hey! im cora, an overworked college student who writes for funsies! before continuing pls read my rules! if u want more of my unfiltered thoughts visit my sideblog! but if we’re being honest, you’re probably here for my masterlist !

just note that im a very busy person so updates are usually slow!

REQUESTS -> open

-> warnings/chap. summary: light angst, out of character taga again…is he ever in character? reader and zuko have an important talk…reader also talks to taga🤔 alsoo idk where the like actual fighting plot even went in this chapter put ill pick it back up in the next one😭

**not even a little proofread btw😭

wc: 5317

The door doesn't open again.

Some part of you keeps waiting for it anyway- somewhat convinced he's going to come back in, say something, give the room permission to exhale properly. An explanation. A retraction. Anything that makes the last ten minutes feel less like something that can't be walked back.

He doesn't.

The room sits in the quiet he left behind. Sokka is staring at the table with the focused expression of someone who's been told not to say anything and is finding it genuinely physically difficult. Katara has gone very still in that way she does when she's deciding what kind of problem she's dealing with. Aang keeps glancing between you and the door and back again with the helpless expression of someone who knows he started something and doesn't know how to finish it.

Taga reaches for something on the table beside you.

Unbothered. Composed. Like the last ten minutes cost him nothing at all.

You watch his hand and think about last night and the hollow unnamed thing sitting in your chest and you look away before you can finish the thought.

"So," Sokka says finally, with the energy of a man detonating something controlled. "The northern route. Very interesting stuff. Taga, what are we looking at timeline wise?"

God bless Sokka.

Taga answers. Aang joins in. The conversation rebuilds itself slowly, testing each piece before putting weight on it, and gradually the room starts functioning like a room again.

You eat your food.

You do not think about the door.

Although you do note it when he comes back in about twenty minutes later.

You feel it before you see it, that frequency you've apparently never stopped being attuned to no matter how many years you put between yourself and it. He crosses to the far side of the room, refills his cup, and takes his seat again like nothing happened- with his expression locked down completely. Whatever was fraying at the edges earlier tucked away somewhere inaccessible.

He doesn't look at you.

Which is fine. That's fine. You don't look at him either.

Across the room Katara catches your eye and you can tell she’s almost desperate to talk about what happened last night. You give her a gentle smile accompanied by a small nod that means I know.

The morning continues.

———

You find Taga on the narrow side deck before Katara can find you.

You hadn't planned it. You were just walking and he was there, leaning against the railing, looking at the water with a quality of stillness that means he's somewhere far away behind his eyes.

He looks over when he hears you.

Something crosses his face when he sees you, warm and unhurried, like you're exactly who he was hoping would appear and he has no intention of pretending otherwise.

You lean against the railing beside him.

The water moves below, grey and endless, and for a moment neither of you says anything and it should feel like the comfortable silence from however many nights ago but it doesn't quite.

It's not bad. Nothing about this is bad. He's warm and present and he looks at you the same way he always has- steady, unhurried, like you're worth paying attention to. Nothing has changed on his end that you can point to.

That's almost the problem.

"Last night," you start.

"Last night," he agrees, quiet and easy, like the words themselves are something he's glad to say.

You look at the water.

"I don't regret it," you say. Simply. Because you don't and it's true and you're not going to dress it up or minimize it.

"Good," he says. And then, after a beat he responds, "Neither do I. In case that wasn't clear."

Something about the way he says it- dry, almost amused, like he's gently pointing out that his interest has been fairly obvious this whole time- makes the corner of your mouth twitch despite yourself.

"I just don't entirely know what I want it to be," you say. "Yet."

"That's alright," he says easily. "I'm a patient man."

You glance at him.

The ghost of something plays at the corner of his mouth.

"I have some experience with waiting," he says.

"A thousand years doesn't count," you say.

"Give or take," he agrees.

You laugh.

A real one, short and surprised out of you, more genuine than you intended, and you feel him clock it the way he clocks everything, with that quiet satisfaction of someone who aimed for exactly that and hit it.

Which should probably be a warning sign.

It isn't.

"I like you," he says then, the amusement settling into something warmer and more direct. "I want you to know that. And, just so you know, I'm not saying it to make this less complicated. I'm saying it because it's true and you seem like someone who prefers directness."

You look at him.

"I do," you say.

"I know," he says simply. Like he's been paying attention. Like he's been collecting small true things about you since the moment he woke up in that tent and you stayed when everyone else left.

Which he has been.

You know that.

You're just not entirely sure yet what he's planning to do with them.

"So," he says, and his voice has shifted into something lighter, the warmth still there but threaded with something almost playful. "Are we going to stand here being serious about it or are you going to tell me what that look means."

You blink. "What look."

"The one you've been wearing since you came around that corner," he says. "Like you came out here with something on your mind and now you're deciding whether to say it."

You stare at him.

"I came out here for air," you say.

"Mhm," he hums, in a tone that means he believes approximately none of that.

"I did," you say.

"Okay," he says pleasantly.

You look at the water.

"I just don't want it to be-" you start.

"Weird?" he offers.

"I was going to say complicated."

"Ah." He considers that. "Is there a version of this that isn't complicated?"

"Probably not," you admit.

"Then perhaps," he says, "we stop trying to make it something simpler than it is and just let it be what it is."

You look at him sideways.

He's looking at the water, that ghost of a smile still at the corner of his mouth, completely unbothered by any of this in a way you can't decide is deeply attractive or slightly unnerving.

Both, probably.

Definitely both.

"You're very calm about this," you say.

"One of us should be," he says.

You almost laugh again.

Almost.

He turns to look at you then, fully, and the playfulness settles into something steadier underneath.

"I meant what I said," he says quietly. "I'm not treating last night as something to move past. And I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you decide to do with that."

You hold his gaze for a moment.

He holds yours back. Patient. Warm. Not pushing.

Just, there.

Whatever you decide to do with that.

Like he's genuinely leaving it up to you. Like he has enough confidence in whatever this is to just… wait. Let you come to it on your own terms.

Which is either the most attractive thing anyone has ever said to you.

Or the most calculated.

You can't quite tell yet.

You're not sure you're supposed to be able to.

"Okay," you say finally.

One corner of his mouth lifts.

"Okay," he agrees.

You stay at the railing for another few minutes, the water moving far below you, the silence between you comfortable in a way that almost completely papers over the small unnamed thing sitting slightly off in your chest.

Almost.

———

Katara finds you twenty minutes later.

She appears beside you with two cups and the expression of someone who has been waiting patiently for exactly this moment.

You take the cup she offers.

The two of you stand at the railing on the other side of the ship without saying anything for a moment, basking in the silence.

"He talked to me this morning," Katara says. Carefully. "Before breakfast."

"Aang?"

"Zuko."

You look at your cup and have to hold back an eye roll.

"He came to find me specifically," she continues. "Said he had concerns about Taga. The storm, the thing with the Denied's ship. Said he didn't think we were being careful enough about trusting someone we'd known for like a week."

"He's not wrong," you say flatly. "About the storm."

"No," Katara agrees. "He's not."

"He's also not entirely talking about the storm," she says.

You say nothing.

"I told him you were allowed to make your own choices," she says. "Whatever they are." A pause. "He didn't really have an answer for that."

You look at the water.

"Good," you say.

Katara is quiet for a moment.

"Are you okay?" she asks. Just that. No preamble, no angle.

You open your mouth to say yes automatically and stop yourself.

"I don't know," you say instead. Which is more honest than you meant to be.

Katara looks at you.

"The Taga thing," you say, before she can ask. "It's not… I don't regret it. I want you to know that. I made that choice and I'm not going to pretend I didn't." You exhale. "It's just. I don't know what I thought it was going to feel like."

"And how did it feel?"

You stare at the horizon.

"Fine," you say.

Katara doesn't say anything.

"Good, even," you add, slightly defensive. "It was good."

"Okay," she says.

"I just-" you stop. "Nothing. Never mind."

Katara hums softly. She doesn't push. That's why she's your favorite person, she always knows when not to.

"I'm still angry at him," you say, after a moment. Not clarifying who. You both know who.

"I know," Katara says.

"I have every right to be."

"You do," she agrees.

"Whatever he's doing now, the looks, the- all of it… it doesn't erase twelve years of nothing."

"No," Katara says quietly. "It doesn't."

You take a sip of whatever she’d put in these cups.

The blue hues of the ocean move below you.

"He asked about Taga," you say eventually. "Not about me."

"He asked about Taga because he couldn't figure out how to ask about you," Katara says simply. "You know that."

You do know that.

You hate that you know that.

"I'm going to go help Sokka with something," you say, pushing off the railing.

Katara lets you go without comment.

You've made it four steps when she says, quietly, not quite aimed at you.

"He looked terrible this morning."

You don't stop walking.

But you hear it.

———

The afternoon passes in that particular airship way; slowly, with too much time to think and not enough space to put any distance between yourself and anything.

Aang and Taga spend hours on the upper deck. Their voices drift down occasionally, fragments of something that sounds almost ceremonial, and you watch them through the glass for a moment before you make yourself stop.

You help where you're needed. Find corners where you're not. Try very hard not to track Zuko's movements around the ship.

But it just so happens that your eyes linger a bit longer on him than necessary, trailing his whereabouts every now and again.

He's quieter than usual. More contained. He does his share of everything without being asked, stays on the opposite side of whatever room you're both in, and says exactly as much as is required and nothing more. The specific behavior of someone who has made a decision and is executing it carefully.

It's what you wanted. Space. Distance.

You don't know why it's sitting so wrong.

———

You’re in the storage corridor in the late afternoon, reaching past a row of bags on the upper shelf to get to your own stuff when your elbow catches something and the whole shelf tilts and two bags slide off and hit the floor with a thud.

"Perfect," you mutter, crouching down.

You start picking things up. A bag. A rolled map that's come loose. A water canteen that's rolled halfway down the corridor. You're reaching for the last item- something that fell furthest, slid half under the lower shelf- when your hand closes around it and you realize it isn't yours.

An envelope.

Sealed. The edges worn slightly, like it's been carried for a while. Like it's been taken out and put back more than once.

Your name on the front.

His handwriting.

You go completely still.

You're crouched on the floor of the storage corridor with the envelope in your hand and the ship humming beneath you and everything has gone very, very quiet.

You turn it over.

Sealed. Addressed to you. Worn at the edges.

I thought about writing, he'd said on the deck of the ship what felt like a lifetime ago. More than once.

You stand up slowly.

You put it in your pocket.

You finish putting the shelf back in order, pick up your own bag, and begin to walk briskly towards your room.

When you make it to your designated room, you rush into the area before you sit on the edge of your cot. And for a long time, you just hold it.

Turning it over. Feeling the worn edges. Thinking about the fact that it's sealed, which means he wrote it and kept it and carried it and never sent it, and you shouldn't open it, it's not yours to open, he never gave it to you-

But your name is literally on the front.

You open it.

It isn't long. A page and a half, adorned with that slightly cramped handwriting you recognize from a hundred strategy meetings a lifetime ago. It seems to have been written recently; the ink looks fresh, the paper inside is completely unworn even if the envelope isn't.

I don't know why I keep doing this. Writing things I'm never going to send. I think I just needed somewhere to put it.

Things have been good here. The eastern reconstruction is almost finished. Took longer than expected but the results are worth it. I heard from Sokka you've been well. I'm glad.

You stop.

I heard from Sokka.

He was checking on you? Through Sokka. Keeping track from a careful distance like that was the only option available to him when it wasn't, when it was never the only option, when he could have just-

You keep reading.

I've been thinking about what I should have said. The night you came to my door. I've been thinking about it for twelve years and I still haven't figured out how to say it in a way that-

Crossed out.

One clean line, and then another over it, and another, until the words beneath are almost completely gone.

You tilt the page toward the lamp on your nightstand.

You squint, to the point that you’re almost straining your eyes.

Fragments bleed through the ink, making it barely legible.

-not what I meant when I-

-tried to tell you that-

-should have said that I-

Gone. Buried.

You stare at the page.

Should have said that I-

The letter continues below like the crossed out section never happened.

I'll see you soon. There's a mission… something Aang needs help with. I imagine you'll be there.

I've been trying to figure out what I'm going to say when I do.

I still don't know.

I'm sorry. For what it's worth after this long (which I’m sure isn’t much) I'm sorry.

- Z

You sit on the edge of your cot with the letter in your hands and stare at the wall.

Should have said that I-

You feel it. You can’t even pretend that you don’t - the letter moving through you like something warm and unwelcome, loosening things you’d had carefully secured, making your chest fill with emotions and feelings you didn’t give it permission to.

you feel it.

And then you fold the letter.

Set it on the cot.

He didn't send it.

You look at it.

He wrote it. He kept it. He carried it onto this ship with him. He was sorry. He'd been trying to figure out what to say for twelve years.

He didn't send it.

You pick it up.

Put it in your pocket.

You’re still angry.

Matter of fact you’re pissed.

And you have every right to be.

———

You've read it twice now, sitting on the edge of your cot with the lamp turned low, and it still doesn't feel entirely real. A page and a half of his handwriting, that slightly cramped script you'd know anywhere, sitting in your hands like something that was never supposed to exist outside of his bag.

I heard from Sokka you've been well.

You stop on that line the third time through.

I heard from Sokka.

You read it again.

I heard from Sokka you've been well. I'm glad.

You sit with that for a long moment.

Then you fold the letter, put it in your pocket, and go find Sokka.

———

He's in the narrow corridor near the supply room, doing something with a rope that stopped making sense twenty minutes ago by the look of it. He glances up when he hears you coming and immediately reads something in your face that makes him set the rope down entirely.

"Hey," he says. Careful. Quizzically.

"Hey," you say.

You lean against the wall across from him. Arms crossed. Contained. And truthfully you look far more intimidating than you’d even intended to.

"He mentioned you," you say. "In the letter. Said he heard from you that I'd been doing well."

Sokka goes very still, and a trace of guilt begins to shadow his face.

"How long has that been happening?"

A pause.

"Define happening," Sokka says.

"Sokka."

He exhales. Long. Leans back against the opposite wall and runs a hand over his face in the specific way he does when he's been caught doing something he can justify but doesn't want to explain.

"He asked about you," he says finally. "After you left. Just… casually, at first. How you were, whether you seemed okay." A pause. "And then it just kept happening. Every few months he'd find a way to bring you up and I'd tell him what I knew and it never felt like a big deal because it was just- it was just information. You were fine. I'd say you were fine. He'd nod and we'd move on."

"For twelve years," you say.

"For twelve years," he admits.

"And it never once occurred to you to say something."

"To who?" he says, and he's not defensive; he sounds genuinely tired, like he's asked himself this before. "Tell him to reach out to someone who left without looking back? Tell you that your ex best friend kept asking about you when you'd made it pretty clear you were done?"

"Yes," you say simply. "Either of those things."

Sokka looks at you.

You look back.

"I assume he told you about the letters." you state.

Something shifts in his expression. Subtle. But you've known him long enough to catch it.

"He mentioned writing things," Sokka says carefully. "He didn't go into detail. I knew he… I knew it was a thing he did. I didn't ask questions."

"You didn't ask questions," you repeat.

"It didn't feel like my place-"

"Sokka." Your voice comes out quieter than you expected and sharper for it. "You've been in the middle of this for twelve years without being in the middle of it. You knew he was writing to me. You knew he was asking about me. And you just-" you stop. Exhale. "You just kept passing information back and forth like none of it meant anything."

"I didn't know the extent of it," he says defensively. "I knew there were letters. I didn't know… how many. Or what was in them."

"You still don’t know how many?" you say. "Roughly."

He looks at the ceiling.

"Sokka."

"A lot," he says quietly. "It's been a long time. There are a lot of them."

The corridor is very quiet.

You stand there and let that land properly.

A lot of them.

Not one. Not a handful. A lot. Years worth. Twelve years worth

"I'm not trying to make you the bad guy," you say after a moment. "You're not the bad guy."

"I know," he says. Quietly.

"I'm just angry."

"I know that too."

You push off the wall.

"Did he seem…" you start. Stop. Try again. "When he asked about me. Did he seem like he was just- checking in? Or did it seem like something else?"

Sokka looks at you for a long moment.

"I think we both know the answer to that," he says simply.

You nod.

You go back to your room.

———

You sit on your cot for a long time.

The letter is in your pocket. The lamp is low. The ship hums beneath you with that constant rhythm you've stopped noticing except for moments like this when everything is quiet and you need something to focus on that isn't the thing you're actually thinking about.

A lot of letters.

You take the letter out. Read it again.

I've been trying to figure out what I'm going to say when I do.

I still don't know.

I'm sorry. For what it's worth after this long- I'm sorry.

You think about seventeen years old. About walking down a hallway in the Fire Nation with your heart in your throat. About standing at his door and saying the thing you'd been holding for years, and the way his face had looked- not cruel, not cold, just -startled. Uncertain. And then…

No. I haven't thought of you in that way before.

Clean. Final.

You'd run before he could say anything else. You remember that. You remember the exact moment you stopped listening and just… moved. Turned away from the door and his voice and whatever came after because you couldn't stand to hear it.

You fold the letter and stand up before you can even fully process what you’re about to do.

———

You find him on the deck as the sun is going down.

Not by accident- for the first time in what feels like forever.

He looks up when he hears your footsteps and something moves across his face- surprise, then something more careful sliding over it. He's sitting on one of the low supply crates near the railing, a cup going cold in his hands, the sky behind him bleeding orange into deep blue.

You sit down on the crate across from him.

He looks at you. Then at the envelope.

"It fell out of your bag," you say. "In the storage corridor."

"I see."

"I read it."

"I figured."

You look at him steadily. "Were you ever going to give it to me?"

"No."

"Were you ever going to say any of it?"

His jaw works. "I don't know."

Something ignites in your chest.

"Twelve years," you say. Flat. "I've been carrying this around for twelve years. I built an entire story about what happened- about what kind of person looks someone in the eye and says what you said and then just disappears. Goes completely silent." You pause. "And now you're sitting here telling me you don't know if you were ever going to say anything."

"It wasn't that simple-"

"It was exactly that simple." The words come sharper now, the ones you've been holding since the storage corridor, since Sokka, since all of it started shifting underneath you. "You say something or you don't. You show up or you don't. You had twelve years, Zuko. Twelve years of every possible opportunity and you wrote letters you kept in your bag and apparently called that enough."

"I didn't know if you wanted to hear from me-"

"I left because you rejected me," you say. "So what was I supposed to do? Stay? Make it weird? I left because it was the only dignified option available to me after what you said and you-" your voice does the thing you don't want it to do. You pull it back under control. "You let me go. And then said nothing."

"I know-"

"And stop saying I know," you say. "Stop sitting there agreeing with everything like that makes it better. Give me something real. Tell me something true for once instead of just absorbing everything I say like you deserve it."

He looks at you.

"I do deserve it," he says quietly.

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

A pause.

His jaw tightens. Something working through his expression.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, and his voice has an edge now, something finally fraying at the surface. "That I was an idiot? That I handled it badly? That I should have-"

"I want you to tell me what you were going to say," you say. "That night. You said… you said you'd never thought of me in that way before, and then you opened your mouth again and I-" you stop. "I didn't let you finish. I know that. But I've spent twelve years filling in what came next and I need you to tell me if I've been right."

He goes very still.

"What did you fill it in with?" he asks quietly.

"That you were letting me down easy," you say. "That there was nothing there and there never had been and you were trying to find a way to say that without making it cruel."

He looks at you for a long moment.

"That's not what I was going to say," he says.

Your heart does something inconvenient.

"Then what," you say. "What were you going to say?"

He looks away. At the horizon. At the water. At anything that isn't you.

"Zuko." Your voice cracks slightly on his name and you hate it but you don't take it back. "Please. What were you going to say."

The deck is very quiet.

The sky has gone almost completely dark now.

He exhales. Long. Unsteady in a way you've never heard from him before.

"I was going to say-" he starts. Stops. His hands tighten around the cup. "I was seventeen years old and I had spent my entire life being told I wasn't enough. By my father. By the Nation. By every standard I was supposed to meet and kept failing." His voice is low now. Rough at the edges. "And then you were standing there at my door telling me you felt something and I just… I panicked. Because I hadn't let myself think about it. I'd been not letting myself think about it for a long time because if I thought about it then I had to think about what it meant that someone like you could…" he stops.

"Someone like me?" you say carefully.

"Someone who actually saw me," he says quietly. "Not the prince. Not Ozai's son. Just me. And I didn't know what to do with that. I didn't know how to-" he exhales. "I said the first thing that came out and it was wrong. And what I was going to say after was…" he pauses. "I was going to say that it wasn't that I didn't feel anything. It was that I didn't think I deserved to."

The words land somewhere deep.

You stare at him.

"I was going to tell you," he says, and his voice has gone very quiet now, stripped of everything careful, "that you were too good to want someone like me. That whatever you thought you saw- you were wrong. Not because you were wrong about me. But because I was so convinced that I was wrong about me that I couldn't-" he stops. His jaw works. "I couldn't let you be right."

The silence that follows is enormous.

You sit in it.

You think about seventeen years old. About running down a corridor with tears on your face, filling in the blank with the worst possible version. About twelve years of believing you were never even considered, never even on his radar, never enough to be thought of.

And then you think about a boy who'd been told his whole life he was a disappointment sitting across from someone who looked at him and saw something worth loving and not knowing what to do with that except push it away.

It’s sad.

It really is.

But it doesn't fix it.

You're still angry.

You have every right to still be angry because even the real version of what happened hurt you. Even well-intentioned self-destruction leaves damage in its wake. Even if he was protecting himself he was doing it at your expense and twelve years of silence doesn't become okay just because you understand it better now.

But it's a different kind of anger.

"You should have said that," you say quietly. "That night. You should have said that instead."

"I know," he says.

"I would have-" you stop. "I don't know what I would have done. But it would have been different."

"I know," he says again.

"And the letters," you say. "All of them. That's- Sokka told me. That it wasn't just one."

He closes his eyes briefly. He’d talk to Sokka about that later.

"How many," you say. Quietly this time. Not demanding. Just asking.

"Enough," he says. "Enough that I lost count after a while."

You look at him in the dark.

At his face which is doing nothing to hide any of it right now. Twelve years of letters and one night of a sentence he never finished and all of it sitting right there on the surface of him, visible, finally, for the first time.

"I didn't think I deserved to," he'd said earlier.

You think about that.

About a person who had been told so many times he wasn't enough that the only place he could safely feel something was in letters he never sent. About the specific tragedy of someone who had finally found a person worth feeling something for and didn't believe he deserved to say so.

It moves you.

You're furious and it moves you anyway and you hate that both of those things are true simultaneously.

"I'm not ready to forgive you," you say finally. "I want you to know that. Whatever this is. I spent twelve years thinking I wasn't even worth considering to you," you say. "That's what I carried. Not just that you didn't feel the same way. That I never even- that it never even crossed your mind."

Something breaks open in his expression.

"It never left my mind," he says. Raw and quiet and nothing like the careful measured voice he came onto this deck with. "That was the problem. That was always the problem. I couldn't- you were the only person who ever looked at me like I was worth something and I didn't know what to do with that except-"

He stops.

"Except push it away," you finish quietly.

He looks at you.

"Yeah," he says. Just that. Just, yeah. Like he's too tired to dress it up anymore.

Something in your chest pulls tight.

You stand up.

"I'm still angry," you say.

"I know."

"You don't get to just-" you pause. "This doesn't fix anything tonight."

"I know," he says. And then, quieter… "I'm not asking for it."

You look at him for a long moment.

At the cup still in his hands. At the sky completely dark behind him now. At the person who has apparently been writing you letters for twelve years because he had to put it somewhere and couldn't put it where it actually belonged.

"Goodnight, Zuko," you say.

He doesn't try to stop you.

"Goodnight," he says quietly.

You go inside.

You keep the letter.

Cora’s notes:

- I said I’d update before the end of may and here we are, may 31st at 10:50pm at least in my time zone!!😭😭

- but otherwise I have so many thoughts omgggg

-Sokka is kinda messy

-And this is kinda me glazing myself but goodness me I love how different Zuko and taga are like Zuko takes forever and is emotionally constipated but taga is like “I have a feeling u like directness” like yes dada i dooooooo🤤🤤🤤

-poor zuko. He gets five big booms

-zuko is not is my good graces yet. whatever call me petty 🤷‍♀️

Comment pls love talking to y guys!!

->warnings / chapter summary: MNDI (finally) contains oral sex (fem receiving), don’t get ur hopes up too high it’s not w zuko…yet, light grinding i guess(?), this still loosely follows the plot of the movie but everything is over a series of days rather than just one, this is more centered around taga x reader but Zuko is there being tsundere still so yeah! this was like lightly proofread but lmk if smth doesnt make sense!

-> read note at the end for clarifications!

wc: 6,249

“Then you know I didn’t get to finish.”

The same words tormented your mind all night long. What more was there to say?

You lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling of the airship, listening to the steady hum of it beneath you and the distant sound of the ocean, turning those eight words over and over like they'd mean something different the tenth time you thought it over.

But they didn’t.

You still didn't know what he'd been about to say twelve years ago. And at this point, you weren’t even sure if knowing would change anything. And somehow that was worse than the twelve years of assuming, because at least then you’d had something solid to be angry about.

Now, you just had a question with no answer, a headache, and about 3 hours of sleep.

Perfect.

You push yourself up from the surprisingly comfortable and spacious cot, rolling your neck until you finally feel that satisfying crack you were yearning for.

Thinking about this any longer is a waste.

Doesn’t mean I’ll stop, though.

You finally gather yourself enough to get ready for the day, fixing yourself to look at least somewhat decent before stepping out onto the dock.

It’s much quieter than it had been yesterday. The wind had decided to slow down, shifting into a much calmer rhythm.

You hear indistinctive chatter and mumbling behind you, the voices of everyone else who are still inside.

You inch towards the railing, it’s not the same place as last night, it’s on the opposite side and lets the cold air refresh you in ways your 3 hours of sleep couldn’t. A cool gust of wind gently grazes your face, you take a few deep breaths, taking it all in. As you’re becoming more entranced in the moment, you hear someone approaching. Him approaching.

Zuko comes to stand a few feet down the railing. He’s not beside you, but not too far either. He’s just there. Almost as if he'd decided this particular stretch of railing had nothing to do with you and he just happened to end up here.

Neither of you say anything.

The sky lightens incrementally ahead.

"You’re up early." he finally says.

"Couldn’t sleep," you mumble.

There’s another long, uncomfortable lull of silence between the two of you.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He looks exactly as fine as you feel, which is to say - not very. Dark shadows rest under his eyes that weren't there yesterday, and his jaw has that particular set to it that means he's been turning something over all night too.

Good.

“Me neither.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his, continuously tracing the outline of the horizon.

"About last night-" he starts.

"I'd rather not," you say.

Another beat of silence passes.

"I was just going to say-"

"Zuko." You turn to look at him then, fully, and something in your expression must land because he stops. "I know what you were going to say. Or- maybe I don’t. Either way, I don't want to do this right now. I’m not going to-"

"Please, let me finish. You didn’t let me finish then, I just wanna explain it now."

The quiet firmness of it stops you.

You close your mouth, looking at him expectantly.

He exhales slowly, like he's been rehearsing this and already knows it isn't going to come out right anyway.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," he says. "And I'm not trying to drag up something you've already decided you're done with."

"But you've been treating me like I'm someone you barely know since the moment you saw me in Republic City. And I just-" he stops. Jaw tight. Trying again. "I don't think I deserve that. Not entirely."

Is he fucking serious?

Something rises up in your chest- hot and immediate, and only partially fair.

"You rejected me," you say. Flat. Simple. "And then you said nothing. For twelve years, Zuko. Not a letter. Not a- literally, nothing! We were friends before, best friends, and you just—" you stop, because your voice is doing something you don't want it to do. You pull it back under control. "You didn't even try."

He's quiet for a moment.

"I know," he says.

"That's it?" you say. "That's all you've got?"

"What do you want me to say?" And there's something in his voice now too - not anger, something more frayed and nuanced than that. "I was seventeen years old and I said the wrong thing and you were gone before I could-"

"You said no, Zuko." The words come out sharp, just as you’d intended. "It’s not wrong to feel that way Zuko, it’s just- it’s what you said. And that's fine. That was your right. But you could have still…" you exhale frustratedly. "We were friends. You could have still shown up as my friend."

He looks at you then.

The expression on his face is complicated enough that you have to look away from it.

"I didn't know how," he says quietly. "After. I didn't know how to be around you and not-" he stops himself. Cuts it off clean.

The unfinished sentence sits between you like something physical.

And not what?

You don't ask.

And, honestly? You're not ready for the answer at seven in the morning on three hours of sleep with the sky stretching out endlessly in every direction.

"I'm going inside," you say.

"Right," he says. And this time it doesn't sound like dismissal. It sounds like defeat.

Which is somehow so much worse.

You get three steps toward the door before his voice follows you. Quiet. Not calling you back. Just- saying it. Like he needs to say it even if you're already leaving.

"I thought about writing," he says. "More than once."

You stop.

You don't turn around.

"I just never knew what to say that would actually fix it," he says. "So I said nothing. And then it had been so long that nothing felt even more useless than it did before." A pause. "I know that's not an excuse."

The wind moves between you.

"No," you say quietly. "It's not."

You go inside.

—————

The brief interaction circles restlessly in your mind. You rest in the dim morning light, feeling the words sit wrong and right at the same time in the specific way that means you're going to be thinking about it for the rest of the day whether you want to or not.

“I thought about writing.”

Good to know there actually is a brain up there.

You push open the door to where the others are and decide, firmly, that you're done thinking about it.

But, of course, you’ll think about it for the rest of the day anyways.

—————

You find Katara reorganizing the supply packs, which means she has something on her mind and nowhere to put it.

You drop down beside her and start helping without being asked.

A comfortable silence stretches between you for a few minutes.

"He asked about you this morning," she says. Very casually. Very suspiciously casually.

You don't look up. "Who."

"You know who."

You sigh through your nose, trying to hold back an eye roll. "Katara—"

"I'm just saying," she says, with the tone of someone about to say considerably more than just something. "He came and found me specifically. Asked if you'd slept. Asked if you seemed okay." A pause. "Tried to make it sound like he was asking about everyone."

"Was he?"

"He was not," she says. "He asked about you and then walked away before I could respond properly." "Very him."

“Zuko? Not communicating properly? Shocking.” You mutter dryly.

Katara fights back a quiet chuckle before she goes quiet for a moment, folding something with more precision than necessary.

"I'm not trying to make it worse," she says, gentler now. "I just-" she glances at you. "I remember what it looked like. After. When you came back from the Fire Nation that night."

You go still.

"You didn't say anything," she continues. "You never said anything. But I knew." A beat. "And then you were just... distant. For so long."

"Katara-"

"I'm not bringing it up to be dramatic," she says. "I'm bringing it up because I can see you right now. And I know that look." She looks at you directly, and there's so much warmth in it even as she says the hard thing. "Just don't forget what that felt like. Okay? Whatever he says, whatever loaded silences happen on whatever deck at whatever hour - don't let it make you forget what twelve years of nothing felt like."

You look down at what's in your hands.

A beat of silence passes.

“Trust me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Katara pauses her folding, and her eyes begin to trace your facial features, obviously trying to gauge whether or not there’s any truth behind your statement.

“If you say so.”

She goes back to folding.

You go back to helping.

Neither of you brings it up again.

—————

The attack comes without warning.

One moment the sky is clear and unremarkable, and the next there's a sound like the world splitting open and the airship lurches so violently you grab the nearest handhold just to stay upright.

"WHAT WAS THAT?"

Sokka's dramatic voice cuts through the chaos as everyone scrambles. You're already moving toward the deck before you've fully processed what's happening, cold air hitting you like a wall as you push through the door.

The Denied's ship cuts through the clouds to the left. Dark and fast and angled directly toward you.

"They found us," Taga says. He's already on the deck, completely still amid the chaos, watching them approach with an expression you don't have a name for yet.

"How?" Aang demands.

Taga doesn't answer.

There's no time to push it. Another impact rocks the airship and then everything happens at once. Katara pulls water from the air itself, thin as it is up here, weaving it into something sharp and fast. Toph plants her feet like she's trying to bend the ship itself into fighting back, and somehow, inexplicably, it half works. Sokka is already calculating, already talking, already three steps ahead in the way he always is when things go sideways.

You move without thinking.

It's like that sometimes in a fight - the body just knows. You're waterbending before the thought fully forms, sending an arc of water across the deck to intercept a blast of air that would've taken Katara off her feet.

She shoots you a look.

You nod.

The fight is loud and close and everywhere all at once. And in the middle of it, through the smoke and wind and the groaning of the Denied's ship against the force being thrown at it-

You see Taga raise his arms calculatedly.

Not defensively.

The air around him pulls inward: compressing, building into something enormous and deliberate, aimed directly at the Denied's ship with the specific focus of someone who isn't trying to stop them.

He's trying to end them.

"Taga!"

Aang's voice cuts across everything.

Taga's eyes flick to him. His expression is completely controlled. That's what makes it frightening. It’s not rage, not desperation. Just cold, quiet calculation behind his eyes, like he's already run the numbers and come to a conclusion everyone else is too sentimental to reach.

"They won't stop," Taga says simply.

"That doesn't mean-"

"They will keep coming. Every time. Until there's nothing left to come for." His grip on the staff tightens fractionally. "Let me finish it."

"No." Aang steps forward, and there's something in his voice you've never quite heard before. And it’s not anger - it’s something much older than that. Heavier. "That is not what we’re here for. That is not what Sonam would have wanted and you know it."

Something moves through Taga's face at that.

Fast. Complicated. Gone before you can name it.

His arm lowers.

The compressed air releases outward harmlessly, dissipating into the grey sky.

The Denied's ship peels away, damaged but whole, disappearing back into the clouds.

The deck goes quiet.

Everyone is looking at Taga.

He looks at no one. Eyes fixed somewhere beyond the horizon, jaw set, staff loose at his side like none of that just happened.

That didn't sit right.

You don't say it out loud. But you feel it settle in your chest, small and cold and persistent, like a splinter you can feel but can't quite reach.

You glance sideways.

Zuko is standing a few feet to your left, looking at Taga with that specific unreadable stillness.

When his eyes cut to you, briefly, you know he felt it too.

—————

The storm ends the way storms always do: gradually, and then all at once.

The wind drops. The rain thins to nothing. The sky ahead opens up into something dark and clear and impossibly full of stars, like the storm was a door and you've just walked through it into somewhere quieter.

The ship settles.

Everyone settles with it.

There's a long moment where nobody says anything. All of you just catching your breath, taking stock, making sure everyone is still where they're supposed to be. Katara checks everyone twice. Sokka makes a joke nobody laughs at. Toph pretends she wasn't scared and fools absolutely no one.

Aang and Taga stand slightly apart from the group, something unresolved still sitting between them from earlier. Aang glances at you once -apologetic, complicated - before he goes inside.

Katara follows.

Then Sokka.

Then Toph, who pauses long enough to say "don't stay up too late" in a tone that implies she knows exactly what she's doing.

Then Zuko, who stops at the door.

You feel him pause. Feel him consider something, standing there in the doorway with his back to you, the lamplight from inside catching the edge of his jaw.

He goes inside without saying it.

Whatever it was.

And then it's just you and Taga and the stars.

He doesn't say anything right away. Just stands at the railing, looking out at the water, letting the quiet settle between you the way he always seems comfortable letting things settle. Like silence doesn't unnerve him. Like he could stand here for another thousand years if that's what was required.

You lean against the railing beside him.

Your hands are still slightly unsteady from the storm. You're not going to mention that.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yes," he says. Then, after a moment, "Well. Not entirely."

You glance at him.

"I didn't handle that well."

"The storm? Or…"

"Both." He exhales slowly. "I made decisions I believed were right. I'm still not certain they weren't." A pause. "That probably doesn't make it better."

"Not really," you say honestly.

Something shifts in his expression. Not offense, more like appreciation. Like he'd rather have the honest answer than the comfortable one.

"The thing with their ship," you say, after a moment. "That scared people."

"I know."

"It scared me," you say. And you mean it more than you expected to, because it's true — not just the action itself but the look on his face while he was doing it. That cold, quiet certainty.

He turns to look at you at that. Really look at you.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

You hold his gaze for a moment

Is he?

You don't know. That's the thing. You genuinely don't know, and you're not sure if it bothers you as much as it should that you don't, because he's looking at you right now like he means it completely.

Maybe that's something to think about later.

You face forward again.

The sky is dark and still now, the storm's reflection is already fading. The stars are everywhere, more than you usually see, like the storm cleared something on its way through.

"Long day," you say eventually.

"Yes," he agrees.

A comfortable silence stretches out. The kind that doesn't need filling. You're aware of how close he's standing - close enough that your arms nearly brush, close enough to feel the warmth of him against the cold night air - and you find that you're not doing anything about it.

Interesting.

"The one with the scar," Taga says after a while.

You go very still.

"...What about him?"

"Something happened between you." Not a question. Not prying. Just stated, plain and unhurried, leaving the rest entirely to you.

You're quiet for a long moment.

"A long time ago," you say finally.

"And not so long ago," he replies.

You open your mouth. Close it again.

Because he's not wrong, and you don't know how to argue with someone who is just quietly, plainly right about something you've spent twelve years refusing to look at directly.

"It's complicated," you say.

"It usually is," he says. "When it matters."

You huff softly. "That's very wise of you."

"Trust me, I've had time to think," he says, and the faint dry edge to it makes you glance at him sideways. He's looking at the water, the ghost of something almost like humor at the corner of his mouth.

Despite everything, you almost smile.

"I told him how I felt," you say, before you've decided to. "A long time ago. Back when we were all still… when things were simpler. And I thought he didn't feel the same way. So I left." A pause. "I've always been good at that. Leaving before things can get worse."

"And did they?" he asks. "Get worse?"

You think about twelve years of careful distance. Katara dragging you to dinner. Letters you didn't answer. The specific way your stomach dropped when you saw him in Republic City, older and steadier and still somehow exactly the same.

"No," you admit. "They just stayed the same. Which is its own kind of worse."

Taga is quiet for a moment.

"And now?" he asks.

"Now he says he didn't get to finish what he was saying." You exhale. "Back then. When I left."

"Ah," Taga says.

"And what do you think he was going to say?" he asks.

You stare at the water for a long moment.

"I don't know," you say quietly. "I've been trying not to think about it."

"Why?"

"Because if I'm wrong about what I think it means, I don't know what to do with that. And if I'm right-" you pause. "I don't know what to do with that either. So."

Taga looks at you then.

"You're afraid," he says. Not unkindly. Just plainly.

"I prefer practical," you say.

"Those aren't mutually exclusive."

You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You're kind of annoyingly perceptive, you know that?"

"I've been told," he says.

The space between you has gotten smaller without either of you moving. Or maybe you moved. You're genuinely not sure. The cold air presses in from every direction and his warmth is right there and you've had approximately five hours of sleep in the last two days and you almost died twice today and he's looking at you like…

Well.

He's looking at you like that.

And you noticed him the moment he woke up in that tent with his whole chest out and the light catching his shoulders just right, and you're only human, and it's been a very long day, and sometimes the heart and the brain and the eyes all want completely different things and none of them are exactly wrong they're just–

"You've been watching me," you say. "Since you woke up. You notice everything about everyone. Why me specifically?"

He considers that. Actually considers it, like the question deserves a real answer.

"Because you stayed," he says finally. "When everyone else left. You stayed and you were calm and you looked at me like I was a person rather than a weapon." Something shifts in his expression, quiet and almost careful. "I haven't had that in a very long time."

The honesty of it lands somewhere soft.

You think about what it actually means - waking up a thousand years later, everyone gone, the world unrecognizable, and the first face that just looked at you like you were a person belonging to someone who made a joke about wall throwing and then stayed to make sure you were okay.

"That's a pretty low bar, Taga," you say softly.

"Maybe," he says. "It didn't feel low."

Another beat of silence.

"It's cold out here," he says then, and his voice has shifted into something slightly lower, slightly more deliberate, in a way that doesn't have much to do with temperature.

You look at him sideways.

"Is it?" you ask.

He nods firmly before his reply. "You should come inside."

It's a perfectly reasonable thing to say. Completely innocent on its surface. Practical, even.

But there is nothing innocent about the way he’s looking at you.

You should absolutely go to your own room. Say goodnight. Go to sleep. Be a person with good judgment.

When have I ever been a person with good judgement?

"Okay," you say.

—————

His room is small the way all the rooms on the airship are small - narrow cot, low ceiling, the constant hum of the ship beneath everything. A lamp turned low in the corner throwing the space into something warm and dim.

He closes the door behind you.

Neither of you says anything for a moment.

It's different in here. Closer. The cold from the deck is already fading, replaced by warmth and the specific quiet of a space that belongs to just two people now.

You turn to face him.

He's already looking at you - that steady, unhurried attention that started all of this back in that tent when he first opened his eyes. Like you're something worth paying attention to. Like he's in absolutely no hurry.

"You know," you say, "you could've just said you didn't want to be alone."

"I didn't want to be alone," he says simply.

"That was easier than I expected."

"Most honest things are."

You're not sure which one of you moves to close the distance.

Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe it's just the night and the stars and the aftermath of a storm and a very long fucking day and the fact that he's warm and steady and looking at you like you're worth paying attention to, and honestly? Sometimes that's enough to make a person careless in ways they usually aren't.

His hand comes up to your jaw first- slow, unhurried, just like everything else about him, giving you every opportunity to move back.

You don't.

And then he kisses you.

It starts soft. Careful. A question, like everything with him tends to be, leaving the answer entirely up to you.

You answer it.

Your hand finds the front of his shirt without thinking about it, fingers curling into the fabric, and you feel him exhale through his nose, it’s quiet and controlled, like he's been holding something in and this is the first crack in it. He kisses you like he has time. Like there's nowhere else either of you needs to be. One hand still at your jaw, the other coming to rest at your waist, steady and unhurried and warm through the thin fabric of your clothes.

You pull back first.

Just slightly. Just enough to breathe.

His eyes open and find yours immediately, and there's something in them you haven't seen before - something less composed than his usual steadiness, something that makes your pulse do something inconvenient.

This is a terrible idea.

The thought arrives distantly. Like something heard through water.

His thumb traces along your jaw. Once. Slow.

A horrible idea, some other part of you agrees.

Neither part of you does anything about it.

"You should go," he says quietly. His voice is lower than usual. Just slightly.

He doesn't move his hand.

"Probably," you agree.

You don't move either.

The warm air presses in from every direction and the room suddenly feels much smaller. And you're very aware of how little distance exists between you right now, of the warmth radiating off him, of the way his eyes haven't left yours since you pulled back.

"Taga-"

"I know," he says.

You're not sure what he knows exactly. But the way he says it - quiet, certain, like he's already three steps ahead the way he always seems to be - does something to the last remaining sensible part of your brain.

His hand slides from your jaw, slowly, deliberately, to the back of your neck.

Not exactly pulling you in. Just resting there. Delicate, warm and patient.

Waiting.

I’ve made worse decisions, haven’t I?

You finally close the distance again.

This time it isn't soft. This time it isn't careful. This time it's needy, desperate, and all-consuming. You can feel the adrenaline humming under your skin as his warm hand rests at the back of your neck. It’s been too long since you’ve simply allowed yourself to want like this.

He makes a quiet sound against your mouth - one that only makes you want this more. His other hand is resting on your waist and begins to drift lower, pulling you onto his lap. You can’t help but to start grinding against the thick, hard, bulge resting below you. Almost immediately, you feel him start to thrust his hips up into you, choking out deep groans at the sensation. You pull away from the kiss briefly to see his darkened, half-lidded eyes resting on you.

“Fuck… don’t move,” He forces his words out through groans as he trails his hands to your hips, attempting to still them, but failing miserably, overtaken by the pleasing sensation.

“But it feels s’good” you keep grinding against him, his length strained against the soft material of his garments, each roll of your hips rubbing him addictingly against your needy clit.

You hear him let out another deep groan before the grip of his hands finally tighten around your hips, stopping your movement.

“Just let me make you feel good.”

Well, that’s all I needed to hear.

You nod gently as a response.

Before you can fully register what’s happening, he flips the two of you over, leaving him resting between your legs, right in front of your slick cunt. You were dripping, slick already beginning to leak through the cloth of your panties.

His dick twitches at the sight, and he gently grips the hem of your underwear, tugging them off as you lift your hips to aid him in the process.

You swear you can see his eyes start to water as he takes in the sight of your dripping cunt.

“You sure this is what you want?”

You nod again,

“No, I need you to tell me you want this.”

You oblige.

And then he dove in like he was starved.

His large hands gripped your hips, his tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your soaked folds. A few more groans escape his lips while he begins to slide his tongue in and out of your leaking cunt. Your greedy cunt couldn’t help but gush around his tongue as you thrust your hips relentlessly against his mouth.

You briefly open your eyes to look down at Taga and see him rutting his hips relentlessly against the bed, letting out shaky groans with each thrust of his tongue, perfectly synced with the movements of his hips.

Must’ve been a long 1,000 years.

Your focus is redirected to the burning sensation between your legs, and the knot building up in your lower stomach.

His tongue swirls unapologetically against your clit, and you feel yourself nearing release before you hear a series of not so deep groans fumble out of Taga’s mouth, his hips stuttering against the bed.

Did he just…

Before you can finish your thought, he brings his fingers to your entrance, sliding in effortlessly as he sucks and laps at your sensitive bud. His fingers curve up, almost grazing your cervix as it all finally becomes too much.

“I… I think m’gonna-” You feel that overwhelming sensation, taking your breath away as his digits thrust faster and faster until you can’t take it any more.

“Mhm, that’s it… let go for me,” He mumbles beneath you, hitting that perfect spot as you finally come undone on his fingers.

He gently pulls his fingers out of your messy cunt and licks them clean before he lies down next to you.

—————

You stare at the ceiling.

The lamp in the corner has burned low, the room dimmer than it was, and the hum of the ship is the same as it's always been beneath you and everything is fine. Everything was fine. Is fine.

That was good.

You sit with that word for a moment.

Good.

Taga breathes evenly beside you, still and composed the way he always is, like even now he's exactly where he intended to be. One arm resting behind his head. Eyes closed. Already somewhere far away behind them.

Your eyes stay focused on the ceiling.

You think about the deck earlier. The stars. The way he'd said most honest things are like he had the answer to everything already and was just waiting for you to catch up. The way his hands had been so careful. So precise. So exactly right in a way that you can't find fault with no matter how many times you turn it over.

So why does it feel like this?

Not bad. You're not going to say bad. Nothing was bad. He was attentive and warm and he looked at you like you were worth looking at and you'd wanted it, you'd actively chosen it, wanted it, nobody made you follow him inside.

And yet.

There's a hollow thing sitting in your chest that wasn't there before. Quiet. Unnamed. The specific feeling of reaching for something and finding it slightly different from what you'd imagined. Not worse, exactly. Just… not quite the shape you thought it would be.

What did you think it would be?

You don't answer that.

You're very deliberately not answering that.

Taga shifts slightly beside you, and you turn your head to look at him. His face in the low light is smooth and unreadable, the way it almost always is. Even like this. Even now. Something in you searches his expression for something unguarded, some crack in the composure, some evidence that this meant something that landed somewhere real inside him.

You don't find it.

Maybe it's there and you can't see it. Maybe he's just private. Maybe you're looking for problems where there aren't any because it's easier than sitting with the alternative.

What's the alternative?

You look back at the ceiling.

The ship hums beneath you. The lamp flickers once. Somewhere on the other side of the wall the airship creaks softly with the wind.

You don't sleep for a long time.

—————

You tell yourself it isn't a big deal.

It's morning. You went back to your room. You slept. You're fine. You're going to walk out there and have a completely normal morning and nobody is going to make it weird.

You open the door.

Taga is in the corridor at the same moment, his door swinging open in the same breath as yours, and for a second you just look at each other in the dim morning light.

He looks exactly the same as he always does. Composed. Unhurried. Like he slept perfectly and woke up with all his thoughts already neatly organized.

You probably look slightly less like that.

"Morning," you say.

"Morning," he replies.

And then you walk to the common area together because there's no graceful alternative, and you push open the door together, and…

Somehow the room does the math immediately.

Well, in all fairness… You two weren’t exactly quiet last night.

Sokka freezes mid sentence. Katara looks up, looks between you and Taga once, and looks back down with the careful expression of someone choosing not to react. Aang grins like the sunrise because of course he does.

And Zuko?

Zuko is sitting at the far end with a cup in his hands and he looks up when the door opens and something happens to his face.

Not for long. Half a second, maybe less. Something unguarded and unpleasant moving through his expression before he catches it and pulls it back under and locks it somewhere you can't see.

But you saw it.

You're fairly certain everyone saw it.

He looks back down at the cup in his hands.

"Morning," Aang says brightly, already moving. "There's food. Taga, I wanted to ask you about the northern passage-"

And just like that the room starts breathing again, conversation picking back up, Sokka recovering with impressive speed, Katara handing you something to eat with a look that says “we’re talking about this later.”

You sit.

Taga sits beside you.

Across the room Zuko doesn't look up.

Fine. Everything is fine. You eat whatever Katara handed you and listen to Aang and Taga talk about the route and don't think about the half second on Zuko's face before he locked it down.

You're mostly successful.

"-If we adjust course slightly north we should make better time," Taga is saying, and Aang is nodding, and it's all very productive and normal until…

"That's what you said yesterday."

Zuko's voice. Flat. Even. Aimed across the room like something deliberate wrapped in something casual.

Everyone looks at him.

He's looking at Taga now, cup still in hand, expression carefully neutral. "About the route. You said the same thing yesterday and we still ended up in the storm."

Taga looks at him with that same steady unhurried attention he gives everything. "The storm was unavoidable regardless of-"

"Was it?" Zuko questions.

"Zuko," Katara says carefully.

"I'm just asking." Still neutral. Still controlled. Just slightly too present, slightly too focused, for a conversation that's supposed to be about navigation. "He seems very certain about a lot of things." A pause. The cup turns slightly in his hand. "I'm asking how that worked out last time."

The silence that follows is thick enough to stand in.

Taga regards him with that calm, unhurried attention. "That's a fair question," he says, in a tone that somehow makes it worse. "I understand the concern."

Something tightens in Zuko's jaw.

He's not talking about the route.

You look down at your food.

"I'm sure you do," Zuko says. Still even. Still controlled. But there's something underneath it now that's fraying at the edges, something that's getting harder to keep underneath. "You seem to understand a lot of things very quickly for someone who just got here."

The room goes very still.

Taga tilts his head slightly. "I've had time to learn how to read people," he says simply. "It becomes useful. When you've lost as much as I have."

It's the right thing to say. Perfectly calibrated. Reasonable and human and just vulnerable enough to make pushing back feel cruel.

Which is maybe exactly why Zuko doesn't stop.

"Right," he says quietly. "The loss." His eyes stay level, steady, burning with something he's working very hard to keep in check. "You talk about that a lot. What you've lost. What you've been through. People tend to listen to that."

The implication lands in the room like something physical.

Taga looks at him for a long moment.

"They do," he says simply. "Is that a problem?"

"Should it be?"

"Zuko." Katara's voice has an edge now.

"I'm having a conversation-"

"You're really not," she says.

He exhales through his nose. Sets the cup down. Looks at nothing for a moment, jaw working, and you can see it - the exact effort it's taking him to stay on the right side of this. To not say the thing that's actually sitting on his tongue.

You're looking at him.

You don't mean to be. You just are. And the moment he feels it - because he always feels it, he's always known when you're looking at him, twelve years did nothing to change that - his eyes cut to yours across the room.

For just a second.

Just one unguarded second where it's not about Taga or the route or anything else.

Just him looking at you with something so unfiltered it makes your chest ache.

Then he looks away.

From the other side of the room Toph clears her throat.

"Okay," she says pleasantly. "This is fun."

"Toph-"

"I'm just saying." She tilts her head, and the faint curve of her mouth suggests she's hearing exactly what she expected to hear and finds it deeply fascinating. "Interesting morning. Lots of feelings. Very educational." And then quieter, aimed at no one and everyone simultaneously: "Funny how the things we don't say take up the most space."

The room doesn't respond to that.

Nobody really can.

Zuko stands.

"I'll be on the deck," he says.

He walks out.

The door closes quietly behind him.

You stare at the space he just left.

Taga reaches for something on the table beside you, unbothered, composed, like the last five minutes cost him nothing at all.

But that’s not what bothers you.

Not Zuko's voice when it frayed at the edges.

Not the look across the room that lasted one second too long.

But the quiet words Toph let slip out underneath her breath.

Funny how the things we don't say take up the most space.

clarifications

-> in case it was unclear, the Zuko line where he says that taga talks a lot about his “loss” that a lotta ppl listen to, he’s implying that taga is using his grief and loss as a way to manipulate y/n… which may or may not be true idk? but that’s just zukos emotional and angry opinion

-> smut scene is a little meh but it’s meant to be subpar bc obviously something isn’t clickingggg it’s obviously not righhttt duhhh

notes

-> not this burger zuko thinking shit was rainbows and sunshine after rejecting reader an then ghosting for 12 years like mmm ok

-> CAN U SEE WHY I COULDNT STOP LAUGHING WHILE WRITING THE SMUT LMAOO

->also sorry it took me so long to update! i had finals and then got carried away watching s3 of jjk and playing tomodachi life when i got back home😭 and then i got sick!! and then i lost my laptop! and then i got sick again!! but I’ll be more consistent now bc im feeling better and remembered that i love writing!

-> REMEMBER TO COMMENTT I LOVE TO SEE UR COMMENTS GUYS

taglist:

asking the jjk men “do you ever get so mad that u wanna cheat?”

ˢᵀᴬᴿᴿᴵᴺᴳ -> satoru gojo, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, kento nanami, suguru geto, ryomen sukuna

choso kamo:

Even at the thought of this, you feel guilt settle in the pit of your stomach. Because he’s just so… him. But you do it anyway, for the bit. Choso’s resting on a couch, watching Wicked peacefully. His peace is interrupted by your voice "Cho, do you ever get so mad that you wanna cheat?"

He looks up.

His brows furrow of genuine confusion.

"...Cheat at what?"

“Uhm… well you know… cheat on me.”

His face immediately contorts into the most genuinely confused expression you’ve ever seen.

"Why would I want someone else?" Just like that. Flat. Factual. Almost as if you suggested he might want to swap his food for cardboard.

"I'm just asking if it's a feeling-"

"It isn't." He tilts his head, more thoughts obviously beginning to brew in his head . "Is it a feeling you have?"

"No I was asking-"

"Are you unhappy?" And now he's looking at you with those big sincere eyes and you feel that same intense guilt tug at you again. "You can tell me if something is wrong." He reaches out and takes your hands and you are crumbling. “We can talk about it."

You last approximately seven more seconds before you show him the tiktok trend and explain the whole thing. He watches it. Watches it again. And then one more time for good measure before he looks at you.

"...So you were trying to make me confused on purpose?"

"...Yeah."

He thinks about this. Then he shrugs, seemingly relatively unbothered. "Okay." And just goes back to watching his movie. You don't know if he's fine or if he's actually processing something. The guilt will probably live in you forever.

suguru geto:

You time it perfectly. He's relaxed, reading, completely at ease. You curl up next to him and in the most casual voice you have, you go "do you ever get so mad that you wanna cheat?"

He finishes the line he’s reading. Sets the book down.

"No." Simple. Unbothered. He picks the book back up.

You wait. "That's it?"

He glances at you. "What else would there be?" And just like that, he’s back to reading.

And somehow that's worse because you were so ready for a reaction and he just… didn't give you one. You sit there for a second, thrown off. "You're not curious why I asked?"

He turns a page. "You’d tell me if it's important."

You stare at him. He is completely relaxed. Genuinely unbothered. And you realize with slight annoyance that he has already clocked that you're up to something and he's just decided not to play. He's letting you sit in it.

"...You know, don't you?"

The smallest smile. He doesn't look up. "Mhm."

You grab your phone and leave the room. You can hear him laugh quietly from the couch and it’s the most infuriating sound you've ever heard.

kento nanami:

He's making tea. Very peaceful. Very him. You lean against the counter and in the most conversational tone you go "do you ever get so mad that you wanna cheat?"

The tea pouring stops.

He sets the kettle down. Doesn't turn around immediately. When he does he's already got that look; the measured, patient, forensic look that means you are about to be taken apart very calmly and you will not enjoy it.

"Why are you asking that?"

"M’just curious."

"That's not a curiosity question." He picks the kettle back up. Pours his tea like a normal person. You think you've gotten away with it. "Sit down."

Oh no.

You sit. He brings his tea over and sits across from you and just. Looks at you. Waiting. You stare back. He takes a sip. "Whenever you're ready."

"I'm just- it's a question-"

"It's not just a question." Another sip. He is so calm it's almost threatening. "So." he says. "What's actually going on."

You hold out for maybe thirty seconds under that gaze before you crack completely and show him the video. He watches it. Sets your phone down. Looks at you.

A very long pause.

"...Don't do that again." He picks his tea back up. You can see the faintest look of genuine relief that he's trying very hard to hide and somehow that's the funniest thing you've ever seen.

satoru gojo:

You wait for a calm moment, contemplating whether or not this is worth it. Who were you kidding? Of course it’s worth it!

He's laying upside down off the couch eating gummy bears, completely unbothered. You sit next to him and feel the corner of your mouth tug upwards ever so slightly before you speak. "Y’know, I’ve been wondering... do you ever get so mad that you wanna cheat?"

Dead silence.

He stops chewing. One gummy bear falls on the floor. He slowly rights himself so he's looking at you properly and you are keeping the straightest face of your life.

"...come again?"

You blink. "I'm just asking."

He points a finger at you. "No- hold on." He gets up. Then sits right back down. "Where did that come from?" You shrug. His snowy brows are furrowed, confusion written across his face. You can literally see the wheels turning behind his eyes. "Are you- is this about something? Did I do something? WAIT-" he gasps "did you do something?"

“Of course not, I would nev-”

"Then WHY" he gestures at all of you "is that in your HEAD."

“M’just wondering.. Like if that’s a normal feeling for people to have.”

"It’s not."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Another long pause. "So...Have I done something?"

And now he's not spiraling loudly, he's gone completely internal and quiet which is oh so much worse because he'll just sit there and Think about it with a capital T and you can feel it radiating off him. And we all know this man can never shut up so this is quite the frightening sight. You last about four more minutes before you crack and show him the tiktok. He reads it twice. Looks at you.

"You wanna play games?"

You’re already running.

toji brokiguro:

He's in the middle of eating. He's just sitting there going in on his leftovers, straight from the container like a feral man. You come in, sit across from him, and ever so casually say "hey ‘Ji, have you ever gotten so mad that you wanted to cheat?"

He stops chewing.

Looks at you.

Keeps chewing. (priorities, right?)

"The hell did you just say?"

"I'm just asking if that's like… a feeling you get y’know?"

He puts the fork down. He looks at you with this squinting suspicious expression like he can't decide if you're insane or if he's missing something. "Why would I- what are you even talking about?" You hold eye contact and say nothing. He points at you. "You're fuckin’ with me right?." Picks his fork back up.

But then he keeps glancing at you. Just little looks. You catch him doing it three times and each time he looks away immediately. Finally he goes "...you're not actually- that's not something you're actually thinking about right?"

You say "I asked you."

"I know what you asked-" he stops. Rubs his face. "You're doing something." He doesn't know what, but it's going to bother him all night. Eventually you leave the kitchen while he just sits there staring at his food in confusion.

ryomen sukuna:

You know this is dangerous. You do it anyway.

He's just sitting there looking vaguely intimidating (as he does) and you come in and very casually go "do you… ever get so mad that you wanna… cheat?"

The temperature in the room drops. So does your heart.

He turns. Looks at you with a slow, completely unreadable expression. "...What?"

"I'm just.. asking."

"You're just asking." He repeats it back like he's checking if the words make sense. "That's what you're just asking."

"Yeah."

He stares at you for so long you start to feel it physically. "

You try to hold the bit. You really, really do. But something about the way he's looking at you; not with jealousy, not with anger, just this deeply unsettling energy, like he’s genuinely contemplating destroying everything within a 100 mile radius. You let a small laugh slip out, and the second you smile, it's over.

He sees the shift in your expression immediately. His eyes narrow. "...You thought that was funny."

You’re fully laughing now. He watches you laugh at him for a long moment and the look on his face is caught somewhere between offended and something he would never in a thousand years admit is relieved.

"Hm, I wanna laugh too."

He rises from his seat, and starts walking towards you.

It’ll be a long night.

Cora’s notes:

-> if anyone here is reading the Zuko fic im writing, just know it will GENUINELY be updated within the next two days.🫰

-> honestly guys i don’t really care just dont be weird! i wont write about anything weird and i will write about anything goated 👍

-> on a srs note I probablyyy (?) will not write character x character only bc I don’t think I can make it compliant enough w their real personalities😭😭😭 lowk feel free to still request bc i like a challenge🤔

-> btw when i say “weird” i mean incest, pedos, rape, etc. you get the idea

notes:

-> im black but not a big fan of the weird interpretations some black creators (not convinced they’re black, maybe cia or israeli agents?) make, where characters use excessive aave and call y/n “ma”, so I don’t really do that.

all of my fics are prob gonna be x reader. “x black reader” is pretty implied bc im black. I keep things pretty inclusive though, I don’t like seeing stereotypes from my race being screamed at me during fics, so I won’t do that in my writing either!

-> i usually write afab reader, mostly bc it makes it easier for me to write smut😭😭 for like smaus and stuff i could lean it gender neutral if someone asks!

AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER (movie)

ZUKO

things left unsaid (series)

you, zuko and his throne (oneshot)

AANG

the “last” airbender-> oneshot (coming soon)

MDNI: contains unprotected p in v, degradation, groping(?), dacryphilia sorta idk he cries and I’m personally pretty into it, starts off pretty switchy for both of them but mostly a sub leaning zuko, a lil comforting towards the end bc I personally believe he’s a tsundere larper. ALSO so like i really tried to make him relatively dom but my hand slipped and hes actually basically submissive that’s my bad but I can’t help it💔 the heart wants what it wants I suppose. nsfw below the cut🫰

-> in writing a slow burn rn so obviously i needed to cancel it out with being a degenerate

-> also I wrote this in like 30 mins…i just wanted to get some thoughts out don’t take it too seriously :) (not my best work)

wc: 1.8k

minors do not interact. minors do not interact. mdni. mdni.

The council had long since adjourned, but Zuko remained. He always did.

You’d begun to notice that in the months since beginning to reside in the palace. The Fire Lord did not rest, he didn’t wander, didn’t stop. Those golden eyes tracing columns of figures and reports until the candles burned to nothing.

Tonight was no exception.

You drift into the throne room without announcing yourself. The guards knew you. They stepped aside.

He doesn’t look up from his work.

“You’re coming to bed late again,” you say, your voice soft against the evident silence of the room.

“I know.” The scratch of his brush against parchment doesn’t pause. “Go ahead without me.”

There it was. The same four words. That same dismissal wrapped in exhaustion wrapped in love. Because it was love, you knew that. But it hadn’t been the type of love that kept you warm at night.

You move toward the dais.

His throne was quite imposing, high-backed, dark, and framed by a large carved visage of a dragon with its mouth open in a silent roar. Zuko sat before a low writing table set to the side of it, his ink-stained fingers pressed to his temple.

"I have three more dispatches from the Earth Kingdom ruler," he mutters, presumably to you, possibly to himself. "And he wants a response about the trade agreement by the new moon, which is-"

“Zuko.”

“- approximately nine days away, which sounds like enough time, but when you actually factor in the-”

“Zuko.”

He looks up then, finally.

You’re standing close enough that he has to tilt his chin up slightly to meet your eyes, and something in that small shift of power made the corner of your mouth curve.

“Hi,” you say simply.

He blinks. Some of the tension around his eyes soften. “...Hi.”

You reach out, grabbing the brush from his fingers with a gentleness that dared him to object. He watches you set it down, as you move to stand behind his chair.

“You’ll go blind reading in this light,” you observe, letting your hands settle on his firm, broad shoulders.

He goes still, very still. The way he always did at first, as though his body needs a moment to remember it ‘s allowed to feel something different than urgency.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“You’re tense.” Your thumbs press in slow, deliberate circles at the base of his neck, and you feel him exhale, long and unsteady, before he can stop himself. “When’s the last time you weren’t tense?”

“I’m the Fire Lord.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

You lean down, bringing your lips closer to his ear. “Then let me give you a better one.”

You feel his breath escape him. His hand comes up, not to stop you, but to settle over yours where it rests on his shoulder.

“Well, the dispatches-” he starts.

“Will be there in the morning.”

“The trade agreement-”

“Nine days, you said.”

You can see the war playing out behind his eyes: duty against want. habit against need. And you let him fight it. You’re patient enough for that much.

Slowly, you move around to face him, stepping into the space between him and the writing table. His golden eyes follow you, and there was something in them now that had nothing to do with those damned trade agreements.

You hold his gaze and take one small step back- until you feel the edge of the throne seat against the backs of your thighs.

You sit.

The silence that follows is exquisite.

Zuko's expression shifts through several things at once. Surprise, something almost scandalized, and then, underneath it all, the slow, inevitable unraveling of a man who had been holding himself together by sheer willpower for far too long.

"That," he says quietly, "is my throne."

“Mhm.” You tilt your head. “I know.”

He stands. Unhurried now, and matching your energy, because Zuko was not a man who did anything halfway. He steps toward you, close enough that you have to look up at him, and when his hand lifts to brace against the carved dragon wing above your head, you realize the gold of his eyes looked darker than you remembered moments before.

“You’re distracting me,” he says slowly.

“Finally,” you reply. “I was starting to think it wasn’t working.”

His mouth twitches, there’s the reluctant, rare pull of a smile, before something in him snaps.

His free hand finds your jaw, tilting it up.

“The dispatches,” he murmurs, mouth a breath from your own, “can wait.”

It starts slow. Almost cautionary. His thumb traces your jaw as his lips press to yours, tentative in a way that still surprises you.

You hand finds the front of his robes and curls into the fabric, pulling him closer. His careful nature quickly shifts into something else entirely. His hand slides from your jaw to your hair, tilting your head back as the kiss deepens, so much that you almost forget that you were sat on the throne of the Fire Nation.

He pulls back just far enough to breathe, the two of you unsteady now. His eyes search yours. Whatever he found there makes his expression shift, the last of his careful restraint withering away.

“The guards,” he says lowly.

“Dismissed them on the way in,” you reply.

-> please be sure to read the message at the end!

chap. summary + warnings: cursing, taga is pretty ooc, this is the beginning of where we’ll start losing the actual plot a bit (you’ll see), i mean is tension a warning?? bc that’s this whole chapter, lmk if i missed anything!

wc: 3.1k

The room is quieter now. Not silent, but settled.

Katara’s hands remain steady, the soft glow of water flickering against the man’s skin.

“I need a second,” Aang says quietly, the comment aimed at Katara. “Can you come with me?”

Katara hesitates as she glances between Aang and the stranger.

“Yeah, just for a moment,” she says, pulling her hands away. Before she leaves, Katara shoots you a look, silently asking you to continue healing the man while she’s gone.

You nod, already close enough to apply the skills Katara had been teaching you over the years. A cool sensation reaches your fingertips as your hands hover over the muscular man below you.

Behind you, Sokka and Toph are still bickering about something that doesn’t matter.

But you’re not focused on them.

Not entirely.

Because you’re still aware that Zuko is beside you. The fact that he hasn’t moved.

There’s a shift in the air. Subtle, but enough for you to notice it.

“Wait-”

His eyes snap open as he bolts upright. Air explodes outward in a sharp, violent gust. You flinch, bracing for an impact, one that never comes.

Something moves in front of you first.

Zuko.

His arm comes up instinctively, blocking the force as it whips past.

For a moment, you don’t move. Don't speak. You just remain there, aware of him. How close he is. The heat at your side. The way he didn’t hesitate. And the way he still hasn't moved.

“Earthbender!” the man shouts, turning sharply towards Toph, air spiraling around him again as he prepares to strike. But, before he gets the chance, Aang interrupts.

“Hey! Stop, she’s not your enemy. You’re safe.”

“Wow,” Toph says dryly.” Someone woke up on the wrong side of the mountain.”

The man’s breaths slow down, his chest rising and falling erratically as the tension drains from his body. His eyes move across the room, taking in each face, one by one. Confusion. Disorientation. Something heavier beneath it.

And then-

They stop on you. Not exactly a glance, more so a pause. Almost like he’s trying to place something that isn’t there.

He pushed up from his position, showing a thick, powerful bicep and a shoulder that caught the lighting just right. As he straightened, his muscles flexed, emphasizing their definition.

Not bad for a 1,000 year old man…

“Where is she?” he questions, his voice sharp. “Where’s Avatar Sonam?”

The group looks at each other, obvious discomfort sweeping across everyone's faces.

“You’ve been asleep for a long time,” Aang begins. “Many things have changed, I’m the avatar now.” He says carefully.

“Then that means Sonam…” The man trails off.

“Well! On the bright side, you’re an airbender too! Which means Aang’s not the last!” Sokka says

A frown falls on the man’s face. “Last?”

Silence envelopes the room.

Aang exhales slowly. “The Air Nomads… they’re gone.”

The man doesn’t react immediately, instead he stares blankly. Almost like he’s waiting for Aang to correct himself, but the moment never comes.

“Then.. the staff,” he lifts his head. “It’s our only chance.”

“A weapon?” Aang cuts in.

The man shakes his head. “No,” his voice steadies. “It’s a gift.”

“She gave it to me. Before…everything. She believed air shouldn’t disappear with us.”

His eyes flick up again, resting on you.

“Not completely.”

Aang inhales sharply- something finally clicks. His eyes widen, something bright and overwhelming breaking through all at once. “Then.. that means-” He doesn’t finish. He turns, and rushes outside.

“Aang- wait!” Katara calls out, already beginning to move after him.

Sokka follows quickly, throwing one last confused glance over his shoulder. Toph lingers just long enough to mutter something inaudible under her breath before she heads out as well.

Zuko doesn’t move right away. He’s stood now, watching. For a second it almost feels like he may say something. But he doesn’t. His jaw tightens slightly before he looks away, and follows the others out.

Just like that, everyone’s gone. Everyone but you and this stranger.

The flaps of the tent shut behind the others, and the room settles into a quieter kind of stillness. One that’s contained and comfortable.

You remain where you are, knees pressed into the floor, hands hovering faintly over him as the last traces of water cling to your fingertips. For a second, you consider getting up, following the others out…

but you don’t.

A few silent moments pass before he speaks.

“You stayed.”

His voice is different now. Lower. Calmer. Layered with a hint of confusion.

You glance up at him, one brow lifting slightly. “Yeah, well… someone had to make sure you didn’t wake up and start trying to throw people through walls again.”

There’s the faintest shift in his expression, subtle, but unmistakable. It’s not quite a smile, but still close enough to count.

“I suppose that’s fair.”

You let out a small breath through your nose, attention drifting back to your hands as you refocus. The water responds more easily this time, slower and steadier, like it’s finally listening.

“You’re not as bad as you were a minute ago,” you mutter. “That’s progress.”

“I’ll take it,” he replies.

A brief silence settles again, softer this time.

It doesn’t feel like you need to fill it, but you do anyway.

“So… Avatar Sonam,” you say, glancing at him. “You knew her well?”

That gets a more noticeable reaction.

His gaze shifts slightly, something more distant slipping in around the edges.

“Yes.”

The answer is simple, but his tone has weight behind it.

You tilt your head just a little. “That didn’t sound like a casual acquaintance.”

A quiet exhale leaves him, almost like he wasn’t expecting the question, but doesn’t mind answering it.

“She wasn’t,” he says. “She was… everything the world needed her to be.”

You huff lightly. “That sounds exhausting.”

That actually earns you a real reaction, a faint breath of amusement.

“It was,” he admits. “But she never treated it that way.”

You study him for a moment, something about the way he talks about her catching your attention. It’s clear that what he’s felt for her is different from respect, there’s something deeper. Familiar.

“Sounds like you admired her.”

His gaze flicks back to you, more focused now.

“I did.”

“And you?” he asks, quieter. “The way you spoke to your Avatar… you seem close.”

You hesitate, just for a second.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Aang’s… Aang. Kind of impossible not to be close to him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “Even when he’s being reckless.”

“Reckless?” he echoes.

“You didn’t see him five minutes ago?” you gesture vaguely toward the door. “Runs off the second he has a life-changing realization. Very on brand.”

That earns another quiet huff from him- easier this time.

“I suppose some things don’t change.”

“Guess not.”

The conversation dips again, but it doesn’t feel like it’s ending. It feels like it’s shifting.

You glance back at him, studying him a little more openly now.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, a bit more casually, “you handled waking up a thousand years in the future pretty well.”

He raises a brow slightly. “Did I?”

“You only tried to attack two people,” you shrug. “Could’ve been worse.”

That gets a smile.

“Wow, high praise.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, falling into a comfortable silence once again, but his gaze lingers.

“You’re calm,” he says after a second. “More than the others.”

You blink at that. “You’re saying that like it’s unusual.”

“It is,” he replies simply. “Most people react differently to things they don’t understand.”

You glance down briefly, considering what he’s said.

“I’ve got some experience with that,” you say, tone lighter than the thought behind it.

He doesn’t push. Just nods, like that answer is enough.

You hesitate for a second, then huff quietly.

“…I’ve been talking to you this whole time and I don’t even know your name.”

That catches his attention more than anything else so far.

“Taga.” he says.

You repeat it quietly, like you’re testing it on your tongue. “Taga.”

A small nod follows.

You begin your introduction, “I’m-

“I know, he cuts you off. “They said your name.”

Taga's gaze doesn't waver.

"I know," he repeats, quieter this time. "They said your name."

You blink. "...Okay. And?"

Weirdo. Why’d he repeat himself? …Maybe he’s got some brain damage?

"And nothing." The faintest trace of something crosses his face, not quite amusement, not quite curiosity. Something in between. "I just wanted you to know I was listening."

And then it clicks.

Oh.

Oh no.

Did this fucker hear me call him attractive?

You clear your throat, pulling your hands back from him fully now, the last traces of water dissolving into the air. "Well. You're healed enough. Don't go throwing people through walls and you should be fine."

You move to stand, gathering yourself.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I’m sure the others are waiting,” you say simply.

He nods slowly, his eyes are still tracking you in a steady, unhurried rhythm- one that you find unsettling. He’s focused. Analyzing you like you’re something that’s worth paying attention to.

Snap out of it.

“Thank you for staying.”

You pause, your hand resting on a tent pole. “Don’t mention it.”

The air hits you first. It’s cooler out here, the kind of cold that makes you feel like you can finally breathe again. You can hear the others nearby, Sokka’s voice carrying over everything else as Aang’s laugh cuts through it.

Then you notice something- rather, someone.

Zuko is standing maybe ten feet from the door.

Not walking. Not doing anything, really. Just…standing there with his arms crossed, his eyes set somewhere in the distance, seemingly nowhere in particular. It honestly may have been convincing if you’d come out thirty seconds later.

You stare at him.

He looks over, and something flickers across his face- it’s not quite shame, and definitely not surprise, but he relaxes his features, allowing them to settle back to neutral.

“Hey,” he finally says.

You look at him. At the door. Then back at him.

“..How long have you been standing there?”

Silence.

“...I just got here.”

You look at him for a moment, noticing the tips of his ears are a light shade of red.

Sure you did.

You don’t say anything directly. But the way you look at him is saying it for you, and he knows it, because his jaw does that thing- the tight, barely-there thing- and he looks away first.

“He okay?” Zuko asks, still not looking you in the eyes.

“You tell me,” you say, shifting slightly, preparing to join the rest of the group.

Before you can step away, the tent flap opens.

Taga steps through it, and there’s about half a second where it’s just the three of you. Zuko standing close enough behind you that you feel him pause.

Taga looks at you first. Then at Zuko. His look isn’t exactly suspicious, it’s more pointed. The same steady, unhurried attention he seems to give everything.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

“ ‘They’re waiting,’ hm?” he asks, the question directed at you.

“...Yeah,” you say, nodding your head towards the others.

He holds your gaze for a moment before he moves forward towards the group, unhurried, and rather unbothered.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch Zuko’s expression.

His eyes are tracking Taga with a specific kind of stillness, the kind that means he’s working very hard at seeming like he doesn’t care.

He shouldn’t.

You face forward again. “Come on,” you say quietly.

Without responding, he follows behind you to join the others.

When you reach the group, Aang is already pacing. There’s a different energy to him now, restlessness, almost too overwhelming for the space around him.

He looks up, noticing the three of you approaching.

“You said the staff can give bending,” Aang says quickly. “How?”

Taga doesn't answer right away. He steps forward steadily. “It wasn’t meant for everyone,” he says. “Only those who have the strength to wield it without losing themselves entirely."

“Losing themselves?” Sokka repeats. “That’s a little concerning, isn’t it?”

Toph snorts. “Well aren’t you a smart cookie?”

“It means power without proper balance is dangerous,” Taga replies simply.

Aang seems to filter out a few of the previous comments, stepping closer as urgency bled into his voice. “But it can bring back airbenders?”

Taga eyes meet Aang’s once again. “Yes. Only if we reach it first.”

You glance at him, briefly.

He notices.

Of course he’d notice.

And across from you, Zuko notices too. That look.

The look you used to give him so many years ago.

“We’ll leave now,” Aang decides almost instantly. “If they’re after it too, we can’t risk getting there late.”

“The journey won’t be easy,” Taga adds. “We must travel through the Endless Ocean.”

Sokka groans. “We can never catch a break, can we?”

Katara steps forward, arms firmly crossed. “Then we’ll go together,” she says. “Like we always do.”

Taga studies her for a moment thoughtfully. “The skies can be unforgiving,” he says carefully. “Especiallly for those who aren’t used to them.”

Katara’s eyes narrow in return. “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not doing this alone.”

You can almost feel Toph grinning from somewhere behind you.

“Yeah,” you add, “we’re pretty much a package deal.”

Taga’s gaze shifts to you, with that same quiet focus. “I’ve noticed.”

“Right!” Aang claps his hands together, cutting through whatever moment may have been forming between you and Taga. “Then it’s settled.” He steps forward, smiling brighter than usual, if that’s even possible. “Welcome to Team Avatar.”

“...What was your name again?”

“Taga.” He says plainly.

Sokka’s brows lift, “Cool. Very mysterious.”

“Alright,” Aang says, already moving. “Let’s go. We can talk more on the way.”

-

The steady hum of the airship settles beneath your feet as it cuts through the sky, the structure creaking softly with each shift in the wind. The open sky compliments the atmosphere, stretching endlessly beyond the railing.

Most of the group has spread out across the deck. Katara stands near the front, focused, her hands resting lightly against the railing as she watches the horizon. Sokka lingers nearby, talking too much as usual. Toph sits cross-legged off to the side, with an unreadable expression, though the faint tilt of her head suggests she’s listening to everything anyway.

And then there’s Taga. He stands beside you now, one hand resting loosely against the edge of the ship, his gaze fixed outward. His presence makes the space feel quieter than it actually is.

“Have you traveled like this often?” he asks after a while, the question only meant for you.

You shift slightly, leaning your weight against the railing. “More than you’d believe, but you get used to it eventually. The height stops feeling so overwhelming.”

“I don’t think I would,” he says. “Not entirely.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips. “I thought airbenders were supposed to love this kind of thing.”

“They do,” he replies. “That doesn’t mean they don’t feel the distance beneath them.”

Something about the way he says it makes your brows furrow in confusion.

Before you can respond-

“You get used to it.”

The voice comes from behind you.

You turn, startled enough that your shoulder brushes lightly against the railing.

Zuko stands there now, closer than you remember him being a moment ago.

“You just stop thinking about the fall,” he adds, gaze fixed ahead.

“...Right,” you say slowly.

Taga’s attention shifts between the two of you.

“You speak from experience?” he asks.

Zuko nods once. “Something like that.”

What was once an easy conversation now becomes edged with something sharper, something unspoken.

You exhale softly, trying to cut through it.

“Well,” you say, leaning back slightly, “I guess fear brings people together.”

Zuko shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours for the briefest second before he stills again. “Didn’t seem like you were worried earlier,” he says, quieter now.

You glance at him. “Earlier?”

“When you almost fell.”

Oh.

You huff lightly, shaking your head. “We’re still on that?”

“You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You tilt your head, a hint of something teasing slipping in despite yourself. “Careful, Zuko. Someone might think you were worried about me.”

Something crosses his face. Quick. Gone almost immediately.

“Would that be so strange?” he says lowly. Almost like he’s talking to himself more than you. He’s not teasing you back, but not exactly deflecting either.

It sounds uncomfortably close to a real question.

The air between you shifts.

And something in you, something that’s been sitting quietly at the bottom of your chest for twelve long years- it rises up before you can push it back down.

“You didn’t seem to care before.”

The words come out quieter than you intended. More honest than pointed. Like they’d been waiting just beneath the surface this whole time and that one question was enough to loosen them.

You hadn’t meant to say it. It’s definitely too late to take it back.

Zuko goes very still. Not the controlled stillness from before, something different. The kind of still that comes from something landing somewhere it wasn’t expected. His eyes stay forward, fixed on some point on the horizon that has nothing to do with any of this.

A long moment passes.

“I was going to say something,” he says carefully. Like he’s handling something fragile. “On Appa. You didn’t-”

“Yeah, I know what happened on Appa-”

“Then you know I didn’t get to finish.”

You open your mouth, preparing to say something before you close it again.

Because you hadn't actually thought about that. You'd run. You'd turned away before he could say whatever came after ‘about what happened’ and you'd spent twelve years deciding you already knew what it would have been.

What if you were wrong.

You don't say that.

You don't say anything.

The silence that follows is the loudest thing you've heard all day. Fuller than any of the ones before it. Like something just cracked open between the two of you and neither of you knows what to do about what's inside it.

Taga watches the horizon.

He doesn't say a word.

But you feel his attention shift, subtle, quiet, the way everything about him is subtle and quiet, and somehow that's worse than if he'd said something outright.

You exhale. Slow.

“Forget it,” he says. And he goes inside.

Just like that.

Just like always.

You stay at the railing, hands gripping the edge, staring at the door he just walked through as the wind tears past you. Your mind drifts to twelve years ago, how you were the one who walked away first.

Seems like you’ve both gotten very good at that.

-> part three

CORAS NOTES 😛🤫🔊🔊

-> uhm this might be a good time to mention that this will almost definitely be longer than 3-4 chapters😭😭😭😭 whoops!

-> this zuko guy is nosy asl

-> ya reader is a waterbender perhaps I should’ve disclosed that earlier. surprise!

-> i wish the author would just let yn hop dih already

-> I kinda need taga too idk….

-> PLEASE comment guys it motivates me sm and it’s so funny getting to know ppl

-

tag list: @late-night-cravings-for-love @anothergojostan @planetmimi @sunset18rose @fluffysatoru @mxvoid26 @mitsukichiis @whatamidoing89 @prettychaos1409 @mitth-eli-vanto @mariapierce789 @meowieees @deftonianfr @slowlyshycomputer @moonlightttfae @alikkatz @maskedbunni @i-celtgirl @liv1104 @strawberrychita @thaliasnicket @lucilia9teen @randomchaosyay @late-night-cravings-for-love @liv1104

JUJUTSU KAISEN

SMAU

thanks for the flowers!

-> (ft. choso, nanami, toji)

princess gojo

-> (ft. gojo)

MULTI DRABBLES

my ex is in a coma!

-> (ft. gojo, toji, choso, nanami)

you ever wanna cheat when ur mad?

-> 𝙰𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙰𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙱𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁

-> 𝙹𝚄𝙹𝚄𝚃𝚂𝚄 𝙺𝙰𝙸𝚂𝙴𝙽

-> 𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙽

-> 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙰𝚆 𝙼𝙰𝙽

-> 𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁

-> 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙿𝙸𝙴𝙲𝙴

-> THE APOTHECARY DIARIES

-> INVINCIBLE