do you know why? It wasn't happening before…"
"Well, when I took her to the clinic, the doctor said she may have eaten something that didn't agree with her." He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't mention the rising tensions here, of course , the shootout with the law, all of that. And John… that stupid boy, keeping his distance. He's been gone for days now. I just hope he went after Arthur and nothing else."
"Hm." Molly nodded slowly. "Well. I'll be sure to look after Abigail more."
And that was how she found out , mid-conversation, almost in passing.
"Oh, it could be a reaction to those chocolates I had…"
Molly's fingers stilled around her cup. "Which ones?"
"(Y/N) gave some of them to me." Abigail shifted, pressing a hand absently to her middle. "Everything's been unsettled since, if I'm honest. Suppose they didn't suit me. They were so delicious, though."
…Chocolates.
The box in the chest. The bottle. You taking Abigail to the clinic in those early days , and then the law arriving not long after. Was any of it a coincidence?
Molly held her expression carefully, even as her mind turned it over and over, fitting the pieces together like a puzzle she wasn't sure she wanted to finish.
"Mhm. Could be," she said at last, her voice smooth and unhurried. "Next time, don't eat anything like that , nothing artificial from the market. All you need are fruits. Pure, simple things."
Abigail's expression softened, a warmth blooming in her tired eyes at the steadiness of Molly's voice . something almost motherly in it. It nearly brought tears to her eyes. With everything so tense, and John gone…
He never cared anyway.
"Thank you so much, Miss Molly," she said quietly. "Your words mean a lot. They really do." The thudding of hooves stole their attention. After two weeks , guess who was back? Arthur and you.
You were wearing different clothes than the night you'd left, and Arthur had a bag slung over his shoulder. A long silence swept the camp as everyone registered the sight of the two of you riding in together, unhurried, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Seems like someone had a good holiday." Molly smirked, arms folded. "At least some people around here are enjoying themselves."
Abigail was already on her feet, crossing the camp toward you both.
"Arthur, son ... you're back." Dutch stepped forward, pulling him into an embrace that Arthur returned stiffly. Then Dutch held him by the shoulders, studying his face for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. "Knew you would be," he said gruffly, with the quiet certainty of a man who had never truly doubted it.
His contemplative gaze swept briefly to you , acknowledging, nothing more. Certainly not with the same warmth he reserved for Arthur.
"Well. There's something I'd like to speak to you about, son." Dutch gestured toward his tent. "Would you mind?"
He was surprised when Arthur's hand found yours.
"Yeah, we do." Arthur's voice was even, unhurried , and all the more final for it. "Whatever you've got to say on behalf of that bastard, she hears it too."
The camp went quiet. Arthur Morgan...saying no to...Dutch? Unheard of. Dutch held his gaze for a beat, then two. Something shifted behind his eyes , not quite surprise, but close to it. He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"I understand." He turned his head. "Pearson... fetch us some (coffee/tea), would you?"
❀˖°
Pearson set the cups down without a word and made himself scarce. Smart man.
Dutch settled into his chair with the ease of someone who had never once lost an argument he cared about winning. He let the silence sit for a moment , comfortable in it, the way only men who controlled rooms ever were. His eyes moved between the two of you, unhurried, taking inventory. Then he smiled. not unkindly.
"First things first." He looked at you directly, inclining his head with something that almost resembled grace. "I am glad you are safe, my dear. Truly. Whatever… friction may have occurred, that much was never in question."
Then his gaze shifted to Arthur, and the smile warmed further , genuinely, or so it seemed.
"And you." He exhaled, leaning forward, elbows to knees. "You had me worried, son. I won't pretend otherwise. But you're here. That's what matters."
He reached for his cup. Took his time with it.
"Now." His tone didn't harden so much as settle , like a man easing into the real conversation after the pleasantries had served their purpose. "I imagine you've got a good deal to say to me. And I'll hear every word of it, I promise you that. But I'd ask , I'd ask, Arthur, not demand , that you hear me out first. As you always have. Can you do that?"
He didn't wait long for an answer.
"Micah is…" He paused, as if carefully selecting the word, as if he hadn't already chosen it long before he sat down. "…Micah is what he is. I won't insult your intelligence by telling you he's a gentle soul. We both know better." A quiet, almost conspiratorial chuckle , just the two of us, Arthur, we understand things the others don't. "But what I will tell you is that he is useful. And right now, in the position this gang finds itself in, useful is not something we can afford to throw away lightly."
His eyes drifted to you then...briefly. "I understand he caused… upset. And I am sorry for that." The apology landed smooth as river stone, worn of all rough edges. "That was not my intention. None of this was my intention. You have to believe that."
He set his cup down.
"But Arthur." His voice dropped, just slightly , intimate now, drawing a circle around the two of them that quietly excluded you without ever acknowledging it. "This life we lead, it asks things of us. Hard things. Things that don't always sit right. You know this. Better than anyone here, you know this. And what I need , what this family needs , is for you to be present. To be here. With us. The way you've always been."
"She's important to you." He didn't look at you when he said it. "I can see that plainly. And I would never ask you to give up something that matters to you." He spread his hands open, the portrait of reason. "All I'm asking is that you don't let one bad moment drive a wedge between you and the people who have been with you since the beginning. That's all, son. That is all I'm asking."
He leaned back, calm, unhurried , a man who had just laid out something perfectly fair and was now simply waiting for the other person to agree.
His eyes finally settled on you, steady and warm and utterly unreadable beneath it.
"And you, my dear , I hope you know there is place is yours too and you have value here. We take care of our own."
"Course you do." You retorted. "Arthur, that disgusting man is not coming back here , whatever the case. Over my dead body!."
And with that you were gone, leaving Dutch to stare at the space where you'd been sitting.
"Arthur-"
"She's right." Arthur's voice was flat. Unmovable. "He doesn't come within an inch of this camp. We go to him if we need his help so badly. That's the end of it."
Dutch held his gaze for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. "Fine." He reached for his cup again. "Fine."
For now.
"There is… one more thing." His tone shifted , lighter now, almost careful, the way a man handles something fragile he doesn't want to drop. "Consider it good news. Lord knows we could use some."
Arthur didn't move, just watched him.
"This is something I kept between myself and Hosea for a time. I won't go into every detail, but , when we left Blackwater, the two of us became involved in a business arrangement with some gentlemen. And as a reward for our part in it…" Dutch set his cup down with quiet precision. "We were given a plot of land. In Cinderpoint. An acre and a half. Good location. Good soil."
The tent was very still.
"I had construction started , quietly .. with some of the money we earned helping out your girl's father. I'm telling you now because I want you involved, Arthur. I want you to take responsibility for it. Go out there, look after the building, oversee the boys. It's time we…" He paused, and for just a moment something almost genuine crossed his face , tired, and old, and wanting. "It's time we put down something solid. A farm. A proper business. A foundation." Arthur stared at him.
The word foundation sat in the air between them like smoke.
He'd heard Dutch talk about plans before. I have a plan, Arthur. Trust me, son. He'd heard it in the cold, heard it hungry, heard it with blood still drying on his hands and Dutch's voice steady as a river current, always pulling him forward, always just over the next hill, the next job, the next horizon. One last time had been said so many times it had stopped meaning anything.
And yet.
Land. Legal. Documented. Theirs. Arthur picked up his cup. Turned it slowly in his hands without drinking from it.
"You're tellin' me," he said at last, his voice low and measured, "that we've got land. Sitting there. Right now. With papers."
"Every document in order. Hosea saw to it himself." Dutch leaned forward slightly. "This is real, son. This is not a dream I'm selling you. This is something you could stand on."
Arthur was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that the sounds of the camp outside filtered back in , someone's boots on gravel, the distant whinny of a horse, the ordinary noise of people just living.
He thought about you. The two weeks spent outside...under a proper roof for once. About what it had felt like to wake up somewhere quiet, with you beside him, and nothing pressing in from every direction for once.
He thought about how that had felt like something worth keeping.
"Cinderpoint," he repeated slowly, like he was testing the weight of the word.
"Good land," Dutch said again, quieter now. Arthur set the cup down and rubbed a hand across his jaw, eyes distant. "I'll go look at it." His voice gave nothing away. "Can't promise a damn thing til I see it with my own eyes."
"That's all I ask, son." He reached over and gripped Arthur's shoulder, firm and brief. "That's all I ever ask." Arthur nodded once. Then stood, setting his hat back on his head, and stepped out of the tent without another word.
Outside, the camp carried on around him. But his mind was already somewhere else, flat land, open sky, and the quiet, dangerous shape of something that almost looked like a future. You , him and perhaps more...all now very near..
He couldn't believe it. His dream of having a normal life was finally coming true...
AN: It was hard to come back to writing after being so busy, which ultimately made me suffer from writer's block too, but y'all guys' love for this story made me vomit all the words out. Kinda short than rest of parts but...yep. To be added or removed from the tag list, u can always lemme know!
when FIRELORD ZUKO takes a liking to AVATAR AANG'S mysterious new BRIDE.
TORN BETWEEN TWO ROADS ! — aang x reader x zuko
PLOT. republic city is finally at peace, and for once, katara allows herself to hope—maybe now, after everything, she and aang can finally become something real. but when aang returns after eight months, he isn’t alone. he comes back with you at his side, introducing you as his wife. suspicious yet helpless, his friends do their best to welcome you, even as nothing about this sudden marriage makes sense. but while everyone else keeps their distance, one person doesn’t. and perhaps Zuko gets a little too comfortable with the avatar’s new wife.
CHARACTERS. AANG and ZUKO.
CHAPTER WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, angst, implied sexual assault, fight with zuko, zuko is kind of a prick ngl, protective aang, takes place 10 years after atla, age gaps, reader is 21, established relationship, fem reader, atla spoilers, no spoilers for legend of aang, not proofread.
(please check the story masterlist for the story warnings.)
WC. 5.3k
masterlist : story masterlist
chapter four
a/n: why do i feel like i am rushing the story?
p.s. since this was originally part of the previous chapter and i ended up having to split it, i completely forgot to mention in the chapter before that it has been two days since the reader arrived in the fire nation. this is a direct continuation.
You barely remembered Aang leaving that morning.
The memory lingered in pieces, the warmth of his lips against your forehead before dawn, before he inevitably left.
By the time you had properly risen from bed, the palace was already devoid of his presence, leaving behind only the faint scent of incense that always seemed to cling to him.
So, by afternoon, you found yourself wandering.
The Fire Nation Palace had begun to feel less overwhelming over the past three days, though you still occasionally lost your way amongst its endless corridors and towering halls.
Servants moved carefully around you, trying not to subject themselves to possibly offending the Avatar.
Soldiers stood guard beneath banners adorned with crimson and gold, and the heat of the nation bled through the open architecture of the palace itself, keeping true to the Nation's title.
Your steps eventually carried you toward one of the larger balconies overlooking the capital.
And there he stood.
After your arrival, you had to come clean to Aang about your interaction with Zuko. You hadn't seen the Firelord since, and you had been hesitant to question Aang about it.
Zuko remained near the railing with his hands folded behind his back, his gaze fixed upon the nation stretched before him.
The afternoon light cast itself across the sharp lines of his face, catching against the scar along his left eye while the wind stirred the ends of his robes faintly behind him.
For a brief moment, you considered turning around.
But he had already noticed you.
"Good afternoon," he greeted, his voice surprisingly loud for how calmly he said it.
You bit your tongue, knowing you had no way around it anymore.
"Good afternoon, Fire Lord Zuko," you returned eventually, approaching with measured steps.
His attention shifted fully toward you, though his posture remained unchanged, carrying the authority he so obviously had.
There was still undeniable tension lingering between you both after your argument aboard the ship, hiding beneath the polite exchange.
Zuko broke the silence first.
"I trust your stay within the palace has been pleasant thus far?" he asked. "It has been three days already."
You moved to stand beside him, leaving enough distance between you to remain proper as your looked upon the view below.
"It has been well," you answered politely. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Zuko hummed quietly at that.
"It seems," he began after a pause, "you informed Aang about our...interaction."
Your expression nearly faltered.
So Aang had spoken to him after all.
You had not known whether he would, nor had Aang shared anything regarding whatever conversation followed afterward.
The realization unsettled, and you resisted the instinctive tension threatening to surface across your face, drawing yourself subtly straighter beside him instead while your hands folded neatly before you.
"My intention was never to offend you," he said at last, his tone stripped of it's usual sharp edge.
"I am aware my words overstepped, and I am very sorry they caused you hurt."
The apology settled awkwardly between you, leaving you unsure on how to respond.
You felt embarrassingly childish, standing there knowing you had confessed the entirety of your disagreement to Aang the moment you arrived at the palace.
It reminded you far too much of a child tattling on their bullies' parents, having to face a confrontation later.
You composed yourself quickly, each movement measured carefully to preserve what remained of your dignity despite the embarrassment steadily tightening within your chest.
"Thank you," you replied softly. "I appreciate the apology."
Your fingers folded neatly over the railings before you as your head lowered briefly.
"And I must apologize as well," you admitted after a moment. "It appears I have become the reason behind your difficulty in trusting your own friend."
Zuko's brows furrowed faintly.
"There is no need for you to apologize," he answered immediately.
"The fault lies with me. It is I who failed to trust Aang's decisions."
You nodded quietly at his words.
Another silence followed afterward, though this one felt less suffocating than before, neither of you quite willing to speak further yet you no longer carried the same urge to leave his presence.
Then Zuko broke it once more.
"There is something else I would like to apologize for."
Your brows furrowed faintly.
"What for?"
For the first time since you had arrived, hesitation crossed his face properly, as his jaw tightened briefly before he answered.
"That night," he began carefully, "at Katara's home...I overheard part of your conversation with Aang."
Your eyes snapped toward him instantly and he did little avoid your gaze.
"I had gone to return his emblem," he continued evenly.
"I did not intend to intrude, but by the time I realized what I had walked into..." His expression hardened slightly at himself.
"I remained long enough to hear more than I should have."
You stared at him for a moment, very stunned by the confession itself but also by the fact that he had admitted it to you.
If it had been you, you would taken it to the grave.
"How much did you hear?" you asked quietly.
Zuko exhaled through his nose, leaning slightly against the railing beside him.
"I could not tell you how much was spoken," he admitted. "Only that I heard enough to understand very little."
He turned, facing away from you as he spoke.
"In truth, the more I seem to learn about you, the less I understand."
There was no mockery in his statement, only honesty as you lowered your eyes briefly, fingers folding together.
"I understand your concern for Aang," you said after a moment.
"I appeared rather suddenly in all of your lives, and in doing so, I seem to have complicated matters that existed long before me." Your voice softened slightly at the next words.
"Especially between Aang and Katara."
Zuko remained silent, allowing you to continue.
"But Aang loves me," you finished quietly, not leaving any room to object your statement.
At that, Zuko nodded once.
"Yes," he said simply. "He does."
The answer is earnest.
"And if it offers you any reassurance," he continued, "from what I have observed, Aang and Katara do share a long history together, but it remains precisely that. History."
His gaze held yours steadily. "And if you still seek an answer to the fears you carried that night, then no, I do not believe Aang would ever betray you."
"I know he will not," you confirmed, and the firmness in your voice surprised even yourself.
"But...that is not my greatest concern."
Zuko studied you carefully then.
"Then what is?"
The question settled heavier, realizing you had opened another gate for a topic you shouldn't be discussing with him.
Your eyes drifted from him once more, deciding to speak on it anyway.
"I have always feared," you admitted slowly, "that one day he may regret it."
Your throat tightened slightly around the next words.
"Regret me."
Zuko's brows pulled together, recalling Aang's words from that fated night.
"Was he not the one who asked you to marry him?"
"Yes," you replied softly. "But the circumstances of our marriage were...unorthodox."
You chose the word carefully, careful enough not to reveal too much.
Zuko noticed regardless.
"How so?" he asked quietly.
You paused for a long moment after his question, your fingers curling slightly against the railing beneath your hands.
Then, quietly, you confessed.
"I was meant to marry the crown prince of my nation."
Zuko, despite the barrel of questions pouring in his mind, does not interrupt you.
For once, he remained entirely silent, understanding instinctively that this was the first genuine glimpse into your past you had willingly offered him.
"It had always been decided," you continued.
"My father served as the king's advisor for most of his life. And when the crown prince and I were born on the very same day, my father believed it to be fate." A faint smile touched your lips, but it carried little to no amusement.
"Eventually, he convinced the king of the same."
The wind swept past the balcony again, carrying the warmth of the afternoon.
"The prince and I..." You hesitated briefly, choosing your phrasing carefully. "We were acquaintances, nothing more. I could never truly call him my friend."
You let out a sigh, coming to terms with the fact you were actively sharing your history with Aang's friend.
"In truth, I do not believe he considered me one either."
Zuko watched you quietly.
"We rarely saw one another despite growing up together," you admitted.
"But it did not matter. From the moment we were born, everyone around us already knew that our futures will be united," Your fingers tightened even further against the railing.
"So we simply accepted it."
Then you fell silent entirely.
Zuko's gaze lingered on you, before he finally asked the question he had been waiting to speak.
"What changed?"
You remained still, your attention drifting upward toward the open sky stretching endlessly beyond the palace walls.
"Then," you said softly, turning your head just enough to glance at him, "Aang arrived."
Something in Zuko's expression shifted faintly, only growing more curious by the second.
"And you fell in love?" He asked carefully,
The laugh that escaped you caught him entirely off guard.
"Spirits, no!" you replied immediately, amusement finally alive in your voice.
"What exactly do you take me for, Fire Lord Zuko?"
One of his brows lifted slightly.
You shook your head softly, the remnants of your laughter fading.
"Perhaps had I not already been betrothed, I might have understood what people describe as love at first sight." You admitted after a moment.
Zuko's attention sharpened immediately.
"Then why?" he pressed again, the careful mask of indifference beginning to fracture at last beneath his growing curiosity.
You looked back toward him then, a small smile lingering upon your lips.
"Tell me something, Fire Lord," you began softly.
"Between a king and the Avatar, who do you believe commands greater authority over the world?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard entirely.
Zuko's brows furrowed faintly, as though he were attempting to understand where exactly you intended to lead him.
Still, after a brief pause, he answered honestly.
"A king."
"I believed so as well," you admitted.
"After all, the Avatar possesses no royal standing. The Avatar exists to preserve balance, to remain impartial above all else."
Your fingers traced absent patterns against the railing, running your nails across the carvings.
"A king commands nations. The Avatar merely guides them."
You paused for a clock's tick before continuing.
"But answer one more question for me." Your eyes gaining yet another glint of interest.
"If the Avatar stood to your right, and The King of..." You trailed off, looking away in thought before you continue.
"...The King of the entire world, supposedly, stood to your left..." Your smile deepened slightly.
"Which direction would your eyes turn to?"
The question lingered between you both.
Zuko inhaled slowly through his nose, and despite already knowing the answer, he still found himself considering it properly, turning the thought over in his mind before responding.
"...Right." he admitted at last.
Your smile widened in approval.
Zuko exhaled quietly, realization settling over him piece by piece as he turned his face away.
"So," he said slowly, "your father convinced Aang to marry you."
"You catch on rather quickly," you mused, confirming his statement.
A faint huff escaped him, not entirely convinced.
"But Aang is not someone who would agree to it." Zuko replied, looking back toward you now.
"Especially not regarding something of this matter." His eyes narrowed. "How exactly did your father convince him?"
"He did not," you answered softly, shutting down Zuko's trail of thoughts.
"I did."
The confession struck him immediately, his head turning toward you fully now, disbelief flashing openly across his face for the first time since this conversation began.
"How?" he asked at once.
You did not answer him.
Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze settling on him.
"Do you have a sister, Zuko?"
The question caught him entirely off guard.
His face morphed and something solemn crossed his features, his posture stiffening despite the obvious effort to conceal whatever memory your question had stirred.
You noticed it instantly.
"Oh," you murmured. "My apologies. Have I touched upon a sensitive matter?"
Zuko exhaled quietly through his nose before answering.
"No," he replied after a moment. "It is alright. I...do have a sister."
You nodded, choosing not to prod it the matter just yet.
"Then surely, as royalty, you already know the answer to what I am about to ask."
Zuko's attention narrowed down to your next words.
"If a woman of noble or royal standing were to become intimate before marriage," you said carefully—
"would a future king still choose to marry her?"
Maybe it took him a second, perhaps two, but the understanding struck him soon enough.
Zuko's eyes widened faintly as he turned completely toward you now, his body shifting as disbelief settled into his expression.
"Aang would never..." he whispered, the words leaving him almost involuntarily.
You smiled at that, and it was not bitter. If anything, it seemed strangely fond.
"You are correct," you replied quietly.
"Aang would never." Your gaze held his steadily.
"He had Katara, after all."
The statement, though quietly said, rang loud between them, filling the gaps of what Zuko could not.
You were waiting for some semblance of a comment, but none came, so you looked away first.
"My feet have begun to ache," you said, smoothing your hands along the fabric at your sides.
"I shall go rest now." You inclined your head politely.
"Good day, Lord Zuko—"
You had barely turned before his hand closed around your wrist, the force of it startling you entirely.
Pain shot sharply through your arm as your breath caught, instinctively trying to pull yourself free from his grip, but his hold remained firm.
"Did you..." His voice faltered once, entirely unsure how he could even go about asking his question.
He formed the words slowly in his mind, but when they left him, they were laced with his disbelief.
"Did you force yourself upon him?"
You froze.
The accusation struck harder than his grip ever could, halting your faint struggle against him.
The shock on your face was immediate, your expression falling apart so suddenly it seemed you could not even comprehend the words that had just been spoken to you.
You lifted your eyes toward him.
"Unhand me," you whispered plainly.
After a moment, he did. The second his fingers released your wrist, you stepped back from him, staring in utter shock before something entirely unexpected escaped you.
A laugh.
It was faint at first, as if you were trying to suppress it beneath your lungs.
But then another followed, your hand rising quickly to cover your mouth while your shoulders trembled beneath the sound.
Zuko stood frozen before you, caught between confusion and rage.
"What is so amusing?" He asked slowly, observing how you pressed the bridge of your nose, much like Aang had done.
"You!" you answered through the remnants of your laughter, lowering your hand slightly as tears gathered painfully in your eyes.
"It's amusing how easily you throw around such statements." You shook your head faintly.
"At least Sokka merely believed me status-hungry. Even that is kinder than the vile accusation you just made."
"I was not accusing you—"
"You were," you cut him off immediately. "And you did so without hesitation."
The humor vanished from your face entirely then.
"You are pathetic, Lord Zuko," you whispered, the hurt in your voice far louder than your anger could have ever been.
"You spoke those words so easily without once considering how heavily they might weigh upon me."
Only then did he properly notice the tears, realizing he completely misjudged the situation.
Regret struck his face instantly.
"I am sorry—"
"Forget it," you interrupted sharply, already turning away from him.
"I cannot even disguise this as your concern for Aang anymore." You stated as you walked away from him.
Your pace quickened across the corridor, hurt and humiliation burning through you.
"For you to stoop so low..." Your throat tightened around the next words. "It was...unexpected."
Zuko followed after you immediately.
"Please!" he called after you, urgency finally breaking through his facade, "Allow me to apologize."
"No!"
You turned around so abruptly that he stopped mere inches away from you, the closeness sudden enough to steal the breath from him entirely.
Your eyes glistened as you looked up at him, wounded frustration pulling harshly at the muscles of your face.
"Why must every conversation of ours begin with an apology and end in an argument?" You asked quietly.
For once, Zuko had no answer.
But his hands lifted instinctively, settling carefully on your shoulders in an attempt to steady both you and the conversation unraveling between you.
"I am sorry," he said again, the words stripped entirely of pride.
"I swear to you, I never intended to hurt you." He inclined his head, not trying to avoid your gaze but doing so anyway.
"I was worried for my friend, and I allowed that concern to cloud my judgment."
You said nothing.
You only stared at him with that same wounded frown, your silence far harsher than anger.
Then, after a long moment, your voice finally returned you.
"Please let me go," you murmured tiredly. "I wish to rest."
And this time, Zuko listened.
His hands fell away from your shoulders immediately, giving you space to turn around and disappear down the corridor alone.
The meeting had dragged on far longer than Aang had anticipated.
By the time he entered the throne room later that afternoon, you had already been settled into your temporary room within the palace.
He had stayed with you longer than he should have, making certain you had bathed after spending some time beneath the sheets together.
He made sure you had eaten properly, and that you were comfortable as the afternoon sleep finally took you, visibly tired from your journey.
Only then had he forced himself away.
And now, seated within the throne room amongst ministers, generals, and advisors of the Fire Nation court, Aang found his thoughts nowhere near the matters being discussed before him.
Usually, his presence within political meetings carried a certain lightness to it, an ease that often softened the stiffness of royal proceedings.
Even during disagreements, there remained something breezy about him, an openness that made people forget, if only briefly, that they sat in the presence of the Avatar.
Today, that ease was absent.
His posture remained straight throughout the entirety of the meeting, his expression unreadable, responses short and precise whenever his input was requested.
The shift in demeanor had not gone unnoticed either, several members of the court exchanging uncertain glances whenever any matter settled too long on him.
Even Zuko had noticed.
From atop the elevated throne platform, the Fire Lord's eyes drifted toward Aang more than once during the meeting, sensing something unsettled beneath the stillness he wore.
So when the final matter concluded and Aang spoke before anyone else could rise—
"Leave us."
—the entire room had fallen silent.
No one moved at first.
The command had not come from the Fire Lord.
A few uncertain gazes shifted toward Zuko instead, waiting for correction or dismissal, because at the end of the day, regardless of the Avatar's status, this remained the throne room of the Fire Nation.
Zuko studied Aang, watchful of the serious glint that showed beneath his friend's face.
Without question, Zuko inclined his head slightly toward the Grand Chamberlain.
The older man understood immediately.
"The meeting is adjourned," he announced loudly.
One by one, the members of the court began filing out of the throne room, robes sweeping across the floor while quick footsteps echoed beneath the towering ceilings.
The massive doors eventually closed behind the last remaining council member, the sound reverberating through the now empty hall.
Zuko finally rose from his place.
The elevated dais placed him high above everyone who entered the room, an intentional symbol of authority inherited through generations of Fire Lords.
From below, he appeared untouchable seated there, distant in both power and stature.
Yet now he descended the side steps without ceremony, his robes shifting behind him as he approached Aang directly, concern settled into his features almost immediately.
"What is it you wish to discuss?" he asked, voice loud and clear now within the emptiness of the throne room.
He doesn't receive an answer from the Avatar.
His brows furrowed faintly.
"You seem distressed. Is your wife dissatisfied with her chambers?"
Aang said nothing once more as he remained standing in the very center of the room, unmoving beneath Zuko's gaze.
Zuko slowed slightly near the final step.
"You had the court dismissed. What is this about, Aang?" he asked again, confusion beginning to edge into his voice.
Aang finally looked at him properly then.
"What was your real reason for bringing my wife here?"
Zuko stopped mid-step, his expression tightening faintly as he stood directly before Aang. He searched his face briefly, trying to determine how much exactly had been said.
"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.
Aang did not waver.
"Were you genuinely trying to help me," he asked bluntly, "or did you bring her here to investigate her?"
The Fire Lord was speechless; the frightening part was how accurate the accusation truly was.
Zuko felt the realization strike immediately, though years of royal composure kept it from reaching his face fully. But, beneath the surface, something unpleasant twisted sharply in his chest.
Not fear of confrontation.
Not fear of punishment.
Fear of disappointing.
It was an old feeling, one Zuko despised for how easily it returned whenever Aang looked at him like this.
Once, years ago, he had chased the twelve-year-old boy across the world in desperate pursuit of stolen honor, reducing the Avatar to nothing more than a target he believed might fix his broken life.
And even after all these years, even after friendship and forgiveness and peace, part of him still feared becoming that person again in Aang's eyes.
So he lied.
"Aang," he began steadily, "what would make you think such a thing? That was never my intention."
Aang's expression hardened faintly.
"It felt intentional when you questioned my wife about our marriage." Aang was agitated now, visibly trying to slow he thoughts down before saying the next words.
"Even more so when you lied and misled her after she answered you honestly."
Zuko folded his arms loosely across his chest.
"We were having a conversation," he replied. "One your wife initiated after entering my study."
"From what I heard," Aang countered immediately, "she was ready to leave. You were the one who stopped her."
"She appeared restless," Zuko answered. "I merely offered her tea."
"And with the tea," Aang countered coldly, "you offered to discuss Katara."
Zuko stared at Aang.
You truly had hidden nothing from your husband.
For some reason, Zuko had assumed you would omit certain details, particularly the conversation surrounding the Water Tribe girl.
Yet instead, you had recounted the interaction in full, trusting Aang enough to leave nothing concealed between you.
The realization settled, understanding that he underestimated your bond with Aang.
"Your wife was the one who asked about it," Zuko replied at last. "And out of respect for both you and Katara, I chose not to speak on it."
"That only made things worse!"
Aang's voice rose slightly then, frustration finally slipping through the restraint he had maintained since entering the throne room.
The sound echoed sharply through the empty hall before he abruptly stepped back, shutting his eyes as his fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, likely stopping himself from openly speaking of the insecurities you try to hide from him.
The gesture was familiar to Zuko. Aang would often do so whenever he was forcing himself not to say something harsher.
Zuko liked to think it was something the Avatar had picked up from him.
Aang exhaled as he lowered his hand.
"Zuko," he began, "I don't want to drag this out. I'm not here to fight with you."
Despite trying to remain calm with his words, Aang looked at Zuko dead in the eyes, telling a different story altogether.
"Just...don't meddle in my marriage."
"I never intended to—"
"You keep saying that," Aang interrupted, seemingly fed up with everything, "but right now I'm having a hard time believing you."
The words struck Zuko hard.
"Please," Aang continued, "don't turn against my wife just because you don't know her."
Zuko said nothing.
There was very little he could say.
"I'm the one who brought her here," Aang went on.
"If you have questions, ask me."
Perhaps the statement was genuine permission. Perhaps Aang truly would have answered whatever Zuko wished to know in this moment.
But something told him pressing further would only worsen matters.
So Zuko straightened himself instead and answered with the composure expected of a Fire Lord.
"I have no questions, Aang. It is an honor to extend my hospitality to both you and your wife."
Some of the tension in Aang's shoulders eased at that.
"Thank you."
And with that, he turned away.
His footsteps echoed through the empty throne room as he headed toward the doors, the guards outside already shifting in preparation to open them for the Avatar's departure.
Yet just before the doors parted, Aang stopped.
Without fully turning back, he tilted his head slightly for his voice to carry clearly across the room.
"If I hear you've spoken to her again," he said quietly, "it better be to apologize."
Then, before Zuko could answer, the doors opened, and Aang walked out.
Zuko could not sleep.
The palace had grow quiet, the halls outside his chambers empty save for the occasional shift of guards changing posts, yet sleep refused to claim him no matter how still he remained beneath the covers.
He had continued through the rest of the day despite the fight he had with you, burying himself beneath reports, meetings, and discussions in hopes that duty might silence the thoughts plaguing him.
It had not worked.
Now, with darkness stretched across room, he found himself replaying every word spoken between you both on the balcony earlier that afternoon.
And every time he reached the end of the memory, it only worsened.
Not only had he failed to offer the proper apology Aang had all but demanded of him days prior, he had managed to turn the conversation into something far uglier.
The worst part was that he had not even realized the severity of his words until he saw your face fall apart before him.
Zuko shut his eyes, exhaling through his nose before opening them again to stare upward.
The darkness above him became a canvas for recollection, his mind returning once again to the fragments of your conversation.
"If a woman of noble or royal standing were to become intimate before marriage, would a future king still choose to marry her?"
He understood more now.
Your previous engagement had ended because of intimacy before marriage. That part had become painfully obvious the moment you revealed the existence of the crown prince.
"Aang would never..."
"You are correct. Aang would never. He had Katara, after all."
Zuko pressed back against the pillow beneath his head.
He had misunderstood you entirely.
At first, he had believed your words implied Aang's refusal came solely from loyalty to Katara, yet the more he replayed the conversation now, the more flawed that assumption became.
Because Zuko knew Aang.
He knew his values, the vows Air Nomads upheld, and that his discipline had been rooted into him since childhood.
Aang would never dishonor a woman in such a manner, regardless of Katara's existence.
You no longer sounded accusatory.
You were bitter. Hurt even
Then came the memory he regretted most.
"Did you force yourself upon him?"
Zuko shut his eyes again immediately, shame twisting sharply through his chest.
Spirits.
The answer had been right in front of him the entire time.
Whatever happened between you and your former betrothed had not been your choice.
That was why your engagement collapsed.
That was why honor weighed so heavily upon you.
That was why the accusation had shattered you so completely.
And instead of understanding, he had cornered you with the cruelest conclusion possible simply because he could not make sense of where Aang fit within the story.
So he had grasped onto the first explanation that seemed logical and hurled it toward you without thought.
The memory of your breakdown made his stomach twinge with guilt.
He should have known better.
While Zuko spent the night trapped within the unrest of his own thoughts, you had finally managed to find sleep.
The night was still early, but the hurt left behind by your argument had exhausted you more than you realized.
And after hours spent curled beneath the blankets, wishing for Aang's return, your mind had eventually surrendered to slumber.
The palace had remained quiet then, the distant crackle of torches outside your chambers blending into the stillness of the night until everything faded into unconsciousness.
You did not remember what you had been dreaming about when you woke.
Only noise.
It reached you faintly at first, enough for your dreams to blur into confusion while sleep still clung heavily to your senses.
Somewhere beyond the walls of your chambers, voices rang through the halls accompanied by hurried footsteps and the metallic clash of armor.
Your brows furrowed as your eyes slowly opened.
Another shout echoed through the distance.
Then another.
You pushed yourself upright immediately, the blankets slipping from your body while your heart began beating faster without fully understanding why.
The room remained dark save for the pale wash of moonlight slipping through the heavy curtains, and in your disorientation, you could only sit there listening as the commotion outside grew louder by the second.
You still could not make out the words.
Your fingers fumbled for the robe resting near the edge of the mattress, quickly pulling the thin fabric around yourself before tying it shut with clumsy hands.
The chill in the room suddenly felt unbearable, as you slowly got off the mattress and made your way towards the door.
Then came the scream that shattered through the corridor clearly enough for you to finally understand.
"Attack! Attack on the palace!"
You hadn't misheard. The statement was undeniable.
Every thought in your mind vanished.
You stepped back so abruptly, you almost lost your balance, panic flooding through your chest while your eyes darted around your chambers.
What were you meant to do?
Leave the room?
Remain hidden?
Find guards?
Your pulse hammered painfully while another wave of shouting erupted somewhere beyond in the palace, followed by the unmistakable sound of guards running.
You could not bring yourself to open the doors blindly.
Not without knowing what waited beyond them.
So instead, you hurried toward the windows at the far side of the room, your bare feet slipping slightly against polished floors as you reached for the thick cord holding the curtains shut.
Your hands trembled while pulling it.
The curtains slowly lifted upward with each tug, moonlight spilling wider into the chambers inch by inch.
At first, you saw as smoke curled upward from somewhere within the palace grounds.
Then, the fire caught your eye, orange light flickering violently against the night sky.
And then you saw it.
Something enormous burned through the darkness toward the palace itself.
Your breath caught instantly.
It resembled the sun more than fire, a massive sphere of blazing orange and gold tearing across the sky with terrifying speed, growing larger with every passing second until you realized—
It was coming directly toward you.
The cord slipped from your fingers as your body froze.
The curtains collapsed shut immediately, swallowing the room back into darkness while panic seized your entire body.
You turned and ran.
But before you could barely reach past the bed, the world behind you erupted.
The impact crashed through the chambers with catastrophic force, glass exploding outward while heat and destruction tore through the room in an instant.
chapter six coming soon...
a/n: I will just straight up say that i have projected myself onto zuko's character in my fic (NOT IN THIS CHAPTER), it will make sense in the future chapters and i may even explain it when the time comes. whatever happens with zuko going forward...everyone will not understand it, but i will explain my perspective on it, rest assured.
[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)
summary: for the entire year you and jason have known each other, he assumed you two were dating and had no idea that you weren't.
warnings: none but lmk if i missed something, just jason being oblivious, might be a little ooc
UNEDITED!!!
jason isn't stupid—he knows there's rules that define whether or not two people are dating. but he is just a bit dense.
you'd met on a rooftop about a year ago, a classic vigilante encounter. instant tension, instant bickering between you and jason. he hadn't been entirely smitten. he simply thought you were beautiful, but that didn't mean anything.
not until you two start working together. bruce sends the two of you out on a mission, and you say something along the lines of, "let's make it a date, then." you said it with such an arrogant, cheeky grin.
and because that mission had gone so well, you and jason are consistently sent out together. alone.
because you'd said "let's make it a date!" he began to say it back. just a little joke. he'd say something like, "save the date..." quite bashfully. and you'd snicker and agree.
and that consistency is what makes jason think the two of you have started dating.
every single time the two of you are dispatched on a mission, it's always "save the date" or "let's make it a date" with you.
it happened so effortlessly, in his mind. so seamlessly. he doesn't feel like he needs to perform around you. he's not a blushing mess, he doesn't stutter or even treat you very differently, hence why you don't notice that he thinks the two of you are together.
except for when he stops by and gets little trinkets. maybe a stick of chocolate for valentines day. not flowers, because he wasn't able to gauge whether or not you'd want some.
for your birthday, he got you a small gift. something that reminded him of a childhood story you'd once babbled on about.
he's just a little bit sweeter and a little bit softer around you, compared to when he's conversing with other teammates.
this you notice, and you begin to consider that maybe he has feelings for you. a little crush. but you'd never in a million years consider that he thought you guys were fully dating.
his strange acts of kindness spark a tiny crush inside of you. you're spending more time with him. enjoying your missions with him just a bit more. laughing, smiling. and he begins to feel like home.
you wonder—should you ask him out? he doesn't seem like he's going to make a move any time soon. and, after all, he's been picking up so many small gifts for you here and there. maybe he's waiting for you to do something.
so, one night, you consult his brothers.
"jason likes you. i can tell," dick reassures. "he likes being around you, whether that's as friends or because he likes likes you, i dunno."
"definitely," tim had said. "jason with chocolates in his hand? never seen before. until you."
damian rolled his eyes when you asked. he scoffed and said, "i've been waiting for you to catch on. why don't you just ask each other out already?"
they act like jason is acting so differently. perhaps you just don't know him as well as they do.
one night, on a mission, you gather enough courage to turn to him and ask. "hey..."
"yeah?" he says, tipping his head towards the starless sky.
"i...um...i know we do a lot together. and i don't want to ruin our friendship."
"friendship?"
you nod. did jason even consider you a friend? why did he seem so confused? "yeah. i just...i really like having you around. so don't make it weird, okay?"
he dips his head. "okay...?"
"do you...want to go on a date with me?"
he blinks. once, twice. "are we not on one right now?"
you shrug. "i mean, i would hardly consider this a date." you gesture to the honking cars below, to your feet swinging off the edge of the roof.
"why are you asking me out?" he says, leaning forward.
you're a little stunned. a bit hurt. "because...i like you? because we spend a lot of time together and i think you're fun to be around? i don't know."
jason waves his hands in the air. "yeah, i know. but...why? i mean, we're already dating. if you wanted to go for a date and not have to go on a mission at the same time, you could've just said—"
"i'm sorry, what?"
"you...could've just said you wanted to do something different for our dates?"
you shake your head frantically. "no, no, no. you said that...you just said that we're dating?"
he stares at you like you're the one not making sense. "yeah...?"
"we're not dating, jason."
his mask hisses as he pries it off his face. his brows furrow and his cheeks redden with embarrassment. "we're...not?" he says it so softly, so painfully that you almost want to convince him that you are dating him.
"jason...oh, jason. did you think that all our talk about dates made this a date?" you can barely stifle your laughter. "jason, oh jason...you're so sweet. darling, it's an expression."
"so we're...not dating?"
"how long have you thought that?"
"about a year now." bashfully, jason's shoulders sink. "i thought we were, since you never turned down any of my gifts."
"i just thought that was you being nice. i'm sorry, i never thought to give you anything back. i just...thought you were being nice."
"of course i was just being nice. i...liked having you around."
it sounds silly saying it all aloud, but now that you think of it, jason's loyalty to you was plain as day. he was a reserved person, so it was easy to think he was just being a loner, like usual.
there was time the two of you went undercover. two girls had been ruthlessly vying for his attention. both infinitely attractive. some men, too. and he hadn't even blinked. you assumed he was just playing his part when he scooped you into his arms and wouldn't let go of you the entire night.
the way he listened to you—that gift he'd bought you for your birthday. reminiscent of some stupid childhood story you'd told him on some meaningless, random night. yet he'd remembered.
because that night hadn't been meaningless to him. no night with you had been meaningless.
perhaps he wasn't dense or stupid for thinking the two of you were already dating. perhaps you were in fact the dense one, for not seeing the signs. for not seeing how sweet he was sooner, for how silently loyal he was.
"jason." you loop his hand in yours. his pulse beats steadily. he's not nervous around you. neither are you anymore. "how long did you say we were dating?"
"we're not—"
"how long did you say we were dating for?"
he bites his lip. "tomorrow would've been...uh, our one year anniversary. i didn't know if you wanted me to plan something. you didn't seem to care very much, like the people do in the movies." because you hadn't even known. "i did want to plan something, though. you just never seemed like an 'event' sorta person." he chuckles. "i guess...i guess i know why, now."
"i love surprises," you mutter. "you can still plan something. there's still time."
"but we're not...you said we're not dating." he just seems so damn sad about it.
you shake your head. "what're you talking about?" you grin and rest your head on his shoulder. you can't believe he thought you just didn't like events, you didn't want to cuddle. you just hadn't known.
so you smile, allowing the stench of gotham celebrate the countdown to your first anniversary. the moon hangs high in the sky, and you check your watch. midnight strikes, and you snuggle into jason.
summary: while the world celebrates peace, you move through the earth kingdom with one mission: end the avatar cycle. raised by the order to believe the avatar’s failure cost you everything, you infiltrate his circle during a fragile peace treaty, determined to gain his trust and strike.
but aang isn’t what you expected. he’s kind, burdened and human. not the cowardous demigod you were told about, and as he begins to trust you, your resolve starts to crack.
pairing: aged up!aang x reader
warning: aang is 20 and oc is 21, timeline kind of sort of really doesn’t make sense, slow burn, betrayal, NOT PROOF READ
word count: 2k
nisa’s notes!: so my obsession for atla is back (it never went away) this isn’t proof read once again and i should definitely be revising but i wrote this instead… whoopsies… will probably edit it later but for now here it is!!!!short first chapter but it’ll get longer as we go :3 also comment if u wanna be added to the taglist. banner creds: heyhanibee on twt
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You could kill him right now.
Your eyes follow his every movement from across the room as he engages in a conversation with the Fire Lord, all bright eyed and smiling. From this distance, he doesn’t look like the boy who ended the hundred-year war. Instead he appears to look too care free, too comfortable, and way too happy for your own liking.
The obsidian pin in your hair feels heavy, a silent promise tucked against your scalp. One quick strike to the base of the skull while he laughs at Zuko’s dry wit, and the Order’s century-long nightmare would be over. Maybe you could land a few hits on the Fire Lord in the process. Two for the price of one.
“He’s remarkable, isn't he?”
The voice of a fellow Earth Kingdom delegate startles you, but you don't let your expression flicker. You maintain the serene, practiced mask that you’d been taught.
“Remarkable,” you agree, your voice smooth as silk as you look over at them. “It’s hard to believe so much power is contained in one person.”
“And so much kindness,” the delegate sighs. “We are lucky he returned to us.”
Lucky. You feel a familiar, cold bitterness rise in your throat. Was it 'luck' that left your mother’s body burnt to a crisp in the mud? Was it 'luck' that forced you to learn the anatomy of a human body before you learned how to dance?
Humming, you return your gaze back to the Avatar, and to your astonishment his curious eyes are already settled on you. His lips are curled into that all too familiar, sickeningly friendly smile of his that you yearn to smack right off of his face. He doesn’t look away, until a slightly shorter man dressed in the blue robes of the Southern Water tribe says something that takes his attention away from you. If your memory serves you right, his name must be Sokka. Another one of the fools in the Avatar’s circle.
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes as the Avatar takes his position at the centre of the room, a broad smile remaining on his face.
“Welcome, everybody! I have gathered you all here today to discuss the creation of a new city,” he lets his gaze roam the hall, his eyes bright with a fervor that seems to settle on every person individually.
“What is the purpose of this city?” a voice calls from the crowd.
“Well, it’s supposed to represent a place where the Four Nations are no longer separate,” he explains. “A place where people are just... people. Not Earth Kingdom subjects or Fire Nation citizens or Water Tribe people. I believe it will help us further restore the peace that we’ve lost after past events.”
The crowd murmurs amongst themselves, some nodding in agreement whilst others still weren’t fully convinced.
The Fire Lord steps up beside him, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. “After everything that has happened, this will be good for us. The Fire nation is in full support of Avatar Aang’s plan.”
With their Lord's approval, the small group of Fire Nation diplomats quiets down. Their murmuring stops, though the scowls don't leave their faces.
Aang offers a final, humble bow to the room before hopping down from the dais. He moves with an irritating fluidity, weaving through the crowd like a breeze. He doesn’t walk like a man who ended a war, he walks like a child at a festival. He stops to greet the Northern Water Tribe elders with a respectful dip of his head and shares a brief, boisterous laugh with Sokka, who is already gesturing wildly toward a map of the proposed docks.
Then, his path shifts. He is heading toward the Earth Kingdom delegation. Toward you.
Your hand twitches instinctively, a phantom reach for the obsidian pin, but you force your fingers to remain interlaced within your silk sleeves.
"Honored guests," Aang says as he approaches, his voice bright and clear. He bows deeply to your group. "It’s good to see Ba Sing Se so well represented. But I noticed King Kuei’s seat is empty. Is he feeling alright? I was looking forward to showing him the sketches for the central plaza."
The elder delegate beside you bows in return, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of the Avatar’s presence. "The Earth King sends his sincerest apologies, Avatar Aang. He was waylaid by matters of state regarding the restoration of the agrarian zones. He has entrusted us to speak on his behalf."
"I understand," Aang says, his expression softening into genuine empathy. "The work of rebuilding never really stops, does it?"
His gray eyes, vast and unnervingly observant, scan the faces of the delegates. He acknowledges each one by name—men and women who have spent decades in the shadows of the Upper Ring, now preening under the gaze of a boy who wasn't even awake for the war they survived.
Then, his gaze lands on you. The recognition he held for the others vanishes, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. He realizes you are the only variable he doesn't recognize.
He steps closer, stepping into the private space usually reserved for peers.
"I don't think we’ve met," he says, tilting his head slightly. That sickeningly friendly smile returns, though up close, you can see the exhaustion tucked into the corners of his eyes. "I’m Aang. And you are?"
The silence stretches for a second too long. You feel the weight of the obsidian pin pressing against your skull. You could kill him right now, but when you turn your head and notice all eyes on you, you shove the wicked thought far back into your head.
“I’m Y/N,” you force your lips to curl upwards as you offer a shallow, perfectly executed bow. “It is actually my first time here.”
“Really?” his eyes seem to brighten up further, for a reason you cannot place. You nod with a grimace. “What’s your opinion on Republic City then?”
Your eyebrows furrow at the name. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Ah, yes… I mean it’s not final. Just an idea,” his eyes roam across your face, seeming to catch onto the way your nose wrinkled at the name. “Don’t you like it?”
“The name's nice. I’m just,” you pause, looking up at his hopeful and curious expression. Why was he seeking your approval? It was a gift you would never grant him. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. People aren’t that accepting — not yet at least.”
The silence that follows your words is heavy, thick enough to choke the diplomats standing nearby. To tell the Avatar—the bridge between worlds—that his vision of harmony is flawed isn't just rude; in this room, it's practically heresy. You can feel the elder delegate beside you vibrating with pure terror.
But Aang doesn't summon a whirlwind. He doesn't even raise his voice.
He takes a half-step closer, his gray eyes searching yours with a piercing intensity.
"The world has been at war for a hundred years, Y/N," he says softly, his voice carrying a weight that belies his young face. "I know people are hurt. I know they're angry. That’s exactly why I think we need this. If we keep staying behind our own walls, the fear will never go away."
He folds his arms into his sleeves, mirroring your own composed posture, though his energy is warm where yours is ice.
"You say they aren't accepting yet,'" he repeats your words, turning them over like a puzzle. "So, in your mind, what comes first? Do we wait for the hearts of every person in the Four Nations to change before we build a place for them?"
Maybe you had overstepped. You take a slow, steady breath, smoothing the metaphorical wrinkles in your composure until you are once again the picture of Earth Kingdom grace.
"Forgive me, Avatar," you say, your voice returning to that silky, practiced tone. You offer a small, apologetic tilt of your head. "I didn't mean to—”
He holds up a hand, a gentle, reassuring smile returning to his face. “No, please don’t apologise. You may speak freely. I value your opinion just as much as anyone else’s.”
You blink in surprise. “Okay. It is simply that in the Earth Kingdom, we are taught that a foundation must be perfectly level before the house is built. If the ground is still shifting from the tremors of the past... the house might fall."
"I don't have a better idea," you continue softly, your eyes downcast in a show of feigned humility. "I only worry that justice is a heavy stone to move. If people feel it has been forgotten in the rush for peace, they may find their own ways to seek it. I would hate to see your beautiful vision compromised by those who aren't as... forgiving as you are."
Aang’s hand, which had been hovering in the air, slowly drops to his side. He looks at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed. He can tell you’ve retreated behind a wall, but your words have clearly left a mark.
"I see," he says, his voice quieter now. The playful energy from before has vanished, replaced by a somber weight. He offers you a small, grateful nod.
"I appreciate your honesty, Y/N. Truly. Most people just tell me what they think the Avatar wants to hear. It’s refreshing to meet someone who cares so much about the stability of the future."
He lingers there for a heartbeat, his gray eyes searching yours as if looking for the person who spoke so sharply just moments ago.
"I hope I can prove to you that this city can be a foundation for justice, too," he says. "Maybe we can talk more about what that 'level ground' looks like later tonight? At the banquet?"
The invitation is a double-edged sword. It’s the perfect opportunity to get him alone, away from the prying eyes of the Fire Lord and the Water Tribe warrior. But it also means more time under his unnerving, intuitive gaze.
"It would be an honor, Avatar," you reply, your voice a perfect, polite lie.
I RLLY HOPE ppl dont START WRITING ZUKO X READER SLOWBURN ENEMIES TO LOVERS FICS 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 I said I RLLY HOPE ppl dont START WRITING ZUKO X READER SLOWBURN ENEMIES TO LOVERS FICS 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 it wld be such a shame 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 hello 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
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.
You sat on the edge of the bed, watching Zuko sleep. At twenty-four, the Fire Lord looked older than his years when he was awake, burdened by the crown and endless meetings. But in sleep, his face smoothed out, looking more like the boy you had met all those years ago.
You pressed a hand to your stomach. You knew. You’d seen a healer in the lower plaza under a fake name, and the news had hit you like one of those boulders Toph would chuck at you during training sessions: four months. You were four months pregnant.
Bile rose in your throat. Five years was a long time to be dating, but Zuko hadn’t mentioned marriage. Not once. He talked about the future of the nation, about rebuilding, about his legacy—but never about a wedding. Did he even want kids? He was so focused on being a better man than his father that you worried he was scared to be a father at all.
For a week, you lived like a ghost in your own home. You ate dinner with him, kissed him goodbye before his council meetings, and practiced your firebending in the courtyard, all while your secret grew inside you. Every time he touched your waist or pulled you close, you flinched ever so slightly, terrified he would somehow feel the change in you.
By the seventh day, the pressure became too much. You couldn't tell him—not yet. You needed someone who knew Zuko better than anyone. You needed a person who lived outside the walls of duty and expectation.
Without a word or a note, you packed a small bag, slipped past the palace guards using the secret routes Zuko had once shown you, and boarded a ship heading for Ba Sing Se.
The Jasmine Dragon was quiet when you arrived. The scent of brewing leaves and steamed buns usually made you feel at home, but today, it just made you want to cry.
Uncle Iroh was wiping down a table when you stepped through the door. He didn't look surprised; he just smiled that soft, knowing smile and set his rag down.
"I believe I have just the blend for a weary traveler," he said, gesturing to a private booth in the back.
You sat down, and the moment the steam from the tea hit your face, the dam broke. You told him everything. You told him about the pregnancy, about the fear that Zuko wasn't ready, and about how much you hated yourself for running away.
"He’s Fire Lord, Iroh," you whispered, gripping your cup. "He has to think about heirs and tradition. What if he thinks I did this to trap him? What if he doesn't want a family because of... everything that happened with Ozai?"
Iroh reached across the table, his warm hand covering yours. "My nephew has spent his life learning how to love, my dear. He does not see you as a 'tradition' or a 'trap.' He sees you as his home. But I suspect he is currently making a very large scene back at the palace trying to find you."
"I just...needed a moment to breathe," you sighed, leaning back. "I feel like I'm carrying the weight of the whole world."
"You are carrying a life," Iroh corrected gently. "That is not a weight. It is a gift. Even if the timing feels like a storm, remember that flowers need rain to grow."
You spent the next few days helping Iroh in the shop. It was peaceful. You helped serve tea, you walked through the Middle Ring gardens, and for a moment, you felt like a normal girl again, not the secret girlfriend of the world’s most powerful firebender.
But peace never lasted long when the Avatar and his friends were involved.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. The shop was half-full when the front doors didn't just open—they flew off their hinges.
"Uncle! She isn't here! The guards at the harbor said a woman matching her description got on a ferry, but—"
Zuko’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He looked like a wreck. His hair was messy, his robes were wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot. Behind him stood Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph, all looking equally exhausted and worried.
Zuko stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes landed on you, sitting at a corner table with a plate of half-eaten dumplings.
For a second, nobody moved. Then, Zuko was across the room in three long strides. He didn't yell. He didn't demand answers. He simply crashed into you, wrapping his arms around you so tightly you could barely breathe. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you could feel him shaking.
"I thought someone took you," he choked out, his voice muffled by your hair. "I thought Ozai’s loyalists found a way into the palace. I thought I’d lost you forever."
"Zuko, I'm sorry," you whispered, hugging him back. "I just... I had to get away."
The rest of the group gathered around, a mix of relief and confusion on their faces. Sokka looked like he wanted to complain about the frantic trip, but Katara shushed him.
"We've been searching for a week," Aang said softly. "Zuko wouldn't eat or sleep. We had to fly Appa through a storm to get here."
Zuko pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs traced your cheekbones. "Why didn't you tell me? Whatever it is, whatever is wrong, we can fix it. If you’re unhappy in the palace, we’ll change things. Just don’t leave me again."
You looked at his face—the desperation, the raw love—and felt like the biggest idiot in the world. You had been so scared of his reaction that you’d ignored the man he actually was.
Toph, who had been standing back with her arms crossed, suddenly tilted her head. Her milky eyes focused somewhere around your midsection. She frowned, her feet shifting on the wooden floorboards.
"Uh, Sparky?" Toph said, interrupting the moment.
Zuko didn't look away from you. "Not now, Toph."
"No, seriously," she insisted, stepping closer. "I think I know why she ran away. Or at least, why she’s acting weird."
"Toph, give them some space," Katara whispered, reaching for the earthbender's arm.
"I’m just saying!" Toph shrugged her off. "I can hear it. It’s faint, but there’s definitely a second little pitter-patter in there. A really fast one."
The room went dead silent. Zuko’s hands froze on your cheeks. He looked down at your stomach, then back up at your eyes. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Toph..." you breathed, your face turning bright red. "I was going to tell him."
"Wait," Sokka’s jaw dropped. "A second heartbeat? Like... a baby? Is there a baby in there?"
"Four months," you whispered, looking only at Zuko.
Zuko’s knees seemed to give out slightly. He dropped his hands to your waist, his fingers splaying across your stomach with a reverence you’d never seen. He looked terrified, but beneath the terror was a spark of something that looked a lot like wonder.
Uncle Iroh stepped forward, clapping his hands together. "Alright, everyone! I think the Jasmine Dragon is closed for a private tea ceremony. Aang, Sokka, why don't we go find some meat skewers down the street? Katara, Toph, I believe there is a beautiful sunset starting. Let's give these two some air."
With some grumbling from Sokka and a knowing wink from Iroh, the shop was cleared out. The broken door was pulled shut as best as it could be, leaving you and Zuko alone in the golden afternoon light.
Zuko still hadn't moved his hands. He was staring at your belly as if he expected it to start talking to him.
"Four months?" he finally asked.
"Yeah," you said, your voice trembling. "I’m sorry I ran. I was just... I was scared, Zuko. You haven't asked me to marry you, and you're so busy being Fire Lord, and I didn't know if you wanted this. I didn't want to be a burden."
Zuko let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He pulled you into his lap, sitting on the bench and tucking your head under his chin.
"A burden?" he repeated. "I was going to propose on the anniversary of our first date next month. I’ve had the ring in my desk for half a year. I was just waiting for the perfect moment because I wanted everything to be right for you."
You pulled back, staring at him. "You have a ring?"
"Of course I have a ring," he said, a bit of his usual grumpiness returning to hide his emotion. "I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment you tried to out-firebend me in that training session three years ago."
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "As for being Fire Lord... my father didn't care about his family. He only cared about power. I want to be the opposite of him in every way. If that means I spend my days ruling and my nights rocking a cradle, then that’s the best life I can imagine."
You felt a massive weight lift off your shoulders. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair. "So you're not mad?"
"I’m furious that you ran away," he admitted, his eyes darkening for a second. "I was scared to death. But about the baby?" He let out a long breath, a small, genuine smile breaking across his face. "I think I'm going to be the happiest man in the world. Even if Toph found out before I did."
"She does have a way of ruining surprises," you joked, leaning into him.
Zuko kissed you then—a long, slow kiss that tasted like home and jasmine tea. For the first time in weeks, the churning in your stomach stopped. You weren't alone in this anymore.
"We should probably go tell them we're okay," you said after a while, though you didn't move.
"In a minute," Zuko whispered, his hand still resting gently over your heart and the tiny life growing beneath it. "Let's just stay here for a minute."
Outside, you could hear Sokka arguing with Iroh about whether sea-prunes belonged in tea, and Toph laughing loudly at a joke Aang made. But inside the shop, it was quiet, warm, and finally, perfectly right.
