I’m Honey and I write silly little stories. IRL, I am a law student so please be patient with updates or if I disappear for months at a time.
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You can also find me on ao3 @honeybeebeeeight
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I write from a female/AFAB or gender neutral perspective majority of the time and try my hardest to make it race/ethnicity neutral. PLEASE let me know if I fail at confronting my own biases. If you would like a male, trans, certain religion/race/etc reader, please let me know in the request! I will do as much research as I can to ensure I am effectively honoring you.
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hi!! love your writing!! could you make a fic where reader is damian's teacher and one of the batfam boys (bruce, jason, dick, tim, etc) is in a relationship or smth with the reader?? it could be fluff, angst, smut idrc :))
thank you!!
Requested? Yes, actually. I do write requests after 70 years, thank yew.
Synopsis: Being a teacher is a higher calling, but when Damian Wayne gets in a schoolyard fight, you have to call someone even more powerful than you.
not titans verse, he's just hot
Mobile Masterlist
There comes a time in every teacher’s career when they have to deal with, frankly, an asshole kid.
Sure, you felt a bit bad about calling a child an asshole, but Ryan Barney was the epitome of an asshole, even at twelve. He constantly disrupted class, broke every rule, and openly disrespected you on the daily. The worst part was that any and every attempt to discipline him just resulted in his rich parents coming in to scream at you and demand your job. Which meant you gave up trying to get him to behave and just tried to work around his disruptive behavior.
But it was a wonder that you hadn’t been fired, but that probably had to do with your ally in the youngest Wayne child. Damian was a quiet, sullen child when he started the year. But he loved science and genuinely enjoyed the labs you set up. When you noticed that he didn’t warm up to many of the other kids and didn’t have any friends, you started to take him under your wing. He was one of the only people who helped you with Rosie, the class pet snake. Slowly, over time, he started eating lunch in your classroom rather than sitting alone.
“I just don’t understand why,” Damian whined.
Your chopsticks paused in mid-air, hovering over the container of leftover Chinese food you brought as lunch, and you stared at him with a blank expression. “You don’t understand why you can’t pour crickets in his backpack?”
“They wouldn’t be alive,” he protested. “I’m not a monster.”
“No crickets. Dead or alive.” You pointed your chopsticks at him. “I really don’t want to make a phone call to Bruce Wayne about your behavior.”
“Father is away on business trips these days,” Damian sniffed. “If you must call, please call one of my brothers.”
“I’d rather not call anyone! Please, please, for my last vestiges of sanity, do not make me call anyone.”
That little shit lasted two days before he forced your hand. It wasn’t crickets (the idea of defacing insects, even dead ones, was too much for his bleeding heart), but rather a classic schoolyard brawl that started with Ryan shoving Damian’s face into the dirt and ended with Damian calmly walking directly to your classroom as blood streamed from Ryan’s broken nose.
Ryan was fine, of course. Scared shitless and bawling big, fat tears as he screamed and cried for Damian to be expelled and criminally charged. Principal Donohue ushered him quickly into the office to placate him and the enraged Barney parents, but Donohue had issued a quick order over his shoulder to you.
“Call Wayne,” he snapped.
So that brought you to now, phone pressed to your ear, and a very bemused twelve year old sat across from you. He didn’t look remorseful one bit, and frankly? You weren’t all that mad at him. Ryan had crossed a line today with his disrespect yesterday when he insinuated some things about your education and possible sexual activities in pursuit of said degree. You were used to tuning him out, but Damian had taken umbrage.
Serious umbrage.
Karate kid his ass level of umbrage.
“Stop smiling,” you hissed. That only made his smile grow wider. The little shit.
Damian Wayne was a little shit, but he wasn’t a liar. The line rang and rang until you heard the smooth, perfunctory greeting of, “This is Bruce Wayne’s personal line. I apologize for missing your call and it is important to me, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks.”
“Richie McRich type fucking voicemail,” you hissed as you slammed your phone down in the cradle and quickly scanned for the next phone number on the emergency contact list. The second your eye caught on one, you punched it into the dialpad and lifted the receiver to your ear once more.
“I’d like to point out that I didn’t start the fight,” Damian said coolly. You pointed a pen at him and then mimed slicing it across your throat. Any other kid would have you fired, but Damian merely smirked.
“Hi, is this…” Your eyes scanned the screen when you realized you never actually checked who you would be calling. “Richard Grayson?”
“Dick,” Damian chimed in.
“Holy shit, kid, you are on such thin ice right now. I don’t think you’re in any state to be calling people names right now,” you immediately retorted. Because you were a grown up, you didn’t stick your tongue out at him, but you were close.
“No,” the warm voice on the other end of the line chuckled. “That’s my name. You can call me Dick. Damian doesn’t but he probably wanted to mess with you.”
Oh.
Well this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“I am so sorry you heard that, Ric-. Mr. Richard. Mr. Grayson. Mr. Dick Grayson.” A pained laugh escaped you. “How do you even get Dick out of Richard in the first place?”
Your hand slapped down on the surface of the desk and your forehead hit the laminated faux wood with a dull thud. A bright, delighted laugh sounded in your ear and you let out a pathetic whimper.
“Just kill me now and be done with it,” you muttered. You lifted your head off the desk and let it fall down slowly once more.
“Do you want to try and start over?” he asked, not unkindly. Bemusement tinged his voice and you genuinely considered moving to Antarctica. You inhaled deeply and plastered on your Teacher Voice before starting again.
“Hi, I’m calling from Gotham Academy because of an incident between Damian and another student.”
All the humor dropped from his voice. “Is he okay?”
“Damian’s fine. I tried calling Mr. Wayne but it went to voicemail and this seems like more of a time sensitive situation. Would you be able to come to the school?”
You heard rustling on the other end of the line and then, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Can I talk to him really quick?”
Damian must have heard him because his smug smile dropped. He extended his hand toward you and you hesitated, your eyes narrowing. Listen, you were relatively new to Gotham and didn’t keep up with the gossip rags.
But you didn’t like the look in Damian’s eyes.
“Can you hold for a second, Mr. Grayson?” You didn’t bother waiting for an answer and laid the receiver down and leaned in so Damian was forced to look you in the eyes.
“Damian, are you okay with Mr. Grayson coming? Should I have called someone else? Do you want me to try your father again?”
“No!” Damian shook his head. “Richard is fine. I just…I promised him I wouldn’t fight. And I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.”
Your heart sank at how small he looked in the chair across from your desk. “I’ll go to bat for you. I saw Ryan shove you and you were defending yourself. I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time to break you two up.”
“It’s not your fault. I know better.”
“Hey,” your voice softened. “Damian, you’re still just a kid. And kids do stupid, dumb stuff sometimes. I could tell you a million stupid things I did in school. But you have a good heart. I can tell that by the way you are great with every pet I have, and the way you help the kids who are struggling in class, and even the way you stood up for me, which you should not have done, by the way. But that’s a conversation for another day.
What I’m trying to say, Damian, is that I think your family is proud to know that you have a kind heart, even if you show it in dumb ways.”
His shoulders lifted a bit and you offered him a gentle smile before you nudged the phone towards him. He lifted the receiver up and you took that as a chance to step away from your desk and to go check on the class pets.
True to his word, Dick Grayson arrived at Gotham Academy in twenty-eight minutes, to be precise. Perfect timing, frankly, because you were currently in a battle against Principal Donohue, Theodore Barney, and Dezelma Barney.
And you were losing.
“No, you are not going to talk to Damian without a parent or guardian present. You are certainly not going to talk to him without me present.” You kept one arm behind you, wrapped around Damian who was peeking out around your back to look up at the towering figures of the Barney’s.
“This is highly improper,” Principal Donohue admonished. “Mr. and Mrs. Barney just want to talk to Damian so we can get this situation sorted out.”
“You’ll have to fire me and arrest me before I let you talk to a kid, a minor child, in a room all alone. Absolutely not.”
“That can be arranged,” Teddy Barney snapped.
“He hurt my son. Don’t you understand that we just want to understand why he would do such an awful thing?”
“I can tell you why. You’re son instigated him and insulted him. He shoved his face in the dirt and tried to get him to eat it. Your kid needs to learn some manners.” Goodbye, well-paid teacher job. Goodbye, good healthcare benefits. It’s been nice knowing you, but you just demolished those in once fell swoop.
“How dare you?” Mrs. Barney thundered. Her face turned a deep crimson shade and she lifted her hand as if to strike you.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Slow, heavy footsteps seemed to echo through the hall. You glanced away from the Barney’s to find a very attractive, very muscular man walking towards the crowd in the hallway. His broad shoulders bristled at the sight of Demelza’s raised hand and he pushed his way between you and her in an instant, his broad shoulders acting as a barrier.
“Mr. Grayson,” Principal Donohue said calmly. “I was expecting your father to show up later.”
“Bruce is in Monaco,” Richard-not-Richard-actually-Dick said. “Sorry, but you got me sooner. Good thing since you were fully prepared to let my brother’s teacher get assaulted.”
“Assaulted?!” Demelza’s voice raised to another pitch, if that was even possible. “Why, I would never!”
“You’ve paid off two nannies so they wouldn’t go public about you hitting them.” A shark-like grin emerged from his previously stony expression. “Isn’t that right, Demi?”
“Mr. Grayson, this seems to be all one big misunderstanding. Damian and Ryan had a bit of a fight earlier today and it’s evolved into a big hubbub,” Donohue placated. Dick (holy shit hot) Grayson scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, emphasizing the bulge of his biceps.
They looked biteable.
“From what I know, Ryan Barney is a disrespectful brat who insults his classmates and his teachers alike. He is rude, cruel, and violates every rule and standard in the Gotham Academy handbook. Numerous witnesses state that Ryan shoved Damian into the grass and humiliated him.”
Dick paused and looked back at you.
At. You.
He had really blue eyes.
Like, brilliant blue eyes. And when they met yours, you found yourself frozen as he studied you. He tore his gaze away and looked down at where his little brother had planted himself firmly at your side, despite your best efforts to shield him.
“I taught Damian that we don’t start fights, but we do finish them. Especially when bullies start the fight. My brother did what I taught him and what my father taught us both. He’s a good kid with a kind heart, and I’m proud of him for standing up against someone who thinks they can get away with being an asshole just because they have money and power.”
“And may I remind you, Heather.” His attention turned to Donohue. “That the Wayne family has provided the greatest endowment to this school and we can just as easily take it away. Just like that.” He snapped and then smirked. “As quickly as I will dismantle any dreams the Barney’s had at winning office. So I want your resignation letter sent to the board by tomorrow evening. Am I understood?”
He turned and settled his hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you away from the chaos that just happened. Damian followed along like a little puppy, but you were too stunned to say anything about his suddenly docile nature. It wasn’t until the sun hit your face that you snapped out of the shock-induced reverie you had been in.
“What the fuck just happened?” A hysterical laugh escaped you. “Am I fired?”
“No.” Dick Grayson let his hand fall from your back. “In fact, how would you like a pay raise?”
“This is a dream,” you said. “I took too many melatonin gummies by accident and this is a dream. I don’t know if it’s a nightmare yet.”
He huffed out a laugh and nudged Damian. “Go call Bruce, let him know you’re okay. And tell him the Barneys are dead to us and you’ll need a new principal.”
You watched as Damian perched on one of the retaining walls on the outside of the school and fished a cellphone (that he should not have on him at school but you were too tired to start another argument with him today) out of his pocket. A breeze washed over your skin and you shuddered.
That had been surreal.
“Thank you.” Warm fabric draped over your shoulders and you looked down to find the same jacket Dick Grayson had just been wearing adorning your body. His hand gently brushed against your shoulders and then he pulled away, taking some of the warmth that had enveloped you.
“I’m sorry?” You were still trying to get your head clear.
“For taking care of him. For believing in him. And for being kind to him.” Sadness flickered in his eyes. “Damian didn’t have the easiest time growing up and I tried my best, but sometimes I’m worried I failed him.”
“He’s a good kid. He really is. He’s a pain in my ass, but he’s…he’s funny and smart and he cares so deeply. I think he’s also really lucky to have someone in his corner who would fight for him the way you just did.”
He studied you, those blue eyes searing straight into your soul the longer he looked at you. Strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead in an unkempt, boyish way that made you want to reach out and brush them out of his eyes. A small smile tugged at his full lips.
“Guess that makes two of us. I thought you were going to swing at her for a second.”
You snorted. “I might have if you hadn’t shown up. I think I have a pretty mean right hook.”
He laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.” Damian started bounding back towards you and Dick sighed. “I’m going to pull him for the rest of the day. I think he deserves a break.”
“Smart. I’ll let his other teachers know.”
“Thanks again.” He started to walk down the stairs to meet Damian when you realized something.
“Wait! Your jacket.”
He turned around, walking backwards, and grinned. “Keep it. You can give it back to me later.”
“Later?”
Dick Grayson shrugged. “You’ve got my number.”
“Later, like a date?”
He winked. “Maybe I can show you how to get Dick out of Richard.”
⋆˙⟡ cw: use of gendered language, sorry I just needed to write soft lovesick & a little possessive husband zuko (also MDNI)
You simply needed a moment from the overwhelming nature of the banquet. Now you’re grateful for the view among the balcony here overlooking the Fire Nation capital. The soft peaceful breeze, the twinkling lanterns and then the stars shining above - it’s a beautiful night.
Yet, you know you should head back inside. Inhaling deep, you ready yourself to return to the endless small talk.
“Leaving someone as lovely as you all alone… your chaperone for this evening should be punished.” The smooth as lotus wine voice emerges from thin air sending a chill up your spine.
Fire Lord Zuko steps out like an ancient celestial among the moonlight. The way his long lush hair cascades around him dressed in the royal armor… he’s an artist’s dream. Especially as amusement dances in his golden eyes.
An amused grin now tugs at your lips.
“Don’t mind me, Fire Lord. I simply needed a minute alone. And besides, my poor chaperone is a very busy man, no need for punishment.” You reply bowing your head slightly, polite and recognizing the status before you.
His lips twitch but it’s cut short with how sadness manages to quickly trickle into his eyes.
“Must be a foolish busy man to leave you alone then.” His voice is composed now.
“I could… have him taken care of.” He hints with a deeper suggestive voice trying to sound threatening, but it only makes you laugh.
Shaking your head you grin bigger as you stare so in awe of the silly yet serious man before you.
“You’re too kind, Lord Zuko. But I’m rather protective of my chaperone. So no need for hiring a hitman, no matter how good the deal you would get.” You reply.
His lips fight against a grin and he’s never looked beautiful.
Then, your gaze returns back to the sky.
“The stars are so beautiful tonight.” You admire moving to lean against the balcony’s railing.
“They are,” the Fire Lord agrees as his footsteps approach you.
And when you turn to glance back at him, you discover his eyes only watch you.
He leans beside you so close. The wind flutters his hair against his face and before he can move to brush it away, you do it for him. Gentle and tender you draw the soft strand away and tuck it back into place. It so happens to be on the same side of his scar. You can’t help but let your touch linger against his cheek.
Before you can pull away, the firebending master, with his ridiculous sharp reflexes, grabs your hand keeping you close. Immediately he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as your hand effortlessly melts to cradle his face.
“I’m sorry if this night has been a lot.” He mutters soft, apologetic.
“Don’t be.” You reassure. “There’s no place I’d rather be than here.”
Those lovely eyes of his open again, molten and speaking with a depth that you understand. Slowly you lean forward while also drawing him to you. He moves eagerly, willingly.
His breath washes over you and, feeling greedy, you ache already to kiss him. Unfortunately, a royal guard emerges quickly from the banquet hall breaking your little moment.
“My lord, my lady, I apologize-” he quickly stammers knowing he stumbled upon a private intimate moment.
Instead of the composed and regal Fire Lord before you, the annoyed and dramatic sigh that comes from the Fire Nation’s ruler is one you cherish more than ever. It’s simply Zuko. He even turns to glare at the poor guard who stammers petrified, unable to speak.
“It’s alright. We were just getting some air. We’ll be inside soon.” You alert the soldier with a casual smile, diffusing the tension as best as you can.
The guard sighs thankful for your understanding, then bows before scurrying away. Your Zuko only huffs annoyed more than ever.
“Behave.” Your tone turns soft, soothing, as you rub gentle circles against his strong chest.
“I can’t even enjoy a moment with my wife at these things, what’s the point?” Zuko glowers, a reminder of the slightly petulant prince that might always be with him. It makes you smirk so fond and in love.
You lean forward, unable to stop yourself and finally claim a kiss. Instantly his strong arms curl you closer to him, and you immediately melt within his eternal warmth.
“Sorry… haven’t been a good chaperone or husband tonight.” He mutters against your lips, curling you tighter into his hold like he’s trying to apologize with his touch.
“You’re not a bad husband, just a busy one.” You comfort him again through another kiss.
“Besides,” you add playfully. “I know a way how you can be a very good husband later tonight-”
“Behave.” He cuts you off, mirroring your own words back to you, and you snicker against his lips.
But then Zuko kisses you again, a slow syrupy type of passion that sinks right into your bones and has all your thoughts floating away.
“Come on,” Your Fire Lord mumbles against your lips now. “I saw that earth kingdom noble making eyes at you… I need to remind him who your husband is.”
“You mean my chaperone.” You tease once more, unable to help it.
“Husband.” He corrects with a low commanding tone that captures your heart and makes you lean forward to kiss him once more.
And now deciding to be the playful one, Zuko steps away releasing you from his embrace leaving you a bit stunned. Huffing, you glare at him and playfully swat at his shoulder. He smirks, coy and proud, so annoyingly handsome.
Yet effortlessly, your husband pulls you to his side. Sliding your hand into the crook of his strong arm, it’s a protective and steady hold, a reassurance that promises you and him will face whatever it is together. You welcome it wholeheartedly.
“Let’s go, my lady.” Zuko softly smiles, adjusting the crown you wear. The stars seem to dance within his golden eyes finding a home within his warmth.
It really is a beautiful night tonight.
divider/banner credit to the ever talented & wonderful @saradika-graphics
The Fire Lord and the Seamstress (5) // Zuko x f!reader
Chapter Synopsis: An insomniac Fire Lord, a cat, and a promise.
Series Masterlist (if you would like me to make a tag list, pls let me know!)
Years ago, before Ozai, cats roamed the Fire Nation palace.
The slow and steady removal of these cats began under Azulon’s rule, Ozai took a special pleasure in banning cats from the palace. If anyone saw one, they were to trap the cat and either send it out of the palace or kill it. As Zuko grew older, he saw less and less cats in the palace.
But there was one. A small, scraggly gray cat with a pitiful meow.
It hid from everyone else, but would always slink out of the shadows when he was sitting in the garden. The first time they met, the cat sniffed his hand and promptly plopped into his lap. He froze, unsure as to what to do and if he should tell the gardner, when the cat started purring.
A few minutes later, a servant girl about his age came running into the garden. She froze at the sight of him and immediately dropped into a low bow, the long sleeves of her worn gown dragging along the stones.
“Forgive me, sir. I was merely looking for something. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she stammered out.
The cat in his lap let out a content chirp and stretched. Her head raised in surprise and her eyes widened at the sight of the furball sitting in his lap. The girl gasped, her eyes wide with horror as the pieces started to fall into place.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll remove him from the palace, I promise.” The cat butted its head against his hand, demanding more pets. Zuko slowly laid his hand on the cat’s head and dragged his hands (hands that could hurt this cat in seconds if he wanted to, just like his father, just like Azula) across its little back. The cat huffed in contentment and snuggled closer.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
The girl stared at him like had grown three heads. Everyone knew the palace edict. Animals were gross, unsightly, and ill-behaved, claimed Ozai. They were not allowed in the palace unless confined to the pond.
“I-I’m so sorry. Please, I’ll get rid of him, but please don’t hurt him.” Him, he noted. Not me. This girl cared more about the cat than the punishment she would receive for hiding a cat when she knew she shouldn’t be.
“I said I won’t tell anyone,” he snapped. He felt bad the second he saw her flinch, but servants knew better than to speak without being spoken to. A sharp pain shot through his hand and he looked down to find the cat’s paw pressed against his hand, sharp claws digging into his skin. Alright. Message received.
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
The girl nodded hastily and the claws retracted. Well, maybe he deserved that then. The cat lazily licked his hand once and then nimbly hopped out of his lap, curled its tail around his wrist as a final farewell, and then trotted over to the girl. She gathered the cat into her arms, bowed deeply once more, and then fled out of the garden.
The cat joined him in the garden frequently and disappeared just as quickly as it came. He never saw the girl again.
He was banished a month later.
Zuko had been away from the palace for years and sometimes, living here again, he found himself haunted by the ghosts that lingered in the halls and rooms. Nights like tonight, he found himself becoming one with the ghosts and wandering the halls. He walked as quietly as he could, not wanting to alert someone who would wake an aide and send the palace in a frenzy because no one was actively attending to his every need at that very moment. It doesn’t help that another attempt had been made on his life two nights ago. Only a few people in the palace knew so as to weed out any moles and to keep worry at bay.
He was exhausted and yet he couldn’t sleep.
Sometimes, like now, he missed the days sleeping outside under the stars with Sokka snoring to his right and Toph kicking him from the left.
He missed his friends.
His feet carried him down the hall and he paused when he came across a man dusting the sconces on the wall. Zuko recalled what you said about the lower level servants and how they worked when and where people couldn’t see them. He cleared his throat and the man jumped. When the man turned and saw who it was, he bowed so quickly he almost whacked his head on the sconce.
“My lord!” he squeaked out. “I didn’t hear you, I apologize.”
“No apologies necessary. I’m sorry I scared you. I was just wondering if you could direct me to the kitchen? I’d like some tea.”
“I can have some made for you and have it sent up in no time, my lord.”
See, that’s exactly what he didn’t want. Zuko grimaced and the man blanched. “Or I could make you tea right now, my lord!”
“No, no, it’s fine. I can make it myself. I just…it’s been a while since I was down there. I’m worried I’d get lost and make the palace panic.”
The man nodded, brows still furrowed in confusion, but held his arm out. “If you follow me, I can show you.”
“Thank you…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Rafiq, my lord.”
Zuko nodded as he walked alongside him. “And how long have you worked here, Rafiq?”
It wasn’t a long walk down the staircase that was tucked behind two columns, but there were many steps. It was clear when they passed the first level of the lower parts of the palace, because there was a sharp decrease in lit torches along the wall, and the cold intensified. As the stairs grew more narrow and leveled out into a dank, dark hallway, Rafiq took the lead. He easily stepped past the wooden buckets and mops that lined the halls, the piles of dirty linens that needed to be collected, and the occasional children’s toy that littered the floor. Zuko stumbled a few times and considered lighting his hand to see better, but thought better of it. Firstly, many people down here were sleeping and needed the darkness. Secondly, the memory of the look in your eyes when he used fire in front of you was always a stark reminder of what the servants endured under Ozai’s rule.
The light grew and the hallway began to expand. Rafiq poked his head around the corner of the wall and spoke your name quietly.
The kitchen sat off from a common area where many people worked during the day. A fire rested in the hearth on the far wall, but its embers were dying and the minimal heat it provided was fading fast. A few tables cluttered the room with various wooden chairs and there you sat, fabric and needle in hand. Your head raised at the sound of Rafiq’s voice and you made to stand when you saw who sat beside him, but Zuko raised his hand to dissuade you.
“The Fire Lord would like some tea,” Rafiq explained.
“Thank you. I can handle it.”
Rafiq bowed low to Zuko and then scurried away, presumably back upstairs. You set the swath of fabric down on the table beside you, your hand falling to gently card through the soft fur of the cat curled up in your lap. The cat snuffled against your hand and let out a soft chuff at the affection.
Zuko couldn’t stop staring at the much larger, but still scraggly gray cat. It blinked open its golden eyes and stared at him with an unimpressed look on its face.
“Cinder, don’t be rude,” you chastised the cat. Gently, you scooped the cat up with both hands and gently laid the ball of fur on the table before standing. “Tea, my lord?”
“I can make it,” he immediately replied, his eyes never leaving the cat that was now licking its paw. You huffed out a quiet laugh and shook your head.
“What is with you Fire Nation nobles and refusing to let me make you tea?” You didn’t wait for his response and headed towards the kitchen, your long skirts swirling around your feet. The cat gave him a lazy, slow blink and then went back to grooming itself.
“You look tired, my lord,” you said over your shoulder as you began brewing fresh water. “Chamomile tea will help.”
“Thank you.” He suddenly felt lost, as if stranded in a foreign place with no map. He stood, dumbly, in the middle of this cold and unfamiliar room, while a cat stared at him like he was a mere intruder rather than a ruler of a nation.
“Sit,” you instructed. “Cinder has an attitude, but he won’t bite.”
He complied easily with your direction and glanced warily at the cat. Slowly, his hand inched out until he touched soft fur. Cinder watched his slow movements, but made no effort to move except for a lazy flick of a tail. Nearly six years had passed and yet he knew in his heart that it was the same cat.
“Cinder,” he repeated to himself.
“I didn’t name him,” you chuckled. “He’s been wandering around the palace for a few years now. We broke the rules to keep him hidden, I won’t lie.”
“I know,” he murmured quietly enough so you couldn’t hear.
You returned with a steaming cup of tea that you set in front of him. You silently took your seat once more and gathered your sewing into your hands, the thread slipping expertly across your calloused fingertips as you pulled the needle through. Silence enveloped the two of you aside from the tiniest crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.
“Is it always so cold down here?” Zuko asked.
“Only at night,” you explained. “When the kitchen is at full use, it can be sweltering, especially during the summer.”
“And during the winter?” His question was met by the thinning of your lips into a tight, pursed expression. You shrugged and kept sewing. It was the early days of autumn and while the Fire Nation didn’t get freezing cold like the Northern and Southern Water Tribes, it certainly could snow in the capital. He stood and walked over to the hearth, holding his hands out so he could send a blast of flames onto the smoldering wood, reigniting the fire. It would do little to ward off the chill that blanketed the whole lower level, but it provided a decent amount of warmth in this common room.
“There was another attempt on my life,” he admitted with his back still turned. Slowly, he made his way back to his seat and stared down at the cup of tea.
“You trust your guards, don’t you?”
“We have no reason to suspect sympathizers among the guards,” he said robotically as if he were reading off a palace missive. “They are efficiently trained and effectively eliminate threats.”
“But do you feel like they’re doing their job to the point where you can effectively do yours?” You raised your brows and tilted your head to the side, the question clear in your voice.
“They’re doing their best.”
“My lord…do you have anyone you can ask to come stay for a bit that you trust? Someone you know would be able to help you get a few steps ahead of those plotting against you? You traveled with the Avatar, right? Surely you must know someone.”
Zuko considered it for a moment and then his tired eyes brightened just a little. “I do.”
A smile curved along your lips. “Good.” You reached out to scratch under Cinder’s chin. The sleeve of your robe caught on the edge of the table and pulled the fabric up to your elbow. A thick, puckered scar was on your forearm. No, he realized with a second glance...
There were five distinct scars in the shape of fingers.
A firebender had burned you. Had grabbed your arm and held you as they willed flames to rise from their soul to sear into your flesh. He knew the agony of a burn like that. He knew it intimately. Bile rose in his throat as realization set in. The reason servants were ordered to wear such long robes. The fear in your eyes when someone bent fire in front of you. Rage simmered in his chest as he thought about what other scars had been inflicted upon you.
You abruptly yanked your arm out of view and let your sleeve cover it again, but he couldn’t stop staring at where those scars had lingered in full view. Aang and Iroh both cautioned him about his explosive anger, and he was using every part of his body to hold in the rage that wanted to boil out from under his skin.
“Does it still hurt?” he finally asked. You instinctively pulled your arm to your chest, as if cradling it, and shook your head. Then you hesitated and shrugged.
“Does yours?” The impudence of the question made you gasp the second you asked it, and you hurried to apologize. Zuko swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat and then nodded.
“Sometimes. When I get headaches, it hurts more. And when it gets really cold and dry in the air. Yoshi has a salve to help with the tightness of the skin.”
“Yes. Yes, I know.” You couldn’t look at him and he couldn’t understand why. Was it shame? Hate? Your fingers traced along the fabric of your sleeve and he tracked the motion, watching as you traced the edges of the burn hidden beneath. How many times had he done the same while staring at a mirror?
“Are they still in the palace?”
His question broke you out of your thoughts and you finally raised your head to meet his gaze. Your brows knitted in confusion and he nodded towards your arm.
“The person who did this to you. Are they still in the palace?”
“No. They left after you took power.”
That brought more questions to mind, but he pushed them aside for now. He had only one more question he wanted answered at this moment.
“If they ever step foot in this palace, will you tell me?” He hoped that it didn’t show on his face how utterly furious he was. Not at you. Never with you. His question was a loaded one. If the person who hurt you returned, would you let me handle it? Would you let me bring justice? Do you trust me to do that?
You spent five years under the rule of a vicious, cruel man and his equally cruel daughter, and now his son sat across from you and asked you to trust him. You had only been at the palace two months before the prince was banished, and you had only seen him in person that one time.
Cinder meowed in protest at being neglected (read: not having been pet in three minutes) and both you and the Fire Lord reached out to remedy his complaint. Your fingers stroked along the soft fur on Cinder’s head and you looked up at the fire crackling in the hearth, warm and gentle.
But first! We must thoroughly understand this man's fractured and devastated sense of self. Only then can we truly appreciate how connected he feels to her while finger-banging the soul from her body.
buffering
dick grayson x reader | fluff, suggestive
summary: aftercare with dick after a long night that leaves you a little out of it and him very smug (wc: 0.9k).
Dick says something, and you know this because his mouth moves, sound comes out, and he's looking at you with that patient little tilt of his head. The words themselves, however, fail to make it through the pleasant static filling your skull.
"Hm?" you manage.
"Do you want water?"
You blink at him. This time, the question filters through the haze in scrambled pieces, but you decide you’ve got the general idea and answer with complete sincerity.
"Tomorrow."
There’s a beat of silence, and Dick goes very still.
You frown. Something about his expression isn't right. He's staring at you with his mouth pressed shut and eyes wide, like he's holding something in. You can't figure out what, because your brain is still running at half speed and—
Dick breaks. He folds forward laughing, one hand braced on the mattress, the other covering his mouth, trying and failing to be kind about this. His shoulders shake helplessly, head dropping as the sound spills out of him bright and full and impossible not to love.
Then it clicks.
Oh no.
"No, because I meant yes," you say quickly. "I meant yes now. Right now."
"Right now?" he asks. "You sure? Don't want to sleep on it?"
“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.
He’s still laughing when he gently pulls them away, eyes shining.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m never letting that go.”
"That was a vulnerable moment for me."
"It was a historic moment for me."
You glare at him, but it isn't as intimidating as you think, because his grin only sharpens.
"Okay, okay," he says, holding up three fingers. "How many?"
You stare at him. "You're not serious."
"I asked you a yes or no question and you said tomorrow. I'm doing my due diligence.”
"Three, you absolute—"
"Good. What's your name?"
You tell him, flatly.
"What year is it?"
"The year I become single if you keep this up."
He ignores that completely. "Who's the mayor of Blüdhaven?"
You open your mouth, but pause for just a fraction too long.
Dick doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to.
"I know the answer," you insist. "I was going to say it."
"Sure you were."
"You did this to me." You point at him, accusatory. "This is your fault."
"I accept full responsibility." He bites down on his lip, voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face. "I am genuinely so proud right now."
You exhale, sinking deeper into the mattress, and your exhaustion must show, because he quiets at once and his expression softens.
He leans in close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “C’mere, beautiful.”
His hand slides behind your neck as he helps you sit up against him. The movement makes your limbs feel like wet sand, heavy and uncooperative.
"Easy," he murmurs.
He steadies you, one arm around your waist while the other reaches for the water bottle already waiting on the nightstand and brings it to your lips, and you drink obediently. The cold water hits your tongue and you actually sigh.
"There you go,” he says quietly, thumb brushing once at the base of your neck.
You hum, barely, and he presses a kiss to your temple. He reaches for the nightstand again and grabs a granola bar, unwrapping it and breaking off a piece before holding it up expectantly.
"I can feed myself."
"Can you?"
You open your mouth, and he places the bite on your tongue with a small smirk.
"That's what I thought," he says, but it's gentle.
You lightly flick at his bicep, and he only feeds you another piece.
The room glows amber from the bedside lamp. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the air still warm, the mattress dipping where he sits close beside you. Your body feels pleasantly overused, every muscle loose and humming.
Dick watches your face as you chew slowly, then swallow.
"Sore?" he asks, voice low.
You shake your head. "Just sleepy.”
He studies you for another second anyway, checking for anything you're not saying.
“You sure?”
"Promise," you reply with a little smile.
His expression eases. He sets the granola bar aside and shifts behind you, drawing you fully into him until your back rests against his chest. The blanket comes up around both of you, tucked under your arms with absent practice.
"Proud of you," he murmurs.
You huff out a laugh. "For what?"
"Persevering through adversity."
"You're unbearable."
"And yet," he says, "still your favorite."
You're too tired to deny it properly. His hand slips beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, palm warm and grounding. The other traces slow shapes against your arm: circles, lines, little absent patterns that make your eyelids heavier by the second.
Beneath your ear, his heartbeat knocks steady and sure.
"You know," you mumble, words starting to slur, "if you tell anyone about this, I'll deny everything."
"Wouldn't dream of it. I'll just treasure the memory forever."
"That's somehow worse."
He tucks his head over yours, and you let your heavy lids fall over your eyes, body sinking deeper into him. His fingers keep moving soothingly over your skin.
Just before sleep takes you, he speaks into your hair.
"Tomorrow," he repeats fondly.
You groan weakly, and his soft laugh follows you under.
The Fire Lord and the Seamstress (4) // Zuko x f!reader
Chapter Synopsis: A palace visitor comes by the kitchen and asks for some tea.
Series Masterlist
“It hurts!”
You shut your eyes and sucked in a deep breath before slowly exhaling in an attempt to find some inner peace. Eun-ji wiggled in her seat and you had half the mind to pinch her ear, like your mother did to you.
“It hurts because you keep moving. I can’t finish braiding your hair if you keep moving around like a frog squirrel,” you sighed. She let out a tiny humph and crossed her arms. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. This is exactly how you wanted your day to go. Arguing with an eleven year old.
“First, you want your hair braided like Aisyah, but now you don’t want to sit still. Only one of those things can be true, little miss, so you better make a decision.”
She let out a final, definitive sigh and gave up her fight so you could finish braiding her hair back. The second you tied off the end with a cord, she leapt from the stool she was perched on, gave you a quick hug around the waist, and then disappeared to go play with Ihsan. You huffed out a laugh and washed your hands quickly so you could go back to helping Takai knead out some dough.
Saturdays deviated from your usual schedule. Usually, some dignitaries or noble families or events were going on so you didn’t have to personally deliver food to the Fire Lord. But that meant Takai needed more help in the kitchen. You might be a seamstress, but you had been around long enough to have worked everywhere.
“What are you making tonight?” you asked as your hands worked the dough. Takai glanced up from the fish he was preparing and nodded approvingly at the way you mixed in the flour.
“Khao pak sen,” he explained. “Paired with bread. Since it decided to get a bit colder.” He scowled at the end of this sentence and you chuckled.
“Well, yes, that tends to happen as the seasons change.”
Your hands moved expertly over the dough as you kneaded, shaped, and rolled it into individual balls. Chatter filled the halls of the lower level, but you tuned out the noise as you fell into a steady rhythm of work. You only pulled your eyes away from your work when a little hand tugged at your skirt.
“Wash your hands,” you reminded Hiroki. “And then you can help me.”
He obediently went to the wash basin to scrub his hands with the bar of lye soap and washed it off before he rejoined your side. You divided some of the dough to pass it to him and gently coached him through properly kneading it. Concentration painted itself across his face as his little hands dug into the dough. Sure, his rolls would probably come out a little misshapen and uneven, but you would just set those aside for the servant’s dinners.
A song your mother used to sing while working began to hum on your lips as you worked. Flour stained your fingers and you were sure it was on your cheeks and in your hair, thanks to Hiroki’s enthusiastic flouring of the surface. Moments like these didn’t exist a few years ago with Ozai on the throne. Saturdays also meant working yourself to the bone and if there was no work at the palace, they would ship people out to the war factories to build armor or airships. The palace was a ghost town filled with living people. No one wanted to speak or breathe wrong in case they received a punishment. While it wasn’t perfect now, there was at least a lightness that didn’t exist before.
“Excuse me.”
Those two words practically sucked all of the air out of the room. Your back stiffened and Hiroki instinctively moved closer, pressing himself into the folds of your skirt. Takai immediately looked up and nodded towards the woman standing in the doorway.
“Ming,” he said calmly. You let out the breath you were holding. If Takai called her by her name rather than a title, then she most likely wasn’t a threat. You glanced up and took in her appearance, noting that she wore the uniform of a palace guard.
“We have a guest who requested tea,” Ming explained. “And he’s so particular about his tea that I figured I should just bring him down here so he can supervise.”
She must have noticed the way your eyes widened because a small smile flickered across her face. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”
“I heard that.” An older man appeared behind Ming. He looked kind and so unlike royal guests you had seen before. This man was in comfortable, roughshod clothes instead of silk robes with intricate designs. He also possessed something you rarely saw on a noble’s face: wrinkles from smiling. You bowed regardless of how kind he appeared and nudged Hiroki to do the same.
“What kind of tea do you like, sir? We have various kinds stocked here or we can send someone to the market to grab fresh leaves if we don’t have them.” Takai took charge since the kitchen was his realm. Since most people were occupied doing tasks elsewhere or relaxing, you decided to be his helper and grabbed a tea tray from one of the shelves.
“Oh, I can make it myself,” the man said. “Ming was not wrong about how particular I am.”
You laid the tray on a clean section of the countertops and then gestured to a row of jars on a higher shelf. “Our tea leaves are here and we can draw fresh water for the kettle. If there is anything you need assistance with, please let us know.”
Takai rushed to fill a pot with water while you quietly returned to kneading the dough. The laughter and music from earlier had ceased and now you worked in silence. Hiroki dutifully tried to help you arrange a dough ball and you silently adjusted his hands to guide him.
“That was an Earth Kingdom song you were humming,” the man observed. Your heart stuttered for just a second and you shifted so your body covered Hiroki from view. You kept your chin lowered and eyes focused on the table as you replied.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t apologize! You know, I live in Ba Sing Se now so that’s how I recognized it.”
“Oh?” That piqued your curiosity. Who was this man? A Fire Nation noble, surely, if he was a guest, but who lived in the Earth Kingdom now?
“Yes, I run a tea shop. I can’t seem to stop bringing work home.” He chuckled, voice full of genuine warmth. “Are you from the Earth Kingdom?”
“Yes, sir. I grew up on a farm outside of Kamakura, near Chameleon Bay.”
“Did you ever visit?”
“No, I never traveled far from our home until…” You trailed off. Until the Fire Nation soldiers came and slaughtered your father and brother in cold blood and took you and your mother. You pivoted quickly, hoping he didn’t deem your words to be something treasonous. “I’d like to visit someday.”
Takai had returned now and watched you carefully, ready to stop you if you said something wrong. You were grateful for his steady presence.
“Has your family always been farmers?”
“No, only my father’s family. My mother was a seamstress. They met when he went to Kamakura to sell his crop and saw her sewing in the window of a shop. He said it was love at first sight. She said he was full of himself.”
The man laughed, a hearty belly laugh. “But she changed her mind?”
“He didn’t pressure her, but he did show up at her store every other week just to say hello, to ask about her family, and to give both her and her mother some flowers. Over time, she said he grew out of his arrogance, but Papa said it was his charm.” Your smile dimmed at the edges as you thought about your parents. Mama always laughed when she told that story, but it was obvious how deeply she loved Papa. How fiercely she loved him. How much she missed him.
“A lovely story.” The man poured the steaming water into the teapot without a single drop spilling. Hiroki peered around your waist to watch as the man mixed a blend of leaves together. The water must not have been hot enough because the man raised his hand and a quick flash of flames flashed over the water. You flinched without thinking and stilled, your heart hammering against your chest. Silence enveloped the kitchen once more, a collective holding of breath capturing every adult in the vicinity.
Hiroki squeaked and burrowed closer into your side. You ignored the fact that your hands were covered in flour and the remnants of dough, and wrapped your arm around his shoulder. You instinctively lowered your head once more in a bow.
“Forgive us, sir. I…we…” You failed to find the words that you needed and instead pressed your lips together in shame. Hiroki’s little body shuddered and you tightened your hold on him, praying that he would stay calm until the firebenders left.
“I see,” the man said. But his voice was not cold or unkind. Instead, it was the very opposite. “The war might be over, but its scars remain. Those scars are not easily forgotten, nor should they be.”
A weathered hand, palm up and facing the ceiling, settled against the wooden countertop you were working on. Slowly, you let your head rise until you met his eyes. There was no anger or hate. Merely understanding.
“Those scars remind us of the work we must continue to do so that the next generation do not bear the same marks.”
You hesitated and then reached out to take the wrapped candies in the palm of his hand. He smiled as you leaned down and offered one to Hiroki, quietly assuring the boy that he was in no danger. The little boy graciously accepted the sweet and looked up at the man.
“Thank you,” he said with a tiny bow.
“You are very welcome, my boy.”
“Go wash the flour off your hands and then you can take these to the other children, okay?” Hiroki hurried to comply when you gave the instructions and you were relieved to see how quickly he bounced back from his fear.
Under Ozai’s rule, fire meant pain and punishment. You can teach children to avoid touching hot pots and hearths, but how can you teach them to avoid the rage of a human? Scars were commonplace amongst the servants. Fear was even more prevalent.
“Before I leave, I’d like to ask for your name,” the man said. You gave it and he repeated it, nodding as the syllables made their home in his mind.
“And may I ask for yours in return, sir?”
He hoisted the tea tray with ease. “You may call me Iroh, dear.”
btw my last final is may 6th and I plan on getting absolutely plastered and then sleeping for 48 hours straight and then you can expect me to go back to my job (writing this fic)
the heir to fire nation in his grasp. his child. his daughter. perched on his hip. her little arms waving around as zuko gazed.
round cheeked with his eyes and your nose.
her eyes pan over to you, where you stood to the side of your husband.
one hand fisting at the fire lords hair, unintentionally tugging— like babies do— as she looked around. her other hand, patting at his chest. she continued to stare at you, gummy smile appearing. she giggles. then looks to her father.
her smile drops just a little as she stares at dad. zuko glances at you. your eyes catch his.
a beat.
your daughter turns to you. eyes on yours before drifting back to zuko. her head tips.
his eye.
her chubby hand pats it. little fingers fiddling with the skin as she then turns to you again. her attention on the left side of your face before patting her own. assessing.
“I know. s’just me.” zuko says it softly. accepting. unashamed. a difference compared to how he used to think of it when he was younger.
Summary: The announcement came on a Tuesday, when the leaves turned the color of fire and you were reading and the tea had gone cold.
You married the Fire Lord on a Thursday in autumn. You wore fire lilies in your hair. Neither of you wanted it. Neither of you said so.
What followed was not a love story, not at first. It was two people in the same building, running a nation between them, learning the shape of each other's silences. It was a lamp left on in a corridor at an hour when the palace should have been dark. It was tea refilled without being asked. It was the slow, painstaking work of two people who had forgotten how to want things, remembering.
She carries a fire that burns white and a secret that could undo everything. He carries the weight of a nation and the particular loneliness of someone who has never been seen clearly.
This is the story of what happens when they finally look.
doing a bit of a rebrand. no, changing my pfp does not mean I no longer support Palestine. I still do. It just feels performative now and so I'm changing it to something else.
The Fire Lord and the Seamstress Mobile Masterlist
Series: The Fire Lord and the Seamstress (Fire Lord Zuko x f!reader)
An interconnected series of one-shots/mini fics about Fire Lord Zuko and a non-bending Earth Kingdom seamstress.
The series will include classism, colonization (that's what the whole show is about tbh), war, injuries, graphic violence at times, illness, death, and smut. This story is 18+ but I know that won't stop you from reading this. Reader was written initially as an OC who was pictured as Chinese so if any physical descriptors remain or I use the wrong pronouns, please let me know! Reader and Zuko are both over 18.
