Jason Todd Is Life

Perhaps it’s a higher deity, puppeteering every aspect of his life; maybe his own, cruel past has more of a hold on him than he’d like to confront. Something makes him hold back, something won’t let him get close to you.

Now, he curses it more than ever.

Crossing Gotham’s skyline, it’s impossible to see further than a few blocks ahead through the torrential rain that batters the night. It’s heavy and cold and only the headlights of a few cars trundling along the streets below cut through the darkness. Yet, your figure is unmistakable where you march ahead of him.

Even wearing your vigilante suit with your back to him, he can see the tension emanating from your frame; the rigidity in your shoulders, the impulsiveness that you leap between buildings with, the way you ignore the shivers wracking your body and keep walking. Jason would hazard a guess that there’s a scowl plastered on your face right now too.

Perhaps if it were anyone else, he might not be so bothered. He might’ve left, given them space and allowed them to come up with angry perceptions of him until he goes to apologise. But this is you… and while he won’t admit how that changes things, it’s different.

Watching you bound over another gap between buildings, he follows with ease as he calls out to you. “Stop walking. What I said came out wrong.”

You grant him no response, continuing to storm away from him as the real thunder claps in the distance.

Jason can’t help but huff under his breath. Still, the selfish part of him that can’t let go of things keeps him following after you. “Come on. I don’t want to leave what happened like this.” He yells over the weather. “Just hear me out here.”

Rain lashes obnoxiously loud against a water tank as you speed past it, him quickly in tow. Though, he’s quickly distracted from the noise by the snobbishly neon billboard you stop beside, its vibrant colours illuminating your frame when you finally glance over your shoulder at him.

“I don’t think there’s anything to hear out, Jason.” You call back, voice calm even when the look in your eyes is not. “I understand perfectly clear what you think of me.”

“Then your idea of that is almost definitely wrong.” He protests, his shoulders tensing when you turn away from him again to seemingly walk away. “I’m just trying to explain myself here.”

Even over the rain, he hears your scoff loud and clear when you swivel around to glare at him once more. “Explain what?! Your dismissiveness? You avoiding me? The way you snapped at me literally 20 minutes ago? There is nothing to explain!”

“It’s just in your best interests!” Jason exclaims. “Your skills aren’t fit for this mission. If you go, you could get hurt!”

“Right. Like you said with the mission before this one, and then the one before that and the one before that. Am I fit for any mission in your eyes?”

“Well, yeah. You’re intelligent, strategic, strong.” The more Jason talks, the more he begins to stammer over his words. “You’re capable, but–”

“But what?” You finally snap, your hands gesturing just as wildly as they had been 20 minutes ago when you’d argued with him. “But you don’t want to be around me, that’s it.”

“I never–”

“You never said that. I know. That’s the issue here.” You interrupt him. “I don’t know why; I don’t even know if I want to know why. But for the past couple months you’ve been doing anything to get away from me and it’s becoming clearer and clearer.”

Momentarily stunned into silence, Jason can only stare at you, now entirely distracted from the lightning that crackles overhead.

“You rarely say anything when I’m going to do something with Tim or with Cass. It’s only missions with you that I’m suddenly not fit for it.” You continue ranting, stepping closer to him in your anger. “Not even just in missions either. I thought we were friends but you’ve entirely disappeared from my life out of work. It’s like you never liked me at all!”

“Okay, that’s not true.” Jason finally responds, his voice firmer. “I don’t hate you, I never have and I don’t think I ever could. Don’t act like I do.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think? That this kind of behaviour is normal in friendships? Because I know it’s not, not even in the vigilante world.”

“I know. It’s just–” He cuts himself off with a long sigh that’s audible through his mask. The tension slowly deflates from his shoulders, his resolve seemingly faltering as he reaches up to pull off his helmet, letting it hang in his hand by his side. He doesn’t look at you when he finally speaks up again. “I worry that if I’m around you too much, then I’ll mess something up.”

“What?” You murmur, your eyebrows furrowing.

Jason’s free hand clenches at his side as if he’s struggling to even speak right now. “I worry that if I’m around you too much, then I’ll mess something up.”

“No, I heard you, Jason.” You reassure, the anger in your voice quietening to something softer. “But why?”

“Well,” His eyes glance at you before he looks down to the floor. “I sometimes can’t control how I act around you.” He swallows thickly. “I stumble over my words, I lose focus on things, I falter, I soften–”

When his eyes properly meet yours and he sees the myriad of emotions playing over your face, he clears his throat and tries to get on track again. “I can’t be on missions with you because I’d mess everything up. That’s why.”

The words hang in the air for a long moment. The billboard buzzes beside you, the rain continues to pour, you’re both drenched yet too emotional to care.

“But that’s not it.” You conclude.

Jason doesn’t respond initially, his gaze remaining on yours even when the thunder crackles behind him.

“Why do you feel that way, Jason?”

His expression softens as he stares at you, his eyes shifting all across your face as his body relaxes from what must be him giving up his pride. “Because I like you, Y/N.” He admits, his voice quiet yet booming through your head. “Not in the way I like everyone else. I like you.”

Somehow, the word love permeates in the air, an unspoken emotion that manages to radiate behind everything Jason says even when it’s too early for him to say it aloud.

“And…” He trails off for a few seconds, his eyes squeezing shut as if this is conjuring all of his courage. “… it scares me.” He finally opens his eyes to look at you again. “It scares me so I started pushing you away so I wouldn’t have to confront why.”

“Really?” Is all you can muster.

“Yes.” He mumbles. “I’m sorry. I’d understand if it’s ruined things or what you think of me. I wouldn’t blame you. But it’s the truth.”

It takes a few seconds–that feel more like eternity–for you to mentally process his words. His gaze somehow manages to stay on yours. Hopeful? Nervous? Has he given it up to fate?

You shift awkwardly on the spot before you finally respond. “Did you ever wonder why I hadn’t snapped before today? Why I let you dismiss me like that?”

“Yes.” He admits shyly, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “I convinced myself it was the benefit of the doubt… because we were friends.”

“That’s not it, Jay.” The familiar nickname falls back into place so easily it almost throws Jason off guard, having not heard it from you since he began distancing himself. “I didn’t disagree earlier because I didn’t want you to dislike me.”

Jason scoffs this time. “Why would you care about that? Of me out of everyone?”

“Because I like you too!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your nerves build the longer the words hang in the air until you’re ranting. “I like you too. In the same way. But I thought you might’ve been acting like that because of something I did. So I assumed that if I tried to brush past it, maybe you would still like me back rather than have me push you over the edge.”

Jason blinks at you, his stare full of much more than you can unpack through appearance alone. “Hang on… You like me too?”

A shaky breath falls from your lips. “Yes. I guess I was trying to hold onto what we had before, but I would’ve never guessed tha–”

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re interrupted by Jason placing a hand on the back of your neck, gently but deliberately pulling your face to his. Your lips meet as eagerly as the lightning that crashes through the sky above you, yet all of the rain, the buzzing, the cold is immediately drowned out by him.

You instantly throw your arms around his neck, his other arm snaking around your waist until there’s no space between you anymore. You can only feel the kiss, filled with the vibrant colours of the billboard beside you and the dark familiarity of Gotham, yet defined by the love hidden inbetween.

It’s only after a long minute that you finally pull back just enough to catch some air. His breath brushes against your lips, his hair sticks slightly to your forehead from the proximity while his nose brushes affectionately against yours. His warmth is everywhere while, for once, Gotham’s sadness retreats away.

“Glad that’s settled.” He whispers against your lips, smirking to himself.

Smiling too, you press closer as you murmur playfully. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that might be the most romantic experience I’ve ever had.”

His hand is rubbing gentle circles on your side as his lips brush against yours again. “Then you wouldn’t mind another kiss, right?”

“Of course not.”

It was rare for the two of you to have nights like this. No patrol, no work tomorrow that has you go to bed early. Just the two of you, on your small couch in your even smaller apartment. But it was yours and a good excuse to be squished against Jason's side.

And you were currently doing that, the TV long forgotten in front of you as you were just talking about what happened today, exchanging small kisses when one of you was feeling like it.

"And then I went to the bakery with Damian after school because I wanted to spend time with him." You continued to explain your day to your boyfriend, cheek squished against his chest.

"You spend more time with my brother than me." Jason chuckled, the sound warming up your heart.

"That's because he likes me better."

"Can't blame him." You heard him muttered, his fingers squeezing your arm before going up and down in a soothing motion.

"I heard you, Jay." A big smile came onto your face before you hugged him tighter, your fingers brushing his side.

But the moment they did, you felt him tense, his body straightening at the mere contact of your fingertips against his covered skin.

"Baby?" You asked, a concerned look on your face. Weren't you aware of some kind of injuries he had.

Your boyfriend just shook his head, lacing his fingers with yours. "Nothing, don't worry about it. Just... uh. Sensitive, I guess." He tried to shrugged it off but the way his earsa were turning pink and his gaze wouldn't meet yours told you enough about the situation.

A big grin took place on your face as you broke free of his tight hold on your hand. "Sensitive?" You asked, feigning innocence as both of your hands were creeping up to rest on his side.

"Don't even think about it, I swear to God."

But it was too late, because just a second after those words left him, you were starting to tickle him, fingers gentle against his skin.

Jason was starting to squirm at your touch, a shaky laugh leaving his pretty pink lips.

"Baby, s-stop." He tried to say between laughs, his hands coming to grip your hips to have something to anchor himself with. And certainly a reason just to touch you.

You went to kiss his cheek, your fingers stopping their torturous tickles. "Didn't know you were that ticklish. " You hummed, a big smile on your face at that news.

Jason just sighed, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulders, his ears a shade redder than before.

"Shut up. I'm just... not used to that." He tried to shrug it off, pulling you closer so you were sitting on his lap.

"Used to what?"

"Being touched." His voice was a soft whisper, like he was embarrassed to even say the reason out loud. Like saying it and admitting something so fragile could make you think less of him.

But you were happy he was getting comfortable with you to share those small things with you, showing how trusting he was and how much better he got at those relationship things that could be hard after what he went through.

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" Your voice was soft as you asked him that, letting him know that it was a safe place to talk about whatever was going on in his mind.

You felt his head shake against your neck, lips brushing your bare skin with the movement. "No. Never. I'm just more sensitive since... you know. Never really felt that before."

You kissed the top of his head before cupping his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. "You're so brave to tell me that, baby. So so brave." You cooed at him, your smile getting bigger at the sight of his red cheeks.

"M'not a baby, stop talking like that." Jason looked away, his skin feeling warm under your fingertips.

Your lips met his in a soft kiss that he quickly reciprocated, hands creeping up to wrap softly around your neck, his thumb stroking lightly the side.

His tongue teased your bottom lips, asking for permission to deepen the kiss that you happily gave.

The kiss was starting to get heated, tongues brushing and teeth clanking together. You were starting to pant into each other's mouths, hands holding any part that they could reach.

But without thinking, your hands just went down to his side, brushing lightly his side, earning a shaky breath.

"Don't." You heard Jason's voice say the word muffled against your lips.

"What? Can't tickle my boyfriend anymore?" You asked with a big teasing grin on your swollen lips.

"Not when we're making out."

"Too late." And those were your famous last words before you started to tickle him mercilessly, earning a lot of giggles coming from him.

Hearing him laugh and seeing him so comfortable always made you the happiest because you were able to make him experience those little things he missed during the childhood he unfortunately didn't get.

And it was the prettiest sight ever to see a big smile on Jason's face.

“jason.”

“i know,” he mumbles into your stomach. he doesn’t sound like he knows.

“hey.” you tug his hair gently until he tips his face up, and there it is, the raw lost look he saves for no one, or maybe just for you. “there’s nothing to be jealous of. there’s nothing. you know that right?”

his jaw works. “i’m not jealous.”

“okay,” you say, very gently. “you know that right?”

something in his face crumples just slightly. he nods once, small, and turns his face back into your stomach and you let him, hands moving soft through his hair until you feel the tension leaving him piece by piece.

you kiss him after, slow and sure, and he makes a sound against your mouth that breaks your heart a little. it’s a mix of desperate and relieved all at once, hands sliding from your thighs to your waist and pulling you in like he’s been thinking about it all night. which he has.

you ease him back onto the bed and he goes willingly, taking you with him, hands restless and a little clumsy in a way he never is otherwise, touching you everywhere like he needs to remind himself you’re here and you’re his even if neither of you have said that out loud yet. when you finally sink down onto him he goes completely still, breath punching out, eyes finding yours in the dark and staying there. you move slow and he lets you set the pace, jaw loose, one hand spread warm at your hip and the other coming up to touch your face like he can’t help it. “you’re so pretty,” he says, barely a breath, not really to you, more like something he’s telling himself. you smile softly, your cheeks turned a smidge darker from his compliment.

you take care of him until he’s got nothing left to be sad or jealous about, until he’s spread out underneath you with his eyes glassy and his chest heaving and that tight jaw finally, finally loose. and when it’s over he pulls you down against his chest and locks both arms around you and says nothing, just holds on with the quiet desperation of someone who doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants and is so relieved you already knew.

“i really wasn’t jealous,” he says eventually, into your hair.

“i know,” you say.

a pause.

“he wasn’t even that good looking.”

“jason.”

“just saying.”

“that was just a nutritional baseline!” yuji defended instantly, sitting up with a look of pure, desperate longing in his eyes. “a person needs a balanced breakfast! that doesn’t mean she wants to hold my hand during a movie! i’m practically invisible to her, man. i’m just the guy who hangs around and breathes her oxygen. if i asked her out, she’d probably laugh and think i was pulling a prank. my heart would literally disintegrate into ash. like a cursed spirit, fushiguro. gone.”

megumi finally closed his book with a soft, ominous thud. he stared at his friend, trying to calculate how much brain damage yuji had sustained in his life to arrive at this specific level of dense. “yesterday, she said she was slightly warm, and you constructed a makeshift fan out of cardboard within four seconds. you didn’t even use cursed energy. you just moved your hands really fast.”

“that’s just basic manners!”

“you carried her up three flights of stairs because her shoelaces were untied and you didn’t want her to trip,” megumi countered, his voice dangerously level.

“the stairs were slippery!” yuji wailed, burying his face in his hands. “you don’t get it. she’s like... a masterpiece. and i’m just a guy who knows how to do a kickflip. i have no chance. zero. negative numbers.”

before megumi could commit a felony, the sliding door opened, and you walked in alongside nobara. the second your shoes crossed the threshold, yuji’s entire posture changed. it was an instantaneous shift; his spine straightened, his ears practically perked up, and his eyes locked onto you with a degree of focus usually reserved for high-stakes exorcisms.

“hey,” you said, offering a small, tired smile as you dropped into the empty chair next to yuji. “the training grounds are freezing today. i think the wind is coming straight from the mountains.”

yuji didn’t say a word. he didn’t even look at his own hands as they moved with the practiced efficiency of a surgeon. within three seconds, he had took off his oversized, fleece-lined red hoodie, shrugged it off himself, and gently helped you put it on. he tucked the soft fabric around you, his fingers lingering for just a fraction of a second against your collarbone to make sure the chill was sealed out, before pulling his hands back and shoving them into his uniform pockets.

“thanks,” you mumbled, instantly buried in his warmth and the faint, comforting scent of laundry detergent and whatever body wash he used. you pulled the sleeves over your hands, sinking into the collar.

“yeah, of course,” yuji said, his voice dropping into a soft, casual register that completely contradicted the fact that his internal organs were currently performing backflips. “can’t have you catching a cold. you’ve got that exam tomorrow, right? need your brain working at a hundred percent.”

nobara paused, her hand hovering over the back of a chair as she watched this sequence of events play out. she looked at yuji, then at you buried in his giant hoodie, then over at megumi, whose jaw was clenched so tightly he looked like a gargoyle.

“hey, yuji,” you said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a slightly bruised mandarin orange you’d grabbed from the cafeteria. “do you have a knife? the skin on this one is really thick.”

“i got it,” he said immediately.

he took the orange from your hand. yuji didn’t use a knife. he used his thumbs, peeling the rind away in one seamless, removing the little white strings so you wouldn’t have to deal with the mess. his fingers were steady, careful, and incredibly gentle as he split the fruit into perfect, individual segments. he laid them out neatly on a clean napkin he’d pulled from literally nowhere, pushing the finished product toward you with a small, encouraging nod.

“there you go. the sweet ones are usually the smaller pieces,” he murmured, his eyes tracking your expression to ensure you were satisfied.

“you’re a lifesaver,” you said, popping a segment into your mouth.

yuji’s face remained entirely neutral, but megumi could see the way the boy’s legs were practically vibrating under the table from the sheer rush of being praised. it was pathetic. it was magnificent. it was driving megumi to the brink of insanity.

“so,” nobara started, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. her eyes narrowed as she watched yuji reach over, pick up your heavy leather canvas bag from the floor, and settle it comfortably over his own knee so it wouldn’t get dirty. “itadori. can i ask you a question?”

“hmm?” yuji looked up, his hand still resting protectively near your side of the table. “what’s up, kugisaki?”

“what did you do an hour ago?”

“i went to the convenience store down the street,” he said, blinking innocently.

“and what did you buy?”

“oh! i got that specific chocolate drink with the milk and two pumps of vanilla. the one with the extra meringue sprinkled on top.” yuji reached down into his bag and pulled out the plastic cup, which was perfectly chilled, sweating slightly against his palm. he placed it right next to your napkin of oranges, straw already unwrapped and inserted. “here. they finally had the good meringue back in stock.”

you blinked, looking up from your fruit. “wait, really? they told me yesterday they were out until next week.”

“i asked the guy to check the back crates,” yuji said, giving you a bright, close-eyed grin that could have easily powered a small metropolitan area. “told him it was an emergency. he found a whole tin of it.”

megumi made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a dying bird.

nobara stared. she stared at the chocolate drink, then at the peeled oranges, then at the enormous red hoodie currently engulfing your torso. she looked at yuji’s face, which was full of nothing but pure, desperate desire to please you, completely devoid of any realization that he was acting like a husband of ten years.

slowly, with the deliberate precision of a predator stalking its prey, nobara walked around the table. she didn’t say a word until she was standing directly behind yuji. then, with a sudden, violent burst of movement, she reached down, grabbed a fistful of his inner uniform collar, and yanked him backward out of his chair.

“woah! kugisaki—choking! choking!” yuji gasped, his hands flying to his throat as she dragged him a few feet away from the table.

“shut up,” nobara hissed, her voice a terrifying whisper as she pointed a manicured finger directly at you, who was currently taking a sip of the perfectly customized latte. “look at that. look at her.”

“i’m looking!” yuji squeaked, his cheeks flushing a violent, immediate pink. “she looks great! the hoodie suits her, right? do you think i should buy her one for her birthday? or is that too forward? maybe a scarf? a scarf is safer—”

“yuji,” nobara interrupted, her voice dropping into a range that promised physical violence. “what the hell? i thought you guys were dating?”

yuji froze. his entire body went rigid, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as his brain completely stalled out, the gears grinding to a screeching halt. “w-what?” he whispered, the syllable popping out of him like a deflating balloon. “dating? us? no! no way! we’re not—i mean, i wish, but no! why would you say that? don’t say that out loud, she’ll hear you and get weirded out and then i’ll have to move to a different country!”

“are you sharing a single brain cell with the curses you fight?” nobara demanded, shaking him by his collar until his pink hair flew in every direction. “you peeled her fruit! you gave her your clothes! you went into the back storage room of a convenience store for a specific topping because she mentioned it once days ago!”

“that’s just being neighborly!” yuji yelled back in a panicked whisper, his hands flailing. “if fushiguro wanted an orange, i’d peel it for him too!”

“if you touch my food, i will sever your fingers,” megumi said from the table, not looking up.

“see? fushiguro’s just picky!” yuji argued, turning back to nobara with a look of absolute, soul-crushing earnestness. “i’m not dating her, kugisaki. i’m just... trying really hard to be a good friend so she keeps letting me sit next to her. if i told her how i actually feel, she’d realize i’m just a big dummy who follows her around like a stray dog.”

nobara let go of his collar so abruptly that yuji stumbled backward, hitting the wall with a soft *thud*. she stared at him, her expression a mix of profound disgust and deep, spiritual exhaustion. “you.. are a medical marvel,” she muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “i genuinely don’t know how you survive on a daily basis.”

“hey, yuji?” your voice cut through the tension, clear and soft from across the room.

yuji was back at the table before nobara could even blink, his entire demeanor resetting into that attentive, hovering stance. “yeah! what’s up? is the drink bad? is it too sweet? i can go back—”

“no, it’s perfect,” you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers curling around the warm ceramic of your hands inside his large sleeves. a very real, very noticeable shy smile had crept it’s way to your pretty face. “i was just wondering... if you weren’t busy tonight, maybe you could help me study? and... i don’t know. we could get dinner after? just the two of us?”

yuji stopped. the entire world seemed to drop away around him. his heart gave a massive, violent thud against his ribs, his chest tightening in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with training or stamina. he looked at the shy smile on your face, the way your fingers were twisting the hem of his hoodie, and something in his chest completely melted into puddle of warm, gooey mush. he knew damn well he didn’t know shit about math.

“yeah,” yuji said, his voice softer than usual, a genuine, completely unforced smile breaking across his face as he leaned down slightly, bringing himself to your eye level. “i’d love to. i’ll make sure you pass that test, okay? whatever you want to eat, it’s on me.”

from the corner of the room, nobara let out a loud, dramatic groan, throwing her hands in the air as she turned toward the exit. “i can’t do this anymore. fushiguro, we’re leaving before the sheer density of his skull creates a black hole and swallows the school.”

“agreed,” megumi said, already standing up and slipping his book into his pocket, passing yuji with a look that said you owe me your life.

as the door slid shut behind them, yuji didn’t even notice. he was already pulling up another chair, drawing himself right next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reached out to slide the rest of the oranges closer to your hand.

‘ perm. taglist , @sh0dor1

The nerves were catching onto Lord Zuko, and a bit too quickly. 

There he sat, not feeling so high and mighty, in his throne while being presented with the scene before him. A large table was set in the room, a foreign object in his usual place of study and work. But, considering his opposition to the War Chamber, this was Lord Zuko meeting halfway. And, ornate around the room were several Ladies in Waiting, who were setting the table, dusting the pillars, and preparing the chafing tables. 

Lord Zuko looks to the side, studying the chafing table carefully. Several, large plates were also being brought and set on each burner of the chafing table. It always impressed him how the workers of the palace operated so efficiently, and in tune with one another. As he watched the set up unfold before him, his amber eyes continued to glance back at the entrance. He would never admit it, but someone else already caught onto his anticipation. 

Master Iroh, who had a seat fixed beside Lord Zuko, had a smile of mischief on his face. He promised his grandson that he’d never let him do these meetings alone, considering Master Iroh has taken up the responsibility of guiding him. But, despite Lord Zuko developing his cold and authoritarian face, Master Iroh can always look past it. Lord Zuko was waiting to see you, and it was a little too obvious. 

And, almost like Lord Zuko wished it into reality, you slipped into the room. But, his eyes widened at the very sight of you. Your hair, which was usually fixed in a high bun, was loose and dancing with the air produced by your stride. Your hands were occupied with the handle of a gueridon. On it were all the tools you needed to offer tea to all the lords and nobility you’d be serving today. 

Lord Zuko’s anxiety waned, and was replaced with something unbeknownst to him: attraction. You were always beautiful in his eyes, but seeing your hair out did something to his mental function. He watched as you set the gueridon beside the chafing table where the food will maintain its warmth and be served at. A few of your fellow ladies speak to you, with words Lord Zuko could not make out. 

But, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he had been taken aback by your next actions. You go down the line of the burners, illuminating them with flames drawn by your own hand. Then, you had him at the edge of his seat: you put your hand in one of the flames before promptly retracting it. Fire benders are not foreign to getting burnt, and that should have definitely hurt you. It was almost as if you were testing to see if the flame you produced was truly hot. But, there you were, taking in ‘thank you’ by the handful as you quickly prepared your tea station. 

Lord Zuko didn’t realize it or notice it himself, but his breathing became heavy. Not by nerves, but by this alluringness that he could not resist. You were working swiftly, with a much larger kettle taking the most space of your work station. Another fire bursts out from your hand, its flames dancing with streaks of blue. As the flames worked their warmth into the kettle, you quickly couch down, your hair flying upward in the process. You retrieve a sizable box from one of its compartments and quickly make your way to the long meeting table. 

As the other ladies had set the plates, utensils, and cups, you opened the box and started from the closest side of the entrance. Lord Zuko curiously watches as you place some sort of bulbous item into each tea cup. But, he was patient and knew that you would eventually have to come up to the throne to prepare his and his uncle's cup. And, as anticipated, you look over at him and start making your way over. 

You felt shy, but this feeling was not sudden. No, as soon as you went into the kitchen earlier, with devious looks from the other girls' faces, you knew your fate. During meetings like this, all the ladies took the opportunity to spruce up their looks. You had no intention in partaking, as those efforts are for ladies who seek marriage from a potentially single nobleman. You were not applicable to such dreams, thus you kept it as such. But, those girls were always ever so daring and still wanted you to join their makeover session. 

Perhaps not a nobleman, but maybe a certain ruler? One girls’ teasing words danced in your mind, but you dismissed it. It doesn’t matter if you could even captivate someone with so much power like Firelord Zuko. In the end, you have nothing to offer. You were a tea maker, daughter of tea sommeliers, from a small village. Why in the world would someone of such high stature choose someone like you? 

But there Lord Zuko was, ever so excited at your arrival, without you knowing it. You first went up to Master Iroh, bowing respectfully. “Good evening, Master Iroh. Please allow me to prepare your tea for you.” Master Iroh nods, giving you permission as you quickly reach back into your box to reveal a flower. 

Before Lord Zuko could get a word in, Master Iroh quickly leans in, staring directly at the flower in your hand. “May I ask what this is?” Master Iroh’s voice was low, but gentle and curious enough that made you smile widely. 

“This is a globe amaranth,” you hum quietly. You gently place it into his cup, making sure it remains upright. “It’s a delicious tea, but its beauty is in the process of making it. You will see what I mean when I pour the hot water later.” 

“I look forward to trying it,” Master Iroh’s genuine tone had always made your time at the palace more easy. He reminds you that not only were you invited here on a needs basis, but you were also wanted here. 

You then approach Lord Zuko, who leans back into his chair, partially from the sudden overwhelming feeling of being in your presence. You giggle before taking a bow before him, “good evening, Lord– Firelord Zuko.” You mentally hit your forehead from the mistake, earning a wide smile from the Firelord before you. 

“Good evening, y/n,” he hums warmly, sitting up straighter in the hopes that you’d push on into his personal space. Of course, with everyone around, he knew you wouldn’t. But, a man could dream, right? “I finally get to see tonight's surprise tea.” 

“I think you’re going to like it very much,” you excitedly mention. You look into your box, searching for the one flower you saved just for Lord Zuko. It was the most intact, and promised a beautiful bloom once poured with hot, steaming water. You gently place it in his tea cup, ensuring it was straightened and aligned to perfection. “It’s nothing you’ve ever seen before.” 

“I look forward to it,” he engages with your enthusiasm. Lord Zuko felt like putty hearing your excitement for something as simple as tea. It was always comforting to see you so content in your craft, and those dazzling eyes whenever you spoke so confidently and excitedly about the teas you were preparing. “Speaking of,” he begins, his tongue hesitant but honest, “I’ve never seen you like this… as in, your hair.” 

You immediately let out a tired sigh, “I apologize for my sudden change in appearance, Firelord Zuko. My fellow ladies have decided that my looks were a significant part of my job tonight.” You notice Lord Zuko eyes a strand that went stray and hung right in the middle of your face. His temptation to tuck it himself was high, but you had already quickly done it yourself. Not that he could even do it himself initially, but again, one could dream. 

“It looks nice,” Lord Zuko utters, careful not to directly compliment your beauty with more intense words. You were one of the few ladies who put in effort into your looks, as you were there to serve your job. Not that you did not want to, but would rather save the extra hour in the morning to sleep in. “You look different.” 

To save yourself from the tension slowly arising, you quickly point at Lord Zuko’s bangs, “and you look like you’ve been touching your hair.” You didn’t mean to scold him, but you put quite a lot of effort in doing his hair, despite how sopping wet he left it for you. “I’m gonna have to keep a comb handy around you, Firelord Zuko.” 

He takes his chance, “I know I messed it up, but do you mind fixing it again?” 

“You needn’t ever ask, my Lord.” You put down your box and carefully adjust those dark locks again, which to your surprise, was completely dried. You make yourself quick, as the meeting quickly approaches. Additionally, you would hate for Chamberlain to be up at the throne, touching on the Firelords hair. 

Of course, Lord Zuko was relishing in your touch. May the meeting be damned if it meant living in your care for a minute longer. But, he had a duty to fulfill, not just for himself but for the Fire Nation as a whole. “Thank you very much, y/n. I appreciate you greatly.” 

You pull your hand back, satisfied with your work and offer another bow, “of course, my Lord.” 

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The meeting finally started, and it was nothing short of weighty. 

Noblemen from all Fire Nation clans came, taking their respective seats and contributing to the seriousness of the room. You made sure to keep your mind focused, ensuring everything goes well on your end. It felt like a play, with everything performing their role and waiting their turn. You were on first, which really didn’t help with your nerves. 

When Chamberlain Minji gives you a look, you nod and quickly take hold of the large kettle. Unfortunately, its weight was something you did not consider when utilizing it. It was such a beautiful, light blue porcelain, and it would be a shame not to use it, especially for a meeting with many respectable noblemen as guests at the palace. But, it refused your hands, the weight too unbearable for your arms to handle.

Fortunately, Lord Zuko was swift and subtle, only using a finger to point at the closest guard to you, then gesturing to the kettle. The guard made haste, taking the kettle gently in his hold and awaiting your instruction. But, Lord Zuko would be lying if he wasn’t just a twinge bothered by the guards hands brushing against your own when taking a hold of the kettle as instructed.  

Nonetheless, everything seemed to be going well. The tea was being distributed actively, with you taking head and teaching the guard the art of gentle pouring. He, and the lords were astonished, looking into their cups as they watched the tea bloom open, and ascend from the  bottom. You couldn’t help but giggle just a bit, relishing in the foreseen excitement. 

Lord Zuko and Master Iroh even shared in this excitement, the two in awe at the tea's bloom. You were quite proud of yourself for Lord Zuko’s reaction as you had given him the perfect flower for his tea. It bloomed, its green petals stemming outward slowly to reveal this almost ruby-like bud in its center. He had to keep himself from grinning too widely, considering the audience he was sitting in front of. But, he gifted you a wink from his scarred eye, confirming that he was very content with the surprise you had teased about earlier that day. 

The meeting continued well. As you stood to the side, you kept your head down and listened intently to his words. You weren’t exactly paying attention to the content of his words, but rather the confidence and commanding nature of his tone. You listen to the way his tone shifts, whenever the topic becomes a little more serious than the one prior. Concurring sounds ensue with every topic he touches on. 

Then, you’re back in the show. 

“Sai,” you hear your name from that usual, cold voice. The Chamberlain gestures for you and all the Ladies in Waiting to go to the table where the remaining food sat. “Start reheating these. Some of the men may want additional portions.” 

You nod, distributing your flame gently with your hands. You did your job calmly, the pressures of hosting now long gone. Everything had been going so smoothly, especially with everyone's collaboration. Lord Zuko seemed satisfied, so there was no need to be so concerned. And then, it finally happened. 

“A-ah!” You hear Rin grimace loudly, having your neck crack to find her. She was at one end of the table, attempting to pick up a tray of piping hot potatoes with her bare hands. Fire benders are not immune to fire and intense heat. When you rush to her and grab her wrists, her fingers and palms were already this shiny, pink hue. She had burned herself. 

“What happened to the mits?” You whisper quietly, recalling the mittens she had earlier that evening. 

“I-I just thought it wasn’t too hot, s-so I just…” Rin stammered, doing her best not to shed a tear and make a bigger scene. You quickly operated, insisted on other ladies to take her away and to a doctor while you took care of the rest. Your hands take hold of the tray, and you start making your rounds around the table, making sure to ease your grip a bit so the metal does not push the boundaries of your resistance. 

With a ladle, you carefully added the requested portions on many of the noblemen' s plates. Your enthusiasm was short lived, replaced with anything but honest feelings when approaching Lord Indra. “Lord Indra,” you begin quietly, a smile forced by the spirits. “Would you like more potatoes?” 

“I would love some, beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes first scanning your face before lowering to your hands. You add the potatoes as requested, ensuring it did not touch anything else on his plate. It wasn’t to his preference, but for your OCD tendencies. “I see heat doesn’t seem to phase you much.” 

You look at him, surprised at his sudden comment, “yes, my body seems to take heat very well.” What a wrong choice of words. Though, you could not be blamed for the sort of man that Lord Indra was. 

“Is that right?” He quietly lets his words trail off. As you adjusted the tray in your hand (though the satisfaction of the mess on Lord Indra would have been endless), Lord Indra shifted in his seat. You suddenly felt something pull at your robe, before feeling a grab on your rear. You jumped, but you made sure to be silent, considerate not to interrupt the meeting, and Lord Zuko’s words. 

But, the feeling of disgust swept your body completely, as you were terrorized by the foreign touch. You were still unable to react because you truly couldn’t. And, almost on purpose, Lord Indra abused the knowledge he just collected and you felt something close to a sear against the same place of your rear. He quickly retracts his hand, but there was a sting that broke your focus for the moment. 

The meeting was interrupted anyway, and Lord Zuko met your eyes. Concern cloaked those wonderful amber eyes, and something else broke in you. For his sake, you mustn't cry. For his sake, you mustn't do a single thing. A smile was carved along your lips, and you continued to the next noble, forced sweetness coated in every word of your offering for seconds. 

To the untrained eyes, it would appear that nothing happened. But, it’s very difficult to trick the eyes of someone like Master Iroh. 

He had seen it all, understanding the unfortunate situation you were forced to experience. But, he held his tongue. He had no intention to ruin  his grandson’s meeting, in which he was leading quite marvelously. There was an immense pride to see how much he has grown. However, Master Iroh is not one to tolerate abuse of power, considering the sort of monster his brother was during his reign. 

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The meeting came to an end. 

Clean-up was quickly enacted, as you and the ladies quickly assisted in bringing the dirty plates and used utensils to the kitchen. The table in the throne room was wiped down while the floors were swept, then mopped. Your tea kettle and kit were being put away, and garbage was being collected for easy tossing. 

You were numb. You divided yourself from your body, knowing your mind would keep you still otherwise. It was an out of body experience almost, watching yourself dutifully work while your mind was forced out, knowing it would let your physical form down. Nobody deserved to experience what you did. But simultaneously, you were glad it was you, and not your fellow ladies. 

It’s not to say that you were less vulnerable or “stronger” than your peers. It was exactly that, with your position working so closely to the Firelord, you could not afford to break down. He needs you, and you will be damned to ever let him down. 

But, it hurts. 

To be abused in such a way. It hurts. For your body to be tampered and tainted, by a touch unasked for. Unwarranted. It hurts. Despite your uncertainty of marriage, you could not enter such a tie in purity. It all just hurts. 

Then, a hand patted your shoulder. You immediately shuttered, briskly turning to meet eyes with Madam Minji, “you may go attend to Lord Zuko now. We can finish the rest of the clean up.” You nod, giving her a bow before sauntering between the noblemen that remained. They stood in clique-like groups, catching up with one another while discussing topics of the meeting. 

You quickly find Lord Indra, and do your best to avoid him in your stride. Even your ears blocked out sound, disregarding whatever potential voices were calling to you as you made your way up to the throne. Going up to Lord Zuko, you felt somewhat liberated from meeting his gaze. His smile was contagious, and you were suddenly smiling back. 

“Lady Sai,” Lord Zuko hummed, containing his excitement over the meeting going well, and getting to interact with you once more. 

You bow, “Firelord Zuko.” You both stand there for a moment, finding solace in one another's presence. But you forgot you had a job to do and quickly cleaned up his dishes, as well as Master Iroh’s. This allowed the opportunity for Master Iroh to speak to you. 

“Sai, the tea was phenomenal,” Master Iroh praised you. 

You bow quickly, plates and utensils in hand, your face shying away from sight. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I knew it would be a pleasant surprise for you both.” Master Iroh takes note of your flush face, smiling at such sincerity. 

“Zuko, go on and mingle,” Master Iroh ushers, his chin gesturing at the noblemen. There was a buzz in their conversations, the chit chats becoming louder with laughter sprinkled in every now and then. “It’s a good opportunity to get to know the other lords, and see how their clans are faring.” 

His eyes screamed reluctance. Lord Zuko, despite his title, was still quite shy and unsure of himself. And, truth be told, he was looking forward to being normal again and discussing the meeting and unimportant matters with you. But, his uncle was right, and his wisdom is the reason why he has gotten this far. 

Clearing his throat, he nods, “pardon me, then.” With lingering eyes latched to yours, Lord Zuko quickly meanders away, and finds his first group to talk with. Another Lady in Waiting rushes up to the throne to collect the dirty dishes from you, having you mouth a ‘thank you’ to her as she gives you a happy smile. You both watch as she zooms away, joining the other ladies in their new path towards the kitchen. 

Then, the opportunity became open for Master Iroh. 

“y/n, I need to speak to you about something,” the old man began quietly. His smile diminished, and you were met with a very serious aura, which was new in comparison to all the interactions you’ve had with this man. “And I’d like you to be able to confide in me. Your words are safest with me.” 

You look at him curiously and nod, “what is it, Master Iroh?” 

“When you were distributing another round of food to the noblemen,” Master Iroh begins, making your stomach already sink. He noticed, you thought anxiously. “I saw you react to something.”

You immediately shook your head, “it was just my muscles, Master Iroh. I think it might have pulled a little as I was serving.” You already regretted the quick lie you concocted.

“Right, right,” Master Iroh hums, believing not a single word. “Lying would be easier with anyone else, but I am not someone who can be lied to so easily. Especially when I smell the burning of clothing from you.” 

You were caught. You bow sheepishly, “I apologize, Master Iroh. I… did not intend to lie to you.” You bring your hands together, anxiously rubbing your thumb against one of your palms. Dirt and skin follicles begin to accumulate at the motion, your palm going hot in the process. “I do not want to cause trouble.” 

Master Iroh pats your shoulder, giving you a relieving smile. “You trouble no one ever, y/n. But you must understand that Lord Indra’s actions are unacceptable.” 

You quickly freeze, your body swarming with goosebumps. It wasn’t that you weren’t capable of confrontation; you just have no power here. You are an attendant, not a lord’s lady, nor honorably titled. What rights or safety did you possess to start trouble with a lord from a long, highly respected clan? “Please, I am not harmed in any way. I do not want to bring trouble to you or Firelord Zuko.” 

Master Iroh takes a seat, offering for you to sit on the floor beside him. You reluctantly follow suit, crossing your legs on the ground with your back straightened, and your mind alert. “You must understand, it is not just about finding you justice,” Master Iroh explains quietly. “Firelord Zuko intends to change the ways of the Fire Nation completely. That includes such violent and crude acts.” 

“But he is a Lord,” you emphasize, “to ruin this evening by addressing this matter would be in bad taste, and I would forever feel regretful.” 

Master Iroh quickly offers his hand, “do not worry. We will resolve this matter subtly.” 

You place your hand in his, but in pure reticence and anxiety. You did not want to bring about trouble, but trouble came to you first. Master Iroh felt your nerves drive your body, your hand shaky and cold in his hand. He puts his other hand on it, stilling it in the process. You suppose you must do as he says. 

There’s no other choice it seems. 

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There was nothing worse in the world than seeing Lord Zuko’s face at that moment. 

Master Iroh asked for Lord Indra to hang back, his smile still wide, his eyes filled with anticipation. It was as if he was being held back for something important; perhaps delusioning himself into receiving good news. It disgusted you. 

You stood by the door, wishing all the men goodnight as the poured out of the room. All the Ladies in Waiting bowed at their exit, and began leaving themselves. They wished you a good night, and you all wiggled at each other's fingers, silently appreciating one another for todays job well done. 

Chamberlain Minji was last to leave. Master Iroh had informed her that you were to hang back for a ‘final important task.’ You watched her bow before making her way to you. Her eyes seemed skeptical, as if you were plotting something. “Make sure you do as Firelord Zuko requests. Do not go to bed until he is satisfied.” 

What a sentence, “of course, Madam Minji. Have a goodnight,” you hummed. She wishes you a goodnight, her cold tone unrelenting. Before she left, she stood by the doorway and looked back at you all. She cut her eyes at you before truly leaving. 

Strike two. Just adding more fuel to a fire you wanted to extinguish. 

Now having privacy, you stay close by the door, keeping your distance from Lord Indra, who was well far and at the bottom of the steps. Lord Zuko took a seat on his throne, completely confused by the situation. All he knew was that his uncle requested he hang back. And his uncle has never led him astray; not back then, not now, and he trusted never in the future. He curiously stares down at Lord Indra as well, wondering if anything happened. 

Master Iroh meets your eyes, and gestures you over. So much for keeping distance, you thought to yourself. You slowly make your way forward, with Lord Indra now staring you down. His eyes felt just as burning as what he did. And you wished nothing more than to run out of there and take a neverending bath to attempt to remove the feeling. 

“Lord Indra, I don’t think I have to mention what you did this evening,” Master Iroh starts hot, his face discontent. For a fire bender who has shown immense power and control over the many years never looked so strong than in this moment, despite how the years have aged him. “And I do not believe I need to push this matter further than it has to be. Please, apologize to Lady Sai.” 

Lord Zuko’s eyes widened, those amber orbs studying you in a different nature. He scanned you, seeing that though you appeared unharmed, your face was not quite normal. There was a sort of lack of shine, a dullness in your expression. Your earlier happiness seemed to have been stinted by the sort of nerves not as simple as performance anxiety. 

“Apologize? For what exactly?” Lord Indra said simply, feigning innocence. 

Master Iroh did not look pleased. “Lord Indra, you know that I am a patient and willing man,” Master Iroh’s voice was hush, but approaching a tone a bit more sinister than what you were used to with him. “And I’d like to give you another chance to do as I requested. Should you tread incorrectly again, I am not sure what your future will hold.” 

Lord Zuko narrows down on Lord Indra, those amber eyes going dark. “Lord Indra,” Lord Zuko addressed him, his tone low, but steady. All his happiness from the successful meeting was quickly drained from his tongue, and replaced with the very tone you did not want to hear. “What did you do?” 

His tongue was replaced by a snake, a venomous hiss taking over his words. The rumors had always gone around, but after meeting and getting to know Lord Zuko personally, you never believed them. When he was a prince, he was an angry child, constantly yelling and never satisfied until he recovered his honor. He was angry because he was weak, or so people said. Others said his scar was a testament to such dishonor, supplementing enough reason to be the mad child he was. 

Lord Indra, initially, kept his cool. He put his arms out, in such a way where he believed it was friendly. “Firelord Zuko, I believe age is catching up a bit with your uncle. I accidentally touched Lady Sai here as she served food; no harm no foul. Master Iroh might have had too much tea.” He proceeds with a laugh, but Lord Zuko was nowhere near humored. 

“Uncle,” Lord Zuko begins, his eyes still very much fixed on Lord Indra. It was as if he was waiting for him to move, to give him a reason. He did not need to ask, for Master Iroh already knew what he wanted. He moves closer to his nephew, halting for a moment before giving Lord Indra one last chance. He lends him a gaze, waiting for him to make a decision. 

But, Lord Indra stands firm, meeting Master Iroh’s eyes with silence. 

Master Iroh goes to Lord Zuko’s ear, forcing him to move his hair, the hair you had carefully done for him. As he explains the situation in his ear, the color in Lord Zuko’s face vanishes. The warmth, the joy, the accomplished aura had been replaced with something a bit… dimming. 

It was hard to pin point, as you have no reference. You had never seen Lord Zuko in anything outside of his gentle nature or stern turn when he attended to his obligations as a leader. But, when Master Iroh pulls away from him, you see it clearly. Those beautiful amber eyes were desolate, his lips firmly pressed together. 

It looks like something– a seal, something that held him– had broken. 

“...Kai,” Lord Zuko began hush, his words practically untraceable. Not even you could catch it. 

Lord Indra was bold to ask, “could you repeat yourself, Firelord Zuko?” 

“Was I not clear enough for you?” A voice, almost unhumanly, calmly left Lord Zuko’s lips. You watched as he sat still on his throne. One of his hands, just hovering in front of his torso, had a low flame sitting there. As the silence ensued, the flame only grew bigger. Surrounding it were small slivers of light that your eyes could not make out. But from the sound of the whirring and crackling in his flame, you soon realized that it was miniature bursts of lightning. 

Quite a sight for someone known to only redirect lightning, not control it. 

“I said,” Lord Zuko begins, his voice fuller, his tone challenging. “Agni Kai.” 

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it was subtle at first — just a flicker of realization — but it quickly turned into full-blown horror, like he had just witnessed the collapse of his entire legacy before his eyes.

"...did you just grunt?" you ask finally, breaking the silence. your tone is calm, but your face gives nothing away.

"no...?" he replies immediately, too fast.

"you absolutely did," you say at once, not letting him escape it.

"i didn't," he snaps, a little sharper now, shifting his grip slightly like he's trying to prove a point. "i adjusted my stance."

you keep staring at him.

he refuses to meet your eyes.

your hands slowly rise, gently cradling his face so he has no choice but to look at you. his jaw is tense, his ears faintly red, his entire composure hanging by a thread.

despite his obvious distress, you smile softly.

"are you calling me heavy?"

his shoulders drop a little.

he exhales, trying to recover.

okay. maybe he was overreacting.

it was just a grunt, you smiled. maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. maybe you had nothing to be upset about.

yeah.

"no, love," he says, forcing a small smile.

then your fingers press into his cheeks, squishing them together as you study him very seriously.

"then put me down and pick me up again," you say, tone flat, deadpan. "without the grunt."

his eyes widen slightly.

he fakes a cough, trying to hide the sound of his fast heartbeating, as if you can hear it.

Jason sighed, staring down at his phone. The screen slightly blurred from fingerprints slicked in gun oil. Brightness dimmed. Cracks fenestrating at the edges from carelessness on patrol and otherwise. 

Over the course of your… whatever this was, he was used to staring at unanswered messages and a glaring read receipt. It was usually his fault, he couldn’t deny that. But tonight, just when he needed the confirmation most, the nine-letter word burned back in his face. 

D-E-L-I-V-E-R-E-D. 

He threw his head back in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe you were home, on the couch, curled up in front of one of your trashy television shows. Better yet, maybe you were finally tucked into bed at a reasonable hour, your chest pulling with gentle tidal respirations as your soft skin melted into the sheets. That, he could live with. 

Hell, even if you were out - somewhere, anywhere - and choosing to ignore him, that would be alright. Anything but at work. Anything but the Emergency Room. 

It was one of those rare occasions where Bruce had roped him into a mission, claiming he needed all hands on deck for the takedown of the century, that brought you to Jason. Even rarer, it had resulted in Bruce sustaining grave injuries. He remembered leaning against the cool metal railing of the Batcave, arms crossed over his chest, observing Bruce’s breathing become labored as he laid flat on the table. Alfred was peeling pieces of the suit off one by one, as hastily yet gently as possible, to reveal Bruce’s injuries while preventing him from enduring more. 

The Batman, foreboding and terrible, scrunched up on a makeshift gurney, splinting, with his Robins of past and present perched in the periphery observing their leader fight for his life. Jason watched through the lens of the Red Hood at Dick shifting his weight from foot to foot. Nightwing dancing uncomfortably in place, unable to stay still. The prodigal son. Twitching like he had ants in his pants. Beneath the Hood, Jason rolled his eyes. 

Tim’s fingers clipped away at the Batcomputer keyboard, but Jason noticed the way his scowl deepened when Bruce would groan. His eyebrows would twitch, imperceptible to anyone else, before he forced them to stay in place. Typing away to distract himself. 

“Call the doctor.” Bruce huffed. The admission in itself was enough to raise a chill down the spine of anyone who knew him. 

“Already on the way, sir.” Alfred confirmed. 

The butler pried away a piece of the chestplate, releasing blood that instantly stained the cuffs of his white shirt, to reveal a deep, spreading bruise at the fringes of a gash. His right hand clasped around a stack of gauze without his eyes leaving Bruce, pressing the linen against the cut with deep pressure that drew another gasp from the Batman’s lips. The tension among the room grew palpably, before it instantly dissipated at the sound of one of the Cave doors sliding open. 

Footsteps, carefully plodding down the metal staircase at an unbothered pace, echoed in the expanse of the room. 

“Well, you’re still breathing on your own.” A voice, strangely youthful, tone light despite the situation. “Color me impressed.”

It was clear that Jason wasn’t the only one surprised by the delicate timbre that rang out into space. Tim’s neck could have snapped from the torque he generated, twisting his gaze from the computer screen to the source of the voice at once. Dick’s feet finally stopped their restless tapping and he planted himself, somewhat defensively, reaching slowly but noticeably for the weapons slung over his back. Jason remained composed. Fuckin’ amateurs, he thought to himself.

As the footsteps drew closer, you came into view, Jason’s eyes sweeping your figure for the first time. Bulky, crossbody bag slung across your torso to rest on your hip. Clad in dingy, ill-fitting unisex scrubs that looked like they had been through the hospital laundromat thousands of times until they were thin and papery. Your face bore a curious expression: concerned - hidden, but noticeable by the glint in your eyes - yet calm. 

“You’re not Dr. Thompkins.” Dick announced. 

Brilliant observation, Captain Obvious. Jason’s internal monologue again. 

No, you weren’t Dr. Thompkins. Jason knew that from the moment you entered the cave, by your gait as you clipped down the stairs. Your initial comment confirmed his theory: tone decades younger than Leslie’s dry vocalizations, without as many years of exhaustion dampening your inflection. 

“No, I’m not Dr. Thompkins.” You replied. “I’m her relief.”

As you entered the makeshift trauma bay, you ignored the audience observing your every move, setting your bag down on the side table. As you pulled a small tablet from the luggage, you placed a gentle hand on Alfred’s shoulder, ushering him aside politely so that you could begin your work. A packet of gel torn by the edge of your teeth. You pasted it over his ribs, Robins watching the clear substance tinge pink from the blood. 

“Well, that’s what I thought, based on your call.” You said, clicking your tongue in disapproval. “Popped a lung.”

“Is it fixable, Doctor?” Alfred asked, his concern gently bleeding into his typically articulate speech. It seemed that no matter how many times he had seen Bruce on death’s door, it still had the same effect on him.

“Definitely fixable.” You replied. You set your ultrasound down by your bag, the wand dangling from the table uselessly with gravity. “I can re-inflate the lung, no problem. But the chest tube should stay in for a couple of days and you should avoid any strenuous activity for four to six weeks.”

“That,” Your eyes flickered up to meet Jason’s gaze, the unexpected confrontation jolting him internally before you finished your recommendation. “I bet is not going to happen.”

The shimmer in your gaze, nearly mischievous, stuck to Jason like an adhesive he couldn’t rid himself of for the next couple of weeks. You finished the procedure, stated your precautions, and slunk out of the Batcave like it was any other Tuesday. It left him transfixed, unable to shake the encounter out of his mind as he replayed it involuntarily, over and over. 

Months later, he was pulling himself through your window frame in the dead of night - address obtained from the full scale investigation that Tim had obviously conducted over you after your meeting. Jason didn’t know why, but he was drawn to your apartment like spiritual possession, covered in dozens of deep lacerations that would raise the eyebrows of any practitioner, even in broad daylight. He could have tugged a blunt needle and thread through each and every one of them himself, but his exhaustion and the thought of seeing the look in your eyes again - subtle but nearly amused - heightened the pull to your doorstep. Er, window sill. 

As his huge body plunked gracelessly onto your living room carpet, you let out a reflexive shriek. Hands whipped themselves to your chest to clutch your metaphorical pearls. As soon as watched him writhe to get to his knees, like a trampled bug, and realized you were not at the mercy of a home intruder, you were at his side easing him to sit and bleed all over your armchair. 

You had exchanged so little words, if any, but Jason memorized the way your hands ghosted over his skin as you pulled his shirt over his head. The way you patiently anesthetized each cut with generous lidocaine, despite his insistence he didn’t need it, and waited for the skin to blanch before wrenching the suture from the packaging with your needle driver. You diligently sewed him until the sun peaked over the horizon, working from the notch of his hip up to his collar bone, paying each wound more attention than Jason had ever received in his lifetime. 

And by the time that you had gotten to the cut on his forehead, unknown if it had been thirty minutes or three hours since you started working on him, you were so painfully aware of the way his sleepy green eyes still picked you apart to pieces. The bundle of collagen as scar tissue over the cupid’s bow of his lip and how his tongue darted out to wet it when you dug the suture in slightly too deep or hit a flap of skin that wasn’t as numbed as the rest. 

When you perched your hand against his cheekbone, fingers trembling slightly with the suture poised to repair the last wound, you gave in entirely to want and leaned forward, capturing his dry lips with your own. You savored the way he pressed back on you before your professionalism returned and you pulled back.

“I’m sorry.” You said, eyes cast to the ground. You shook your head ever so slightly with self-disappointment. 

In that moment, Jason waged a war with himself. Digging into his internal pressure points and telling himself that you were too pure and he didn’t want to ruin someone like you to prevent something stupid from happening. But as his eyes fixed on your pink lower lip, a small, insistent voice inside of him nagged: why don’t I deserve something nice for once?

And his thick fingers found the nape of your neck, pulling you back in for more. 

That was the inciting event that set off a chain reaction. 

The beginning was wonderful, Jason feeling so high off of your embrace that it finally occurred to him that maybe he could have a normal life with you. He could take you out on dates, to dinner, to the movies, like normal people. Bring you flowers and eat the home-cooked meals you had made for him so that he was “eating something with nutrition for once.” Fall asleep nestled into your chest, feeling your fingers pull through the strands of his hair and card along his scalp, feeling truly comfortable for once. 

But that was exactly the problem. It was too nice. Too comfortable. Too perfect. He starved off the self-sabotage for as long as he could - mere weeks - before letting it run buck wild. He pushed you away, shoved with all of his might in the form of hurtful remarks that he didn’t mean at all and avoidance that left you feeling perplexed and stung. 

At night, pitched against some grimy alleyway, he yo-yoed with himself. Torn between crawling back to apologize and make amends, and digging in further to assure you’d leave him be. Some nights, the angel on his shoulder won and he was crooning apologies into the bend of your neck. Other times, the devil left your messages on read with tear-stained cheeks. 

That’s where he had found himself tonight, looking at that dim phone screen and urging you to message him back. A “don’t text me Jason”, “leave me alone”, or even “fuck you”, he prayed for desperately. The letters in his hastily written texts, no care that he had broken the silence first, mocking him. 

Jason had woke that evening from a shitty nap on a worn cot to a missed call from the person he wanted to talk to least: Batman. They had enough screaming matches to where Bruce got the gist that Jason didn’t want to hear from him, so seeing the notification stirred concern among annoyance in his chest. 

Bruce picked up on the first ring. 

“What?” Jason barked, more a perturbed statement than a question. He scrubbed a hand down his face to rub the sleep (or lack thereof) from his eyes. 

“Zsasz is holding up six hostages in Gotham General ER.” Bruce returned, his voice steady. “PD has the place surrounded, but impenetrable so far.”

It made Jason seethe when his heart clenched at the statement. How immediately his thoughts turned directly to you. How you threw him a shy smile when you realized he was staring, the two of you cuddled up on the couch, each silently reading your own book with tangled legs. Your gentle eyes, always with a slightly impish glint. At Bruce’s words, his mind immediately flashed to the terrified look on your face, Zsasz holding a blade to the junction of your neck where weeks ago, Jason had been softly pressing kisses.

“Why are you telling me this?” He barked into the phone. Bruce always had a way of being obnoxiously all-knowing, which bothered him as a teenager but even more as an estranged adult.

“All PD units are gathering eastbound and down. Robin and I are heading to the intersection of North and Pine.”

Bruce hung up on him, further stoking Jason’s fire. Who the fuck was he to be implicating Jason in his mission plans?

That’s when Jason sent the texts, that fateful word - “delivered” - haunting him into action. 

Jason continued to stew, but before he knew it, your radio silence had him slinging a thick thigh over his bike as the motorcycle growled to life. His ear tuned into the motor to drown out the memory of when he first had you as his passenger on the Harley, when he called you his “little backpack” and smirked as he revved the engine on purpose to make you cling harder. He wove through traffic recklessly, begging an officer to attempt to pull him over, racing towards the hospital with his mind swimming with thoughts and fears.

Batman and Robin were on North and Pine? Perfect. He would be staying the fuck away from there, then. 

Jason threw down the kickstand of the motorcycle three blocks away from the Emergency Department, throwing a fresh clip into his pistol as he moved through the shadows. He quickly came upon the barricade that Gotham’s useless PD formed, dodging their officers easily with all of their attention focused on the hospital building. 

Bruce’s voice echoed through his Hood - Tim must have hacked into his comms - but before he could make out what he was saying, Jason shoved a finger into the seam of his helmet and plucked out the earpiece, crunching it beneath his boot. It nearly made him smirk, but he forced the brief delight down to focus on the mission at hand. 

It was almost too easy the way he slipped into the building from an auxiliary vent connected to the elevator shaft. Dozens of Gotham’s finest perched in a perimeter for the last hour and a half and he was in the building within fifteen minutes of arrival. Typical. 

Jason held his position behind a blind corner, listening intently into the department, which was eerily silent. Not filled with the alarms and clamor that you had described to him after long shifts, tucked under his bicep as he brushed his fingertips back and forth along your skin. He crept along the hospital walls until he heard the torturous voice of Victor Zsasz, crowing his usual psychopathic drabble which Jason tuned out in his efforts of surveilling the department for your form. As he pushed forward through the hallway, Zsasz finally fell within his sight. Gesticulating like a madman, with one arm wrapped around the neck of a hostage and the other motioning wildly in the air, an eight inch buck knife within his grasp. 

Jason strained, desperately trying to identify if the figure behind tossed in his grip was you, but there was a damned pillar in the way. He didn’t think it was, but that wasn’t enough to convince him, and his hand was steady as he raised his pistol, aligned directly to the back of Zsasz’s occiput. As his index put pressure on the trigger, images of you flashed through his mind. Shrieking in terror as you were coated in Zsasz’s brain matter, not in peril any longer, but god, at what cost. He had held you after nights where the worst of humanity reared itself through the trauma bay doors. He couldn’t stomach being the reason you woke up from sleep in a deep sweat. 

At the last instant, he changed his trajectory, squeezing the trigger and firing a bullet through Zsasz’s wavering hand. He dropped the knife, clutching his destroyed palm, which is when Jason moved in, swiftly sending the butt of the pistol down on Zsasz’s skull and knocking him unconscious. As he kicked Victor’s body to the side, aiming directly for his ribcage for good measure, he turned to the newly freed hostage. 

An elderly man, hair down to his shoulders, shaking visibly at the sight of Jason towering over him. White font, reading “XR Technician”, at the bottom of his badge. By the look in his eyes, Jason knew he feared that he was next. 

All of a sudden, there was a flurry of bodies: a nurse picking up the corded phone to call 911, two security guards carding Zsasz off to an isolated room by the arms, the pharmacist bursting through the front doors to wave in police. Chaos erupted back into its natural order in the Emergency Room as if nothing had changed.

“Red Hood?” A small voice, shaky but ringing clearly out into the silence. Jason recognized it instantly from moments of permanent replay in his head. 

He pivoted to the side, something taut in his chest releasing slightly as he saw you. You were crouched underneath the counter of the nurses station, arms spread, with at least three pairs of eyes peering from behind you. Children, he recognized, at once. Clad in hospital gowns. One hiding behind a splint covering their arm, another with a bandage wrapped around their head. Your wingspan was spread in protection, sheltering them from harm. 

Jason’s bootsteps fell heavy on the department floor, and he tried to ignore the whimpers that came from the children gathered behind you. He holstered his pistol as he came to a stop, holding out a gloved hand, which you hesitantly accepted, pulling you to your feet. On the countertop behind you, he noticed your phone, abandoned and plugged into the wall. If he clicked it on, he bet he would see his unread notifications on your lock screen. 

“Your shift’s over.” He said, his voice deepened by the helmet modulator. 

Clasping your hand to where you felt like your fingers would get crushed, he led you out of the building, through one of the back doors that had been unlocked now that lockdown was lifted as he didn’t feel like dealing with Gotham’s police. His large legs moved quickly, striding yards in seconds, and you struggled to keep up with him, firmly in tow whether you liked it or not. 

When you made it to his bike, your heart skipped at the familiarity. Without waiting for refusal, he slipped the bike helmet over your shoulders, tucking in the chin strap, and kicked the motorcycle to a start. You threw yourself over the hulking machine, arms snug around Jason’s torso with your eyes squeezed shut, thankful prayers cascading in your thoughts that he was taking you away from that horrible scene, no matter where you were going.

Before you knew it, adrenaline caught up to you. Terror, flooding your vasculature as Jason dodged and wove through Gotham traffic, causing your body to shake and your bottom lip to wobble. The tears started to flow in rough sobs as you cried against Jason’s muscular back, the what-if’s and bad endings drowning you in the aftermath now that you were speeding away from harm. Jason’s brow furrowed as he felt you convulse against him, your cries loud enough that he could hear even over the motor. He sped up, racing to get you home, in a locked apartment, where he was assured of your safety. 

After what felt like eternity, the bike veered into the lot of your apartment complex. Jason dismounted the cycle, instantly turning to pull the helmet from your frame. His gut churned at the sight of your broken, red-rimmed eyes and the string of clear discharge stringing from your nose to the helmet. You were wrecked: devastated in a way that he had never seen before. It nearly brought him to his knees. 

Without exchange of words, he wrapped his arms around you, snatching you into a grinding embrace. He held you tightly as if it was the last time he would ever have contact with you. Like his arms were in disbelief that you were actually safe. When he finally reared back, observing your shattered countenance once again, he placed a large palm on the small of your back and pushed you to the entrance of your front door. 

Your hands were shaking so badly that you couldn’t thread the key into the lock. With gentleness in such shocking juxtaposition to his actions in the ER that evening, Jason took them from your hands, clicking open the deadbolt, and leading you inside. 

For his own sanity, he made you stay in the entryway while he did a quick sweep of the apartment, and once he deemed it safe, he guided you further inside to rest on your armchair. The same one that he had been bleeding in half a dozen fights ago. Discarding the Red Hood on your kitchen countertop, he poured you a glass of ice water, thrusting it into your hands with insistence. 

He took a seat across from you on the coffee table, watching the tears trickle down your face as you continued to drink. You tried to ignore the pain in your chest at the sight of him: his hair, tousled from the Hood and the softness in his mossy eyes scrutinizing your face. His palm reached out, finding your knee, and his thumb stroked back and forth to calm you as you finished the glass. 

The two of you sat together in near silence, broken only by your occasional sniffle. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but having Jason back in your home placated a tortured part of you that had been hurting since the last time he stormed out. After God knows how long, Jason stood from his seated position, stalking over to the countertop to palm his discarded headpiece. 

Just as he was about to pull it over his head and walk out of your life forever, a weak warble of your voice stopped him motionless. 

“Jay…” You croaked, voice shredded with distress from the evening. 

He let the helmet fall to his hip, returning to your side at an instant. Without thinking, his thick, gloved finger found its way underneath your chin, scrubbing at the skin soothingly with delicious texture. You took in every detail of his expression, burning the tenderness that he had for you into your mind’s memory. 

“Yes?” He asked, his own voice so subdued it was barely audible. That gentleness that he had only reserved for you. 

“Will you please stay?” You questioned, a begging undertone to your voice. 

Whether it was for the night or for eternity, Jason had no idea, but hearing those words broke chains that had been coiling around his chest. The permission to wrap you in his arms, snug and slightly constricting, all night - permission granted not only by you, but by himself. 

“Of course” was his soft reply, as he let the helmet fall to the carpet.

Dividers by: toxisyddy

Texts made with: chat tales app

You especially loved when he’d take the suit off, not only because you got to admire him underneath, but because you got him back. Red Hood belonged to the city, but Jason, he belonged to you. You loved peeling off his helmet after a long night, leaving only the domino one underneath. It made his eyes shine even brighter, especially when they looked at you.

You can’t remember the last time you got to see him like that.

Instead, you hear about him through random news reports or from your coworkers who have taken a liking to Red Hood and his "atonement" to the city. If you were lucky, you’d get a quick call wishing you goodnight, or Barbs would relay a message he sent over. But you don't get that grace anymore.

You don't even know why you've stayed up this late. He won't be back. You'll fall asleep in an empty apartment and wake up in one too.

You weren’t angry.

Sure, the first time it happened, every bone in your body shook with worry that something had happened to him. You knew the risks of dating a vigilante. No calls, no texts—what else were you supposed to think? It wasn’t until the next morning, when he came back without a single scratch, that your anxiety transformed into relief, which soon gave way to anger.

You didn't know what got into Jason that night, but it never seemed to stop. And so your life went on without him.

The apartment was always yours. Before he moved in, you basked in finally living alone and having a space to do whatever you wished. So you started treating it that way again. If Jason was going to spend his time doing whatever he pleased, then this was your home.

You could always tell when he'd come by. The flowers would be fresh. The fridge would be stocked; every item that looked even remotely empty since his last visit was suddenly replaced without comment. You used to joke that you had your own housekeeper and personal shopper.

He never pushed back against how you had started treating the apartment. That was the problem. You didn’t know if he was your absentee roommate or your boyfriend. Eventually, you'd have to ask. But you were okay with it for now. Or at least, you had convinced yourself you were.

Which is why you really should’ve ignored the sound of Jason opening the front door. Why you should’ve started getting ready for bed like you'd planned hours ago. And, most importantly, why you should’ve ignored the way you could immediately tell he was upset from the sound of his footsteps alone.

You were supposed to be asleep, for God's sake. But that doesn't stop you from slowly creeping out of the bedroom and towards the living room.

You know Jason can tell you're awake, but he doesn't turn around. For a moment, you just stare at his back. You give yourself a second to pretend he came home for you. That he must have somehow heard the turmoil that’s been keeping you awake. That he's not here to apologize or make up for something, to only disappear the next day. Just for a second, you get to pretend he's here because he wants you. 

You take him in the same way you used to when he'd wake you up. How he’d carefully untangle himself from you. Getting up to pour your cup of tea so it was ready by the time you made it out into the kitchen. How he’d gently nudge you awake and you’d open your eyes to him. To his dishevelled hair from where your fingers have been brushing through it all night. To his patience as you refused to leave the bed, always letting him drag you into the kitchen. To when you could pretend that there was nothing else that needed you but him.

That's not what this is. You don’t even know if you were capable of being together like that again. Heck, what are you even supposed to say now?

Hey, Jason! It's so nice that we're both here tonight. Do you want to come play house, and I’ll pretend I'm totally okay with whatever this is? Like, I haven’t been awake all night thinking about you and wondering if we should break up. 

That would be ridiculous. Which is exactly why the only thing that leaves your lips is "Jason. Are you out here?"

You can see his muscles tense beneath his shirt, almost as though the sound of your voice startles him.

“No,” he says.

“No?” You repeat. You’re shocked he’s committing to this bit. That he’s worked up the courage to sit here on your couch and pretend he’s fine.

"No."

You’re closer now. You can feel the air shift, lighter just from the mere fact of being near him. “You know I can see you right?”

"I know." The answer comes so quickly that you almost miss it. You’re not in the mood to let him pretend this is nothing. Not in the mood to let this get swept under the rug like you’ve been doing these past few months.

And so you start, “Why are you out here?”

He doesn’t respond. He lets you sit there and wallow, letting the hum of the fridge and the distant noise of the city through the window he’s opened up fill the void.

"I don't know, baby." The name startles you. It feels alien coming out of his mouth. It fills up space, stretching in a way this apartment can’t hold any more. You can tell he didn’t mean for it to slip out. You watch as he curls into himself, hiding his face before you ever have the chance to see his expression. 

Your saving grace is that you’re behind him, glad that he’s hidden his face so there’s no way to see yours. 

"Okay," you say quietly, scared to ruin the shift he’s started. "Can I sit next to you?"

He doesn't move. If anything, he’s found a way to make himself smaller. 

You walk in, settling next to him, beside the corner of the couch he’s attempting to shove himself into. 

It’s the closest you’ve gotten to him in months. The proximity is unsettling. You’ve spent weeks convincing yourself that the space was what you needed. That you could live without Jason Todd. Without wanting his touch. Without his sweet words. Without his presence in your life. 

Your body seems to disagree, your hand moving before you could stop it. It reaches out and slowly coaxs him out of the cave he has created in your living room. You feel him shift, settling in between your hands. 

Your fingers drift, mapping every fibre of his face, taking the time to update your memory on how he looks through touch alone. They linger past the scars, past the ones you used to trace every night before bed and past the new ones whose stories you wouldn’t want to hear. They settle on the jagged skin of the one he hates the most. He flinches.

It catches your attention, making your eyes meet his. They’re puffy. You can’t tell if it is because he hasn’t been sleeping or because he’s been crying. Knowing him, it’s probably both. 

You stare at him a second longer, wanting to read all the words he wouldn’t be able to say out loud. He misses you. He shouldn’t. You want to tell him he has no right to be. That he’s forced you to be like this, to have learned to live without him. But you can’t. The truth is that you’ve missed him too

You feel him shift under you and out of your grasp. He takes your hand before the disappointment takes over. The familiarity sets in instead; he’s guiding you towards your bedroom. You want to be mean, to let that part of you be so cruel that your every word nestles into his heart. It dies before the words reach your lips; he's too gentle. 

He stops in front of the bed, the moonlight spilling across him. It’s unfair how he always makes you forget. You want to hold a grudge, but he’s here and he’s yours. 

You can feel the question in the air before he says it.

“Can I stay tonight?"

His voice shifts, so hoarse that it’s barely above a whisper, as if it’s a confession for only you to hear.

“I want to be home."

He hesitates, leaving you to take in the moment, and finishes his truth.

It began there, the memory of the Bazaar that day swarming your thoughts. 

That day was so lively, and full of joy. Small shops were set up, all sorts of banners and streamers hung around. Flames reached the clouds from the street performers in the square, with watchers jumping out of their seats, their snacks flying with them. A local band took over the streets, playing tunes that were irresistible to the feet of dancers. There was a warmth much deeper than the usual heat of this nation's benders. 

You were rushing through the crowds, the bamboo basket in your hands full of the herbs your mother had tasked you to collect. It would’ve been easier to get through the people, had your mother also not demanded for you to wear such a flowy dress. It was beautiful, yes, but clung onto everything that stuck out, pokey or so long that it got trapped under people's feet. There were setbacks, but you knew you had to do this. 

Truthfully, this was one responsibility you enjoyed immensely. Your family had inherited rich, fertile land with plants and herbs maintained for millennia through your bloodline. And with your parents being tea sommeliers, you could only follow their footsteps. However, you were more passionate about herbalism, and were much more allured by the medicinal route of life. That said, nothing could go wrong with a cup of tea. 

You remember how dark the home had been, as you peeked through the burgundy curtain cloaking the side entrance. The celebration for Firelord Zuko’s visit felt like an eternity, starting from the morning and ongoing. It was the evening now, and you figured your parents are still going to be there until everyone has packed and gone. You quickly put the basket down on the counter by the porch of the house, which had been converted into a booth as your parents sold tea from the house. You reach over to the lever to open up the awning of the booth. The house felt stuffy, and you were a little too warm from the hike. 

As you begin to wash the herbs, you hear the sound of one of your wooden stools getting shuffled. You look up, and notice an older gentleman taking a seat. You meet obsidian eyes that hold wisdom that you can only imagine is vast and neverending. Dribbles of sweat hung from his smooth head, with his gray beard off to one side (though, you don’t believe he noticed). He meets your gaze and offers a kind smile, “I do hope you are open, I’ve been seeking a nice cup of tea.” 

You were surprised, considering the countless tea shops being offered at the celebration in the square. You were about to explain that you were closed, given your parents hosting a mini shop at the square as well, but a pendant caught your eye. He had a gold brooch hung on the side of his right arm, with the Fire Nations emblem on it. This meant this man was either a guard or of nobility; a high ranking individual in the nation. Of course, seeing his age, you had to assume he long returned his work in the army, and this was simply an honorary pendant. Either way, you were not allowed to reject or not assist such an important individual. 

“Let me get the kettle going,” you say quietly, offering a warm smile as you quickly get some water boiling. “I was not expecting any customers out here, considering the party going on in the middle of the village.”

The old man hummed, nodding at your words, “ah, you’re not wrong to assume such a thing. There’s so many people out there for the Firelord that I got a bit overwhelmed. I can’t enjoy my tea in such excitement.” 

That’s understandable, considering how impossible it is to find a seat or navigate when the Bazaar was this active. “My parents are currently hosting their tea at the market, but I was told to remain here in case stragglers came through this alley for a cup of tea.” This was partially true. Technically, you were not expecting anybody to find food or beverage deep in the village, but your parents were opportunists. 

The old man nods off, “your parents understand the opportunities that can come with gatherings like these. But I imagine you would have liked to go and see the Firelord.” 

You could only shrug, listening to the kettle finally whistle. “It would have been nice, but my parents need me here,” you say simply, “but I am eternally grateful for our Firelord, and what he has done for the nation since the start of his reign.” 

It has been 5 years since the takedown of Firelord Ozai, allowing for Prince Zuko to assume his place and lead the Fire Nation to the right direction. Since taking charge, he has taken all the right steps to begin restoring the Fire Nation, beginning with an immense apology to the rest of the nations for the war and genocide brought about by his father. Since then, he has made it a goal to visit all of the villages and capitals that made up the Fire Nation. He wanted to get to know his nation once again, and the best way was to spend time with them and see what he can do to assist.

“Your words warm my heart,” the old man coos, his hand making its way to hover above his heart, “He would have been very happy to hear those words himself.” 

You smile while carefully lifting your kettle from the fire and putting it on a cork trivet. “What kind of tea would you like?” 

His eyes distract themselves with the steam escaping the kettle. You allow him to think on it, and turn over to bend away the fire at the bottom of the chimney. “What do you have?” He asks curiously. 

You grab one of the scrolls and offer it to him, “these are all of the teas we have to offer. And if you would like anything to eat, I can start up the fire again.” 

“Oh ho ho, I am all good for a meal,” he laughs out before tapping at his bulbous belly, “but a tea is a must. He pulls the scroll opposite with both hands, and his eyes saunter at the options. He then looks back at you with a curt smile, “what is your favorite tea?” 

You look at him curiously before grabbing a menu yourself, “from the menu…” 

“Ah, but what is your favorite?” The old man insisted, putting the scroll down gently. “I’m not saying your favorite cannot be a classic tea, but your family runs a tea shop. I can only imagine the teas that you enjoy that might not be appreciated by untrained tongues.” 

You stare at the older man before you, your curiosity itself being allured by his words. It felt like you were being challenged somehow, as if disappointment was an option if you did not proceed to deliver. “Is there any fruit or herb you do not like or cannot have?” You ask first. The old man shakes his head no. “Pardon me a moment.” 

You rush back into your home, sauntering into your room. It was small, but cozy with plenty of cushions and blankets to keep you warm and safe. You crawl down to the farthest cabinet in the room, and slide the bamboo door open. Inside resided a small, clay pot. You peel off the parchment that you’ve used to seal the pot, and remove a small pouch. You return to the old man, untying the pouch to reveal a sable black herb. It was soft to the touch, and retained its moisture from the method that you sealed it. 

You grab a small pinch, and ask for the old man's hand. He obliges, allowing you to put some of the herbs in the center of his palm. As you prepare his tea, you begin to describe it in a tale, “this herb comes from an incredibly rare lotus flower. Its original petals are this lovely pink… it shocked me when my parents and I discovered it. This herb is from the very core of this flower, but when collecting it, there’s a bit of intimidation– it looks like there are snakes within its center.” 

He brings his hand up to his nose, his eyes closed to appreciate the scent. “I am a fan of lotus, but this is quite unique. There is a sweet aroma to it.” 

“Almost vanilla-like, right?” You supplement his thoughts. “It surprised me to smell how sweet it was. And it almost convinces you that you need not add any additional sweetener to it.” 

His eyes furrow, “is it bitter?” 

“It can be,” you hum. “But its taste is phenomenal, and its flavors can become more complex with time.” 

“With time?” He allowed your passion to fly with his own curiosity. 

You nod, quickly preparing a cup with the herbs inside, watching as they quickly ascend through the water and flat at the top. You get another cup, adding some of the herbs and pouring water as well. But this time, you added a sweetener: fig syrup. With separate spoons, you stir both cups and begin to seat it on a tray. Then, you walk over to one cabinet within the kitchen, and begin to bring down a deep brown pot. This, too, is sealed in a particular way, with a cheese cloth layered several times around the rim to retain its contents while also allowing it to breathe just a bit. 

“And this is…?” 

“This is the same tea, but fermented,” you inform him. You grab a ladle, pouring a cup's worth of tea in a small, metal cup. You hold the cup from the bottom, and allow flames to illuminate from your palm. “It is good cold, but I prefer it to be quite hot.” Once heated, the delicious scent of the steam emitting from the cup almost took you over. You bring the cup to the tray, and step from behind the booth to present it to him. 

You take the opportunity to stand before him and bow, “I apologize for not bowing for you before, as I was behind the booth.” He immediately waves you off, scoffing at his pendant while flicking it with his finger. 

“Actually, I was quite content that you did not bow to me. Sure, I have served this nation, but you serve this nation as well by being part of it.” He quickly taps at your shoulders, bidding you to rise. “You are just as important as I am, and your craft is something that I am quite envious of.” 

You smile warmly before you make your way back to the booth. “Please try the freshly brewed tea to your left first,” you instruct, “I have made that one without any sweetener so you can appreciate the lotus as is.” 

The man brings the cup to his nose first, taking it with the aroma before having a sip. “That… is wonderful,” he praises softly. He looks down at the tea, seeing how the water had been tinted with this sunrise yellow. “I am beginning to understand why this is your favorite.” 

You nod, “but it is much better with the sweetener that I have made. My parents do not like it at all, but I find fig syrup to be deserving of the palette.” He follows suit, and takes a sip of the sweetened tea. 

He pauses for a moment, bringing his free hand up to wipe away excess tea from his mustache and beard. But, despite this, he goes for another sip, and another sip. A few gulps passed, and the cup returned to its vacant state. He gently puts down the cup and lets out a hot sigh. “In my many years of life, I have never thought that figs could do tea so well.” 

You smile excitedly. This would be the first time you could share one of your most loved teas. Your parents enjoyed them, sure, but not with virgin taste buds. It was refreshing to see another's excitement to a tea that you can happily say is some of the best in the world, even if the rest of the world didn’t know it. 

As he goes to pick up the final cup, you offer him a small vial of the fig syrup, “if you would like to sweeten it after taking a sip of it raw. Though I do warn you, you might need the syrup as this fermented tea is a bit… strong.” 

He acknowledges your words, and quickly takes a sip of the fermented tea. His eyes widened completely, staring down curiously at the more matured yellow of the tea. “Will it be at all possible for me to buy this tea from you?” He asks honestly. He studies his cup, almost taken aback by the complexity of the tea. “I don’t think tea has ever left me speechless like this before.” 

“You and I both,” you concur with a giggle, “I’d love to sell you some, but I’ve grown quite attached to this tea. I’ve had this tea fermenting for a month now, I believe. You’re actually the first person to taste it since I prepared and stored it.” 

“I’m quite honored, thank you,” the man hums. He adds some of the syrup from the vial you offered him, and began to stir with a provided spoon on the tray. Taking a sip of the fermented tea now sweetened, he nodded in approval. “This is phenomenal. Thank you very much for such an experience. He offers the vial back to you, in which you quickly refuse. 

“Feel free to keep it for yourself,” you insisted, “I’m more than happy to spread the taste of fig syrup. It works wonderfully on many other teas.” The both of you share a warm silence, one that was filled enough that it needn’t words. And, the light of day was just about leaving, as the sun had already set. You leave the booth once more when you notice all the tea has been completely drunk. As you carefully put the cups into the sink, you noticed the man leaving money at the table. “Ah– you don’t have to do that!” 

“Hm?” The man looked up at you quizzally. “I came to drink tea. You cannot do business if you offer it for free, no?” 

He’s not wrong, but you felt bad, “consider it an apology for not being able to sell you any of these herbs.” Additionally, he was a Fire Nation nobility. Your fear derived from any potential punishment or demerit on your family name for not treating him well. Although the Fire Nation has taken a complete 180 turn, the trauma of Firelord Ozai’s reign was deeply rooted.

“You are a beautiful soul, young lady,” the man hums, taking out more money than what the tea was worth and placing it on the table. “But I would hate for your parents to punish you for not doing your job.” 

You still persist, “regardless, the tea does not cost this much– please take half of that back!” You come out from the booth once more, and quickly try to hand the excess money back to the man. But he rejects it, his hands completely up and refusing to take anything back. Your insistence in fact struck something inside the man, and he quickly looked around, as if he was expecting someone. 

“Young lady, do you have any dreams?” The man suddenly asked a heavy question. “I imagine a woman as well spoken and gifted as yourself aspires more than simply working at your family’s tea shop.” 

You stop your insistence on the pay, and cross your arms against your body, “what would be wrong if I was happy remaining here?” You were happy, yes, but this was not completely true. You did want more than this life, despite its simplicity. 

“Nothing wrong with that at all,” the man agreed, “tell me, would you leave a gem you found in a cave?” You look at him curiously, and hesitate to shake your head. “It is a greedy thought, but the most human one. So I ask again: do you have any dreams?” 

Before you could answer, you heard the loud sounds of jogging entering the alley. You look around, wondering who could be running around these parts during the festival. Then, more clearly, you see several Fire Nation guards make their way into view. Was something happening? You thought worriedly. You weren’t so much worried about yourself, but rather your parents. 

A guard stands behind the old man you had been serving, and quickly yells, “found him!” 

You quickly look around, seeing the guards immediately bow and remain bowed behind the old man. You had an inkling that this man was more important than he led on. But, it's always dangerous to assume things, especially when you do not know. Your heart begins to race, mostly from nerves but also a bit of excitement. This was extremely rare, and you were curious and hopeful that this was nothing but good or neutral happenings. 

“Master Iroh, we have been looking for you all over,” one of the guards pants out, struggling to keep his bow still. Master Iroh? You could swear you’ve heard that name somewhere, considering how small your village was. Big names were treated like celebrities, but this name had a familiarity in its foreignness. “Where have you been?” 

“Here,” he gestures to his payment to you, which is still sitting on the table. “Did my nephew send you all to look for me? He’s too old for me to keep holding his hand.” Some of the guards snort but quickly go silent when another set of feet step into the alley. The old man, who you now know is Master Iroh, looks over to his other side and smiles, “your manhunt has come to an end!” 

“Stop messing with me, uncle,” a deep, yet gentle voice came into sound. You looked over, and your eyes were quick to react before your body. There stood the owner of the voice, with amber eyes filled with concern. Though he was not looking at you by any means, his refined facial features and the immense length of his jet black hair was the start to your potential cardiac arrest. But, it was the familiar scarring of his left eye that solidified the reason for your potential cardiac arrest. That, and the symbolic crown wedged into the bun that sat right on top of his head. Silently and promptly, you bow your head so low, your face is inches away from your knees. 

“Who said I was messing with you?” Master Iroh looked up at him, baffled. “I wanted a cup of tea, and it ended up being much more worth my while.” 

It was at this moment you realized something. Firelord Zuko addressed your customer as uncle. This entire time, you have been serving the current Firelord’s uncle, firstborn son of Fire Lord Azulon and a crucial member of Order of the White Lotus.

Firelord Zuko glances over at you, giving you a good look before returning to annoyance, “Uncle, there was tea being offered to you left and right. I don’t understand you at all.” 

“Zuko, the best cup of tea is enjoyed in peace,” Master Iroh teaches. “And this young lady here made me realize that our hunt is officially over.” 

“Uncle, what are you talking about?” Firelord Zuko asks in genuine stew, “what hunt?” 

Master Iroh looks up at you with a warm, welcoming smile, “I think I finally found your new attendant.” He then looks over and offers his hand, “I know you have not told me your dreams yet, and perhaps you might not have any. But, I would love to invite you to the Capital, and perhaps make something come true.” 

As you remained bowed, you weren’t sure how to feel, or what to say. You straightened yourself, looking up at Firelord Zuko, whose eyes were quickly trained on you. You didn’t dare assume a thing, but his fixation on you had your heart skipped a few too many beats to be considered healthy. You quickly look over at Master Iroh, whose hand still remained up and offered to you. “Are you sure I am what you’re looking for?” 

Master Iroh nods, “I think you are exactly what is needed in the Capital. My only ask is that you consider it, and consider it well.” 

And that is how a few cups of tea led you to work in Capital City, the heart of the Fire Nation, and home to Firelord Zuko. 

hi all! I hope you like the prologue to my new fanfic on adult zuko. please lmk if you would like me to start a taglist (if any of yall are interested, i just made this blog)

And you’re someone who was always halfway to sleep. During the day, even after a full night of slumber, it’s even worse when your job gets in the way of your rest. It’s not laziness, more of an exhaustion already set deep inside your bones after the long shifts and the late nights, and not to mention, well, life.

Jason always noticed, though. When your eyes would droop slower, or when your hums became softer—he’d be there to guide you to bed in an instant. arms wrapping your frame, fingers absentmindedly running along your back as your breath settled and deepened.

Again, Jason Todd is the infamous anti-hero, Red Hood. known to fight brutally, have no mercy, always so sharp and savage. But to you, he’s just… Jason.

Soft and gentle Jason.

just like tonight, where you came into his flat soaked—your hood, tired and soaked from Gotham’s rain, and dripping onto his welcome mat. body shivering to no end ever since you realized how you forgot to pack your pocket umbrella into your bag.

He was already there. Sharp features highlighted by the only warm lamp lighting the whole living room, his scars—proof of his years of vigilante work—gleaming under it. He looked up at the sound of the lock turning, his face immediately etched in worry as he saw your state.

He stood up, went to his bathroom to get a towel, and began taking care of you as if it were routine. He helped you out of your soaked jacket, untied your shoes, and undressed you before leading you onto the couch, where he’d gently pat your hair dry.

His presence was warm as he carefully slipped you into fresh clothes, kissing your cheeks and your forehead wordlessly—but you could feel how much he was saying through the things he did.

He sits close beside you after. thumb finding the back of your hand, brushing your knuckles like he was remembering each bump as he recalled his day. You’d nod off, body leaning towards his—chasing his comfort. He would make sure to adjust himself so you won’t feel uncomfortable too.

And then he sees it the moment your eyes flicker towards him for just a beat. Though hidden underneath the exhaustion, it was there—the desire, burning lowly in your eyes, just enough for it to make his stomach clench.

So he asked gently, fingers brushing your cheekbone. “wanna sleep or do you want me?”

You felt the knot in your heart unravel. relieved that Jason understood you so much to read you so precisely, and also asked the questions before you both started something. And you know that you can be honest with him. no matter the answer, he won’t be disappointed. If you say sleep, he would tuck you in and stay—but if you say him, he would make it his life goal to make you feel satisfied.

You answered with a soft “yes”, reaching out to him.

He took it as an invitation, slowly leading you into the bedroom—not rushing you once. He matched every movement, every rhythm of your breath, so attentive.

When he softly laid you down on the bed, he lowered himself over you. His fingers brushed along your cheeks once more, thumb mapping out your lips, before he kissed you, so softly it almost made all the worry—tiredness in you all disappear.

The thing is, sex with Jason when you’re sleepy is never loud, never rough, and performative. It would start quietly, with kisses that let you know he was there fully. The way his fingers moved would make you feel safe to just to let everything go.

He would carefully strip you out of your fresh pajamas, kissing every inch of your newly exposed skin. When you’re both naked, he’d watch you—study you as if it was the first time you shared this kind of intimacy.

the way your face flushed, your chest rising more than normal, lips parted in anticipation—yet your eyes were still half-lidded, both from the sleepiness and need.

You look vulnerable and trusting.

But he wasn’t the type to take advantage in that. With each motion, he’d uttered the words.

“Is this okay?”

“Tell me if you want me to slow down.”

“Squeeze my hand if it’s too much.”

His voice stays constant with tenderness because he knows that when you’re sleepy, your consent often comes in tiny gestures: nods, soft sighs, and words breathed out, a subtle but visible clench of your thighs—he has learned all of it.

So when you spread wide and prop your legs up on his hips, he knows that you’re fully ready.

He’d stroke his thick and hard cock gently to spread the precum from his tip—already there the moment he saw how much you needed him—before kissing you once more. His fingers skimming your ribs, down to your hipbones.

You let out a soft gasp as his swollen tip finally grazes your sensitive clit. walls fluttering immediately from the tiny sensation he gave.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, and he finally served. The moan you let out was the loudest one tonight as he began stretching you open inch by inch. His lips stayed close against your face, where they would kiss the furrow in your brows when you feel the delicious burn simmering in your guts.

He also let out the most unraveling sound as his own body shuddered. a deep guttural groan against your neck when his cock was buried to the hilt. “You always feel so good, sweetheart…”

He settled his pace. deep and slow, not once rushing. He’d learn when to pull and push in again from the way your lips let out soft breaths and your walls clenching.

And again, he’d make sure you’re still in it. If your eyelids fall, he’d murmurs soft words until you lift your eyes to look at him again. If you drift mid-kiss, he’d brush his thumb along the slow pulse of your neck, grazing it to make you more alert.

“Feel me, okay? look at me…”

He said before kissing you. Your arms would wrap around him, chasing his peacefulness as if you can’t get enough of the feeling of his body on yours. moans grew louder as the coil inside you was pulled more and more with each gentle thrust of his hips against yours.

He felt it. the way your cunt would flutter around him more frequently, how your eyes would roll back, your back arching—closing the gap between you more and more.

You finally came with a soft surrender rather than an explosive passion. a soft yet echoing exhale that made your body tremble. a small, unguarded sound as your body jolts in pleasure. The arms around him tightened with every clamping flutter of your walls, clinging onto him like he was a lifeline.

And he followed closely. The way your cunt gripped his cock, making him lose his composure—ending in him spilling his milky seed inside you with a louder moan. His own body trembled with the overwhelming pressure—no matter how subtle it is compared to the more detonating sex you’ve had before.

He kissed you again softly, muttering even softer words of gratitude and affection. When he pulled out, he was on his feet instantly. running a washcloth under the sink in his bathroom, making sure it’s the perfect temperature. When he came back, he saw how you were practically half asleep.

He’d carefully clean the sticky mess between your thighs, the sweat that made your hair stick on your forehead, before planting a lingering kiss there as well.

Pulling a stray shirt he threw earlier, he’d gently straighten you up to pull it over your head. then a fresh pair of panties from the dresser, and also boxers for himself. No shirt though, he knew how much you enjoyed the feeling of his bare skin as you slept.

His hand carefully tucked you under the sheets afterward, making sure you felt no cold throughout the night, before following you. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, cocooning you into the safety that is Jason.

You could only smile as you watched him, too exhausted to do anything else. but god, does he make you feel like you were the most cherished person in this world.

He’d murmured words like a lullaby. silly stories, gentle promises, I love yous. If you finally talk half-asleep about your worries or what happened throughout the day, he would listen—answering at the right times and without ever rushing you.

And with each day with him, you learn his roughness is an armor he wears for everyone else but you.

jason has you spread open beneath him, legs hooked over his thighs as his free hand grips your hip. his thumb presses into the soft flesh, holding you open while he rocks his swollen head against your throbbing clit. 

his cock is thick and heavy between your folds, gliding through the mess of his precum mixing with your slick. jason drags the flushed head of his cock up through your glistening arousal, coating every thick inch until he’s covered.

you whimper pitifully, hips twitching uselessly as you try to chase him. jason chuckles shakily, slapping your clit with his cock. your whole body jerks, a high, needy moan ripping from your throat as the heavy weight of it lands against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

he continues to drag his cock through the mess between the both of you and the lewd sound of it causes another whine to tumble from your lips.

“such pretty noises,” he rasps.

“jay…” your voice cracks.

his hips jerk involuntarily and his tip catches at your entrance, stretching you open before he pulls back again. he rolls his hips slowly, sliding the swollen head inside you once more and stilling. jason’s eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the sensation of your warm cunt fluttering around him and trying to pull him in deeper. 

its absolute torture as he drags his hips back, pulling out and pressing only the tip back inside. over and over. you reach down, fingers brushing through the slick between your bodies and circle your clit to try and dim the deep, empty ache of wanting him. 

your thighs tremble, voice turning hoarse from begging for just a little more and only when you’re nearly sobbing his name does jason finally give in. his hand slides up from your thigh, up your side until it's wrapped around your throat.

“so impatient,” he tuts, surging forward in one long, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your whole body going rigid as he splits you open, stretching you wide, forcing you to take every thick, pulsing inch.

his hand tightens around your throat, tilting your head up and forcing you to look into his eyes as you take him. a filthy squelch merges with jason’s guttural groan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours. 

“happy now, doll?” he grunts, pulling back only to roll his hips back into you again, harder.

he sets a punishing rhythm, hips driving deep and knocking the air from your lungs. jason groans under his breath, watching the way you struggle to take him. each thrust is loud and wet, the slap of skin on skin filling your bedroom. 

your mouth falls open, a silent, helpless whimper slipping past your lips. you can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t think—any chance of a coherent thought disappears as your mind goes blank. 

your moans break into choked off whimpers as he angles his hips to hit that spot that makes you see stars. your head spins, your whole body trembling as heat coils tight in your belly. your nails sink into his shoulders, legs trembling around his waist, as your orgasm crashes over you. 

it’s overwhelming as wave after wave of white-hot pleasure ripples through you. jason groans, his hand dropping from your throat and landing on your thigh as he fucks you through it—dragging out every last drop of your release until your cunt is twitching around him. 

jason isn’t far behind you. he can feel his release approaching, his cock throbbing and straining inside you with every little clench of your overstimulated cunt making his hips stutter. 

his rhythm turns desperate, frantic, as he chases his own release. with a sharp, wrecked groan, the pressure hits him all at once. his hips jerk, snapping forward one last time as he drives his cock deep—pulsing thick ropes of cum inside you, painting your walls and filling you up until you’re dripping all over the mattress.

jason’s fingers are bruising against your skin as he continues to slowly rock his hips until you’re both a wrecked, sweaty mess. one of your hands reaches up into his hair, curling into the sweat-dampened strands.

“just the tip, huh?” you tease breathlessly.

“shut up,” jason chuckles, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and gently nipping your skin.

So he started planning out the best date and time to propose to you. He probably looked a little crazy to his siblings as he set up a cork board in one of his many safe houses with ideas and dates.

Dick was the only one that thought his planning was sweet, everyone else thought he was stressing out about your answer. And maybe in a different time he would be but after three years of you staying and reassuring him that you wanted him he was sure that you would say yes.

He had the ring custom made with your anniversary etched on the inside of the band and a garnet in the center alongside two small diamonds. Dick and Roy had helped him pick it out, they argued most of the time but in they end helped, three months before he planned to propose.

There were multiple phone calls from his brother and best friend to hype him up in the two days before he planned to propose. He had outwardly scoffed at them calling him to tell him that you would obviously say yes but inwardly he appreciated the support.

When you walk out of your shared bedroom he almost gets on one knee there. You look radiant and Jason almost forgets his whole plan. He restrains himself because him proposing before dinner wasn’t planned.

First, Jason takes you to the bookshop where you met and has become a semi-frequent date spot.

It’s a small hole in the wall shop that really only people know in the upper east side know about. He knows the owner, an older woman named Meredith whose family had this shop for generations, and she was extremely excited to know that you two were getting engaged. She keeps it a secret for him but does give him a discount on the books you end up buying.

He really enjoys watching you read through the backs of books with a slight pinch between your brows. You eventually end up getting two since you couldn’t decide between them.

After you finish up at the book store he takes you a couple blocks down to an Italian restaurant that he knows is a front for the mafia but makes the best cannolis he has ever had so he lets it slide. You talk about your work, friends and anything else that comes to mind and Jason is happy to watch you talk.

When the check is dropped off by a gruff looking guy who gives Jason a knowing smile you reach for it and Jason lightly smacks your hand away from it.

“Nope.” He states simply.

“Jay-” You go to protest with a frown on your face.

“Nope!” His voice increases in volume as he takes the bill away from your hands.

You give him a huff and an eye roll before giving in. Jason feels particularly accomplished as he walks up to pay the bill.

Once the bill is settled Jason leads you back to your building and up to the roof.

He had some help decorating the roof since he was with you for most of the day. Steph and Cass had taken point on that because Steph had told him that his taste was tragic, Cass had agreed before pulling out Bruce’s credit card that she swiped off of him somehow.

“Jason.” You gasp softly at the lit up rooftop decorated with pillows and blankets for stargazing. “This is beautiful.”

He runs his hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment, “I just came up with the idea, Steph and Cass set everything up.”

You squeeze his hand softly, “You still thought of it and that’s what matters.”

Jason takes a deep breath, reaching for the ring box in his pocket. “I also have something else.”

You get a confused pinch between your brows that evens out into shock as Jason gets down on one knee.

He goes to say the long speech he had planned, the one where he told you how much you mean to him, how you love him the way he is, how you make him want to live again rather then just survive. Jason had pondered what to say for months.

But now as he look up into your shocked face and teary eyes his brain stutters to a stop.

“Please?” Jason breathes out, no other words in his mind.

“Yes.” You sob and throw yourself into his arms. “Yes! Oh my god Jay. Yes.”

Jason holds you with a smile on his face that’s so wide it hurts because you love him when he has a plan and even when he doesn’t.

You stand still for a second, your fingers tightening around the handle of your bag.

“Zoro…”

You find out fast about what happened. A group of low-level pirates, weak ones, the kind Zoro would never lose to.

Which means… he didn’t lose.

“He was captured…” a scared man tells you, shaking as you hold his collar “They used tricks… poison maybe… we don’t know…”

Your eyes go cold “Where.”

Now you stand in front of a large building near the docks.

It looks like a party hall with bright lights and even music, with men laughing around.

You cross your arms and breathe slowly.

Think.

Zoro is inside.

The crew isn't here. They're busy somewhere else, fighting something big, something important.

So this… this is on you.

You look down at your clothes… they're simple and not very noticeable, which is good.

You smile at yourself.

“Alright…” you whisper to yourself “Let’s play a little game.”

Inside, everything is loud.

There are men everywhere.

Your eyes scan the room quickly, sharp and careful.

No Zoro.

But guards… many guards.

Too many for a direct fight.

You click your tongue softly “Then we do it the other way.”

You move toward the back, where the workers are, the ones that aren't paying too much attention.

You walk slower now.

Your body relaxes, your expression changes.

You become… sweet.

A man almost bumps into you, holding a tray of drinks.

“Oh! I'm sorry!” you say quickly, your voice light and a little shy.

He blinks at you, then looks again and again.

“It is okay… I mean— no problem!” he says, suddenly very nervous.

You tilt your head just a little.

“I'm a bit lost…” you continue, softer now “I'm looking for someone. A man with green hair. Did you maybe see him?”

The man frowns, thinking “Green hair… ah… wait… yeah. I think I saw someone like that. But…”

“But?” you ask, stepping just a little closer.

His ears turn red.

“He was… not free.” the man says quietly “They took him downstairs. Storage area, maybe? Guards are there. Strong ones.”

You nod slowly, like this is just normal information “I see…”

You give him a small smile and caress his chest as you walk past him “Thank you. You are very kind.”

He almost drops the tray.

You walk away calmly, but inside your heart is beating faster.

Now you just need a way in without fighting all of them.

You stop near another group of caterers.

This time, you don't wait. You step in like you belong there.

“Excuse me,” you say, your voice gentle but clear “I was told to help downstairs. They need more hands.”

One of them looks at you, confused “Who told you?”

You don't even hesitate.

“The tall man with the scar on his face,” you answer smoothly “He looked very angry.”

They all freeze a little “…Ah. Him.”

You nod like you understand everything.

“He said if we are slow, we will regret it.” you add, lowering your voice.

That works.

Fear moves faster than logic.

“Then go, go!” one of them says quickly “Take this.”

He pushes a tray into your hands. You look down and see that there are drinks.

You walk toward the guarded stairs.

Two men stand there, they're big and armed.

They look at you but you don’t stop.

“Delivery.” you say simply.

The guard narrows his eyes the moment you step closer “We didn’t ask for anything.”

His voice is sharp and suspicious.

You stop right in front of them, carefully.

You let your shoulders relax, like you aren’t orried at all.

“I know…” you say, almost tired “But do you really want to explain to your boss why his men are standing here thirsty and unhappy?”

The second guard frowns “We are not—”

You take one small step closer.

Your fingers lightly brush his arm.

“You look tired,” you say gently “Both of you. Long night, right?”

They hesitate for a moment.

You smile at them. Behind them you see Zoro sitting inside the cell with chains and no swords. Watching.

His eye meets yours, questioning.

You don't react and he understands, but you see it in the way his jaw tightens even though he stays silent.

“Hey!” one of the guards says, trying to focus again “Answer properly. Who sent you?”

You tilt your head, then, slowly, you put the tray down on an old piece of wooden furniture beside you.

“I didn’t want to say it like this…” you murmur while your hand slides over his shoulder, light and slow.

He freezes.

“I just thought…” you continue, voice lower now, softer, “maybe you both could use something better than drinks.”

The second guard lets out a short, nervous laugh, while watching you with sudden interest.

“Better?” he repeats.

You step closer again. Now you are right between the two.

Your fingers trail over one arm… then the other.

“You are strong…” you say, looking at the bigger one “And you…” you turn to the other, smiling gently, “you have very nice eyes.”

They aren't thinking clearly anymore, you can see it.

You lean in and suddenly you wrap your arms around the bigger one.

Your cheek is almost touching his chest.

He stiffens in shock, then relaxes. Hands unsure where to go.

Behind his back your face changes completely. Your eyes move fast to look straight at Zoro, and you gesture to him to stay quiet.

Zoro stands up slowly, his expression is dark, confused and definitely angry, but he doesn’t speak.

“You know…” you say softly, still holding the guard, your fingers already working at his belt, unseen “This place is too noisy.”

The second guard steps closer “What do you mean?”

You glance at him, biting your lip just slightly.

“Maybe we should go somewhere private,” you whisper “All together.”

“…All together?” he repeats.

You nod slowly.

“Why not?” you say “It could be fun.”

That is all it takes.

“Yeah… yeah, there is a room.” one of them says quickly.

“Yeah, over there. ” the other adds pointing at a door.

You smile “Lead the way.”

As they turn your fingers close around something cold and metal… keys.

The two men move toward the room, excited, careless.

You follow just a step then you stop.

“Wait” you say softly.

They turn “What?”

You lift your hand slightly, smiling “I… have to get prepared, you know? Lady's things… no peeking or you'll ruin the surprise!”

You close the door behind them as you see them smirking at you anticipating.

Once the door is closed you walk straight to the cell.

Zoro is already at the bars watching you and burning…

You try one key… one of way too many keys.

Wrong!

Second one.

Click.

The sound is too loud.

“What was that?!”

You grin, breathless. 

The cell opens and Zoro steps out, walking way too close to you.

You jump forward and hug him tightly. Relief hits you all at once.

His hand catches you immediately so you don't fall, but he doesn’t hug you back.

You look up and freeze a little. His face is dark, his jaw tight and his eye sharp. He's obviously really mad.

“…Flirting?” he says low.

Behind you, you hear the two men getting suspicious and moving to the door.

Zoro’s grip on you tightens slightly “…We are talking about that later.”

You pull back just enough to look at him better, your lips forming a small pout immediately.

You complain softly “No ‘thank you’? No ‘you saved me’?”

Behind you…

“HEY! YOU LITTLE—”

“LIAR!”

The men are rushing toward you now, faces red, shouting all kinds of names to you.

You flinch just a little, then quickly hide your face against Zoro again, tightening your grip on him.

“They are so mean…” you mumble, voice small, almost hurt “I was nice to them…”

Zoro’s eyebrow twitches.

You cling to him more.

“And you are also scolding me,” you add, quieter now, almost sulking “after I did everything alone…”

The footsteps get closer and louder. Weapons drawn.

“I already did all the work…” you continue, your voice dropping into something tired, real this time “I am tired now…”

There is a short silence.

Then Zoro exhales and when you look up, he is smiling, but not soft and sweet, it’s actually that dangerous, sharp smile of his.

The one that means someone is about to regret something.

“…Yeah.” he mutters.

His hand shifts, steady on you. Then he gently moves you back, placing you safely behind him.

“Got it.” he says, rolling his shoulders slightly “It’s my turn now.”

You nod automatically, even if he can’t see you.

The guards charge.

“You think you can trick us and walk away?!”

“After what you did—!”

Zoro steps forward.

“You shouldn’t blame her.” he says, voice low.

They hesitate for half a second but then Zoro moves fast. The first man doesn’t even finish his step before he is on the ground. The second tries to swing but he gets blocked easily.

Zoro’s expression darkens more.

“Honestly,” he adds, almost annoyed now, “if you fall for something like that…”

Another hit and another body drops.

“…that is your problem.”

You watch from behind, arms still wrapped around yourself.

“…Yeah,” you murmur softly, a small smile forming despite everything “Totally your fault…”

One of the men tries to run but Zoro grabs him before he can and he lifts him slightly.

“You tied me up,” he says, voice colder now “and took my swords.”

The man shakes “I— we—”

Zoro drops him hard “…Your first bad decision.”

Silence falls again broken only by the quiet groans on the floor.

Zoro stands still for a second, then turns back to you.

His expression is calmer now but his eye is still sharp, still watching you closely.

“…You.” he says.

You freeze a little.

“…We are still talking about that.”

You pout again immediately.

“I saved you.” you answer.

He crosses his arms “You flirted.”

You lift your chin slightly “It worked.”

A pause.

“…Tch.”

But you see that tiny shift, that almost-smile again.

“…Come here. Let’s leave now.” he mutters.

The walk back is quiet.

You walk a few steps behind him, your hands lightly holding your own arms now. The night air feels cooler now, but the tension between you two… is worse.

Zoro doesn’t look back.

You can't stop but notice the small things, though, like the way his shoulders stay stiff.

You puff your cheeks a little.

“…He is really mad…” you whisper to yourself.

When the Thousand Sunny comes into view, the lights are still on.

And the moment you both step on deck the crew run to you.

“FINALLY!”

“Where were you two?!”

“We were supposed to leave an hour ago!”

Their voices overlap with questions coming from everywhere.

You blink, a little overwhelmed.

“We just—”

“EW!”

You stop and turn your head to Usopp as he's pointing at you both with a face twisted in pure drama.

“You are both covered in sweat…” he says, narrowing his eyes “Were you two…??”

You choke “W-What?! No—!”

“Ah~ young love!” Brook adds calmly, hands behind his back “YOHOHOHO!”

Your face burns immediately and before you can even answer, Zoro walks past them and says “…Mind your business.”

His voice is flat and cold as if he's completely uninterested, but you notice that his ears are really red.

You stand there for a second then you smile awkwardly at the crew, waving your hands quickly.

“Not at all! Enemies!” you say fast while throwing a few small punches in the air “Fight! Big fight! Very dangerous!”

They all stare at you in silence.

“…Right…” Nami says slowly.

You don't wait. You turn and hurry after Zoro.

Once you're away from the others you call him softly “…Hey….”

No answer.

You step closer “…Are you mad at me?”

He keeps walking for a few seconds then he stops but he doesn’t turn.

“…Zoro…”

You shift a little, unsure now.

“I had to do that…” you start, voice softer “There were too many of them. I couldn't fight all of them alone and also find you and—”

“I know.” he cuts you off so easily but still not looking at you.

“…Then why are you—”

“Doesn’t mean I like it.”

His voice is low but there is something under it. Something tight.

You hesitate. Then try again, a little more carefully.

“I was just pretending,” you say “it didn't mean anything. It was just to trick them so I could free you.”

No answer, not even a small one.

You frown slightly then tilt your head “…Are you… jealous?”

You try to make the air lighter with some teasing and a small smile.

But nothing… no reaction… not even a sound.

Zoro walks a few steps more and then he drops down to the ground like he’s done. One arm behind his head and then the other.

He closes his eye ignoring you.

Your mouth opens “…Seriously?”

You cross your arms “That's it?”

No answer.

You let out a small, frustrated sound as you sit down next to him.

Close but not touching.

“Zoro…” you try again.

Softer now.

“I wasn’t enjoying it.” you say “It was annoying. They were annoying.”

He doesn’t move.

“I only thought about getting to you,” you continue, quieter “That’s all.”

Still nothing.

You glance at him, at his face and at how calm he pretends to be.

You lean a little closer.

“…You know I wouldn't choose them over you, right?”

The wind moves softly around you both.

“…And you’re the only one I’d do something that stupid for.” you add, almost mumbling now.

There's a small shift.

You smile a little.

“…Also,” you add, trying again, lighter now, “if I really wanted to have fun, I wouldn’t pick them.”

Then he finally moves “…Tch.”

You grin a little wider, leaning back on your hands “…So you are jealous.”

This time he opens his eye slightly, enough to look at you. Still a little annoyed.

“…Keep talking,” he mutters, “and I will go back and let them capture me again.”

You laugh softly and stretch your arms a little, then glance at him from the side as asmall smile forms on your lips.

“So?” you say lightly.

He doesn’t react but you lean closer anyway.

“No kiss for your saviour?”

And before he can answer, you close your eyes, tilt your face and your lips slightly puckered, waiting.

There’s a small sound from him “…Tch.”

Soft, like he’s tired.

You wait.

…Nothing.

Your brows pinch slightly and slowly when you feel his body move, you open one eye, then the other.

His face turned the opposite way, looking anywhere but at you, like you aren’t even there.

You blink then pout “…Rude.”

Without asking you shift carefully and drop your head onto his lap, looking up at him now.

That gets his attention and his eye moves down to you immediately, finally.

You smile, soft and a little teasing.

“You know?” you say quietly “As much as you pretend…”

You tilt your head just a little against him “…your blush always gives you away.”

A soft laugh leaves your lips.

He freezes for a second then his gaze sharpens slightly but he doesn’t look away this time.

Slowly his hand lifts and he places his rough fingers against your cheek. Warm and gentle. His thumb brushes lightly over your skin.

You go still, just watching him now.

“…Don’t do that ever again.” he says.

His voice is low and serious, “I’d rather die.”

You blink.

Then you laugh softly, a little surprised.

“Wow…” you murmur “You're that jealous?”

“…Tch.” he pushes your head lightly like he’s one with you.

You let out a small sound, then sit up again, fixing your balance “Hey!”

“Idiot…” he mutters.

You pause and smile. You lean in again a little.

“Kiss?” you ask, quieter this time.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he moves, leaning toward you… and then he kisses you.

It’s… warm.

When he pulls back, slightly, you’re still close enough to feel his breath.

“…Next time,” he murmurs, voice low, “there won't be a next time.”

You smile “…Where’s the fun in that?”

“…Tch.”